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BRODY COMES OVER EVERY day after my last class. It’s a special kind of torture because I love having him around, but it also makes me feel the loneliness even more because now I’m aware of what I can’t ever have.
A normal conversation for one thing.
He’s always so nice to me, asking me about things I know he has no interest in, but I can’t help stammering and getting weird. I’ve tried watching current television and movies to understand social cues better, but it doesn’t seem to do me any good. He’s just too big and too masculine and his voice too husky. He short circuits my brain. My reaction to Brody borders on ridiculous. And then there is the rest of my body.
It usually starts with a cold sweat. When I first open the door to him every day, I feel the blood drain from my face and then it fills back in with a hot flush that I know he notices because the corner of his mouth quirks up into a slight grin. Then my heart starts racing like the greyhounds are after me and I’m a rabbit on the track. About then, I find a ball of nervous energy gets lodged in my throat so I can’t swallow. I’m sure I’m an attractive picture at that point, but it gets worse. He usually starts a little small talk that I cannot ever hear because the sound of my heartbeat fills my head and I get lightheaded.
That’s all well and good, right? I mean, it sounds like a lovely time.
But it gets worse.
Because while I am charming him with all my extremely unattractive nerves, the tingles in my breasts start. They begin to feel achy and full and then, bam! My nipples harden like they’re ready to cut glass or something. And the ache travels down, going lower and lower until my panties get moist. And then I want to touch myself. Well, no. I want him to touch me. But since that isn’t going to happen, I just get achy and needy and wanting. And then he leaves and I spend the rest of the night watching porn and trying to imagine it’s not my hands.
I am such a mess.
No man has ever affected me like this before. I’d thought maybe I just had a low sex drive until recently when I started following some sketchy tumblr accounts and then graduated to full-on pornos. It was then I accepted that I had a sex drive—but it wasn’t until I met Brody that it revved up for the first time about a flesh and blood person.
And revving isn’t great. I wish I could go back to not caring about sex. Not having these messed up feelings.
Not not having orgasms. I just can’t get there.
I’m always horny and never satisfied. I can get close to coming. But something always slams the door shut before I get all the way through it.
He’s upstairs now, doing some sawing or something, and I go to the mailbox. This is also not my favorite part of the day. I want so badly for the letter to come inviting me to be on Jeopardy! But that dream also feels too big for me. I’m not good with all these anticipatory feelings. I’ve always done better with a normal schedule with little variation. Little emotion. Now I anticipate the mail and Brody every day, and feelings course through me that I don’t understand.
I used to think I might actually be part android. And I like it better that way. When I don’t have all these feels that I don’t know what to do with.
I’m sorting through the mail in the kitchen when he pops his head in.
“I need to go check on the custom glass, so I’m leaving early today.” He notices the mail in my hands and comes toward me. “Did it come?”
I shake my head. “Not today. Maybe not ever.”
“Hey, none of that. Didn’t you ever hear about thinking positively?”
I frown. “Thinking positively doesn’t change facts. The facts are that they have not invited me on the show and they might not. Even though I passed their requirements and got on the waiting list. It’s not logical to assign something intangible like “positive thinking” to a situational problem.”
He’s smirking at me in that way that he has, but I can hardly be mad at him because the fact that he even cares about whether I get on Jeopardy! or not gives me another unfamiliar feeling to deal with. I’m not used to being supported.
I was always the weird kid. My dad never knew what to do with me because I wasn’t like other girls my age. I know he loves me, but he doesn’t understand me. Which, come to think of it, neither do I. But my dad has tried, over the years, to give me things he thinks I want. Things I would want if I were like his friends’ daughters.
But I’m just me. Nerdy. Awkward. Unsure of how to deal with interpersonal relationships. And until recently, mostly asexual.
“Why is it funny to you that I don’t think positive thinking is the way to fix a problem.”
“It’s not funny to me.”
“You’re smirking at me.”
“Okay, it’s amusing to me,” he corrects.
“Why?”
“You live in a world that’s so black and white. But the rest of us live in a world with more gray in it. Sometimes, facts don’t matter.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
He moves closer to me. I freeze with my back against the counter as he invades my space. My heart is jackhammering like crazy in my chest. Brody is more wall than man, but I don’t feel threatened. The scent of sawdust now tops bookstore smell as my favorite scent.
“Some things don’t make sense, Megan.”
Don’t I know it.
He pushes my glasses up on my nose gently. “You can’t predict the best things. They just sneak up on you.”
“I...” I choke on my words when I notice he’s staring at my mouth. My breath hitches and my lips part. “I don’t like surprises. Random makes me nervous.”
“Life has a funny way of throwing a lot of random at you.” He’s taken up all the space. All the air. My pussy clenches on itself. I want him. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Lock the door behind me.” And then he boops my nose.
I can’t even believe this is happening to me. It takes forever for my heart to stop racing. For my lungs to regulate my breath.
He booped my nose. Men don’t do that to women they want to have sex with. They do that to children. Girls they think are cute and childlike.
I need to get these feelings under control because he doesn’t like me the way I like him. Duh. And even if he did, what the heck would I even do with that? He’s out of my league.
The only thing I can do is take matters into my own hands. So I go upstairs and begin taking off my clothes.
Maybe this time.
I set up my laptop next to me on the bed and put on the headphones while queueing up my favorite site. Choosing a video to watch, I opt for a teacher/student short, I slip my fingers down to my very wet pussy.
I part my lower lips with one hand and begin strumming with the other. I don’t touch my clitoris yet. I want to wait. Draw it out. As I get closer to what I hope is a real climax, I start paying more attention to the bundle of nerves that are begging to be touched. I close my eyes, the aural stimulation from the video enough to get me closer. I wish I had a vibrator. I need to figure out the best way to get one without announcing to my dad that I’m practicing self-love.
I’m close. Really close. I start moaning.
That’s when I get the feeling I’m being watched.
My eyes pop open.
Brody.