And he seemed to accept the “nothing below the belt” unspoken policy for awhile.
Then he seemed to start drifting away. Nothing big at first. Just spending a little more time with customers wearing low cut tops or high cut skirts. But, then he started being too tired for company after they closed.
I don’t know if “panic” would fit. But, Wendy felt something about losing him strong enough that she decided to go ahead and just do it if she ever had another chance.
And the next time they got together at his place to listen to music and got to kissing and petting, she went further.
And did not enjoy it at all. I don’t know the details. She didn’t offer them and I didn’t think it appropriate to ask. But, at least it seemed to work. For a little while. They stayed together and had sex a few more times.
Wendy broke it off, going so far to quit her job and come to work at Sam’s, after one night when he commented that he would never marry a woman who’d slept around.
I knew what he meant, or thought I did. And I didn’t think it was meant to include Wendy sleeping with him and only him. But, that was how she took it and so she ended it before he could.
Dumb asses all of us. Him for popping off at the mouth without thinking it through first. Her for misunderstanding and not giving him a chance to pull his foot out. Me for, for whatever reason, not heeding the warnings and strolling away, slowly so as not to draw attention.
Bigger dumb ass me, I didn’t have the first idea that the female of the species could actually get horny.
Sure, sure. It’s funny now, how naïve I was. But, I seriously didn’t know. In my indoctrinated world view, women gave sex to get love and men gave love to get sex. Men got horny and women put up with it for relationships and kids and whatever.
I damn sure never figured that women, some women anyway, could get horny enough that it ached.
After so long, I’ve learned enough to know that thinking of women as a collective is just as big a mistake as thinking of men as a collective. Both genders can run the gamut from never feeling the slightest sexual drive at all to it being only slightly less important than breathing but more important than food.
Wendy was the first I’d met that experienced an ache, a deep abiding ache she hadn’t felt before she’d had sex, although I didn’t have the slightest clue.
We’d been going out for a couple of months, maybe three, and hadn’t done more than hold hands, kiss, and a little light petting (and very little of the last), when we reached that fateful evening in late October.
We’d grabbed some McDonalds, the only compromise we could find, and after eating had gone to a park she liked to take me to when she wanted to talk about something she wanted privacy to discuss.
We hadn’t worked that day and I had driven in, fresh from a shower, to spend time with her. I doubt things would have fallen out as they did if we’d been sweaty and stinky from a long day at work.
We’d left my car at her parent’s house as we usually did. In her words, “if you burn your gas driving for a half-hour each way to spend time with me, we can burn my gas in town”. Again, I don’t think things would have worked out as they did if I’d had a steering wheel protecting my lap.