Anatomy of a Boyfriend (18 page)

Because I’m going to be with my studly track star boyfriend in New York City!

I ask him, ―Why would
you
be going to a freshman dance? If you‘re an RA, you must be a junior or senior.‖

―Junior, and it‘s precisely
because
I‘m an RA. I have to be there to chaperone…and dance with you.‖

―I don‘t like to dance.‖

As if answering my prayers, the firemen give the all clear.

―Okay, Calvin, see you around,‖ I say mechanically as I put away my textbook. I‘m anxious to resume my packing upstairs.

―Not so fast.‖

Calvin actually digs his hand into my knapsack and fishes out my cell phone.

―Hey!‖ I‘m raising my voice at him. ―What gives you the right?‖

―Just one second….‖ He punches some buttons. ―There. Now you have my number. Don‘t be afraid to call it.‖

I don‘t answer or even look at him as I grab my phone and dart into the building. Being on the receiving end of some tool‘s unabashed flirtations while I‘m missing Wes so desperately is nauseating—like being force-fed milkshakes when all I want is a glass of water. I call Wes and leave a voice mail.

29

T
hat night I lie on Chapin‘s futon gripping my cell phone in both hands. Wes and I have been talking every two or three days since we started school, but it‘s the weekend now and we haven‘t spoken since Monday. Why hasn‘t he gotten back to me?

Could he have had an accident? Maybe his phone‘s broken and his Internet‘s down. Is he having sex with Jessica?
Stop doubting him, Dom!
I can‘t start living in a constant state of paranoia, not with four long years of distance still ahead of us.

When Amy calls me around midnight I seriously consider not answering. The last thing I want to hear about right now is her storybook romance with Joel and all the mind-blowing sex they‘re having. But I know Amy would never deliberately dodge my calls, so I begrudgingly clickTALK

. After I fill her in on the leak, she says I‘m welcome to fly out to Amherst and stay with her and Soo May if New York doesn‘t work out. I wish boyfriends could be as reliable as best friends.

After leaving Wes a second voice mail, I drift off to sleep trying to tune out the sound of Caitlin and Chapin screwing in the next room. Apparently, Caitlin has no trouble reaching the Big O.

The next night, Saturday, Caitlin jumps on my futon and pulls my arms until I finally agree to go to the freshman semi with her and Chapin. I‘m in no mood to party, but it‘s something to do besides waiting for my cell to ring. Surely he‘s received my desperate messages by now. Or has he?

While Caitlin and Chapin are getting dressed in his room, I Google Wes‘s name on my laptop.

I‘m half-hoping and half-afraid I‘ll come across bad news, such asNYU FROSH FOUND

DEAD. CONTACT WITH LOVED ONES UNSUCCESSFUL
.
But all I find are old Fort Myers
Tribune
articles reporting his track scores. The pathetic thing is, reading them actually makes me feel closer to him.

Next I checkAmazon.com , where he keeps a long wish list of books. It says he added three new novels today, so I‘m relieved he‘s probably okay…but how can he think about literature when he knows I‘ve been trying to reach him?

I sigh as I turn off the computer and open my suitcase. I step into my black halter-top slip dress, which I wore to Wes‘s graduation dinner four and a half months ago and which I had packed in the hope of sporting it at some hip SoHo restaurant with him this weekend. But after I pull up the back zipper, I‘m startled to find that the skirt section rides up over my hips as I walk. I tug it back down and it feels really tight. Too tight. I think back to orientation when Meagan warned us about gaining weight on crappy cafeteria food, and I can‘t believe I succumbed to such a cliché.

Flood, fire drills, and the freshman fifteen all in one weekend! I sigh again as I change into my pink sundress, which isn‘t really semiformal, but it‘s the only other dress I packed, and at least it‘s not form-fitting.

A few minutes later I‘m on the buffet line in the student union ballroom when Calvin practically corners me in front of the cheese dip. Tonight he‘s clean shaven, and he doesn‘t look so bad in his black pin-striped suit. But he‘s wearing suspenders, which I always thought were dorky.

―Hey, Cruella. I didn‘t know you did Science Quiz.‖

Apparently, he‘s been doing some Googling of his own.

―Are you stalking me?‖

―No. I‘m in charge of recruiting, so I had to do some student body research.‖

―Recruiting for what?‖ I ask absently as I scope out the room trying to spot Caitlin.

―Some friends and I play team trivia every Thursday night. It‘d be great if you could join us one time. We need someone for the science questions.‖

―I don‘t know, I‘m so busy with schoo—‖ I jump when I feel my cell vibrating in my purse.

―You okay?‖

―Yeah, I just need to take this call,‖ I mutter as I race to the ladies‘ room, still holding my food plate.

―Wes?‖ I gasp as I bolt into an empty stall.

―Hey, Dom. How are you doing?‖ His voice is upbeat, like he just finished a run and is on the endorphin high. If we were together, he‘d probably want to have sex right now.

―How am I doing? How are
you
doing? I was so worried about you! I was thinking about calling your parents!‖

―Babe, calm down, I‘m fine…. Are those toilets flushing? You‘re not in another Porta Potti, are you?‖ He laughs.

I take a deep breath, realizing I‘m literally panting. ―No. I‘m in the bathroom at a stupid dance.

Why didn‘t you get back to me earlier?‖

―I told you I had midterms.‖

So? When you were on another continent during spring break you still managed to e-mail me
every day!

―Right…midterms. Sorry, Wes, I didn‘t think about that.‖

―I pulled two all-nighters this week, and after the last test yesterday I just crashed. Sounds like you‘ve had a rough time of it too, huh?‖

―Tell me about it.‖ I wipe my forehead with some toilet paper. ―I got killed on my bio midterm, and my prof was a complete ass to me, so needless to say I‘m not feeling my most gung ho about premed. Staying at Chapin‘s has been fine, but I can‘t stand not having my own space.‖

―Well, while you‘re being exiled, I was sexiled! When I came back to my room after my test yesterday, I opened the door, and there was Gerard, getting head from this chick he‘s in a play with!‖

―Ugh! That‘s disgusting! Did you ream him out?‖

―Nah, the whole thing was pretty funny. I just asked him to let me know in advance when he‘ll need the room to ‗rehearse‘ from now on.‖

I flash back to my failed blow job at the end of the summer, and I start to feel dizzy. I line the toilet seat and sit down, waiting for Wes to invite me to New York. Instead, he starts talking about his training for the marathon.

―Sorry to interrupt, Wes, but JetBlue has a red-eye leaving for JFK in four hours. That way we can have tomorrow together, and I‘d come back Monday night. Sound good?‖ I say all in one breath.

―You know I‘d love that, but I have pool duty all Sunday.‖

―Oh,‖ I say, surprised, thinking that sounds awfully like something he could get out of if he really wanted to. I mean, I‘m the one flying hundreds of miles. ―There‘s no one you could switch with?‖

―Normally I could, but not with this short notice and on a holiday weekend. Sorry, Dom, I know you need to get away.‖

―Yeah, well.‖ I don‘t bother hiding my disappointment.

―Dom, I want to talk more, but I‘m supposed to meet up with some people to see a movie, so I better get going.‖

―Oh, okay, have fun. Who are you going to meet?‖

―Jim, Schroeder, Betsy, Kim, Jess, her roommate.‖

―Wow…It‘s great you‘ve made so many new friends. I know you were worried about having a hard time meeting people.‖

―Yeah, everyone‘s great.‖

―That‘s awesome. I look forward to meeting them all one day. The people here are great too.‖

―I‘m glad. So I‘ll call you tomorrow, Dom.‖

―Sure, okay. I love you, Wes.‖

―You too. Bye.‖

I obviously didn‘t look at the academic calendar very carefully because tonight Chapin informs me Tulane does not observe Columbus Day. I can‘t afford another bio absence, so as it turns out, not going to New York was the luckiest thing that happened to me all weekend.

30

I
fly back to Fort Myers the day before Thanksgiving, which also happens to be Grandma‘s seventy-fifth birthday. We celebrate by taking her out to high tea. The restaurant Mom chooses this year is in the fancy hotel where Wes and I spent prom night, so it conjures up some nice memories and is a welcome change after Tulane‘s cafeteria.

Yesterday at the all-dorm meeting Calvin warned us that going home for the first time during college can be disorienting, even depressing. I wouldn‘t go that far, but it‘s true everything feels a little different, more provincial somehow. Dad looks shorter, Mom more wrinkled, my room drabber. Even Fort Myers itself seems gray and dingy. But eating together with Grandma is like old times.

―Dominique, sit up straight!‖

―Yes, Grandma.‖

―Dominique, couldn‘t you have styled your hair today?‖ She turns to Mom. ―Don‘t you ever take her to a beauty salon?‖

Mom answers calmly, ―Dommie landed only two hours ago.‖

Dad chimes in, ―Dom has beautiful hair.‖

―Styled hair is the ultimate ornament for a lady,‖ Grandma proclaims, lightly patting her red-dyed coiffure. Then she lowers her gaze at me. ―And disheveled hair is the surest sign of an unkempt mind.‖

I roll my eyes as I pop a cucumber sandwich.

―At least your blessings are looking nice and full,‖ she adds, reaching out to pat my left breast.

I jerk away as Dad sputters tea back into his cup. ―Grandma, please!‖ I whisper sharply. Mom‘s giggling behind her napkin.

Fortunately, my phone rings a second later, and I excuse myself even though Grandma gives me her you‘re-being-terribly-rude look, as if feeling me up during high tea is good table manners. I scurry around booths and service carts to the privacy of the lobby.

―Hi, Wes! Oh my God. We‘re in driving distance again.‖

―Heya, Dominique. Howya doin‘?‖ Wes forces a New York accent.

I laugh. ―You‘ll never guess where I am right now. The Sanibel Regal Resort!‖

―Where?‖

―Um…where we spent prom night?‖

―Oh, right. Why are you there?‖

―It‘s Grandma‘s seventy-fifth, so we‘re taking her out.‖ Then I whisper, ―It‘s so weird being where we…you know…and with my parents!‖

―Heh, I bet.‖

―Anyway, when can I see you?‖

―Well, I just landed, and I was going to hang out with Art for a little and watch some of the
Family Guy
marathon. Uh, how ‘bout I head over to your place around, say, six?‖

―Yeah, six is cool. I‘ll use the extra time in between to shower and unpack and help Mom in the kitchen and stuff.‖ Then I whisper, ―Um, we‘ll be able to use the condo, right?‖

―Yeah. My grandparents will be staying in the City until Christmas. Oh, I see my mom at baggage claim. I better go.‖

―Say hi to her for me. And, Wes, I‘m so looking forward to being together tonight.‖

―Can‘t wait either. Bye.‖

At 6:18, Wes pulls up in his Explorer. He‘s wearing a holey T-shirt, his jeans are ripped, his hair is longer—almost chin length—and he‘s completely unshaven. He smells of the cologne I gave him the night before we left for college, though, which makes up for his being late.

―Mom freaked when she saw me,‖ he says as I climb in the passenger seat. ―She‘s dragging me to the barber Friday morning.‖

I reach over and French him, which feels funky with his beard brushing against my cheek. Then I sit back and watch him as he navigates the holiday weekend traffic on our way to the Captiva condo. To my delight we kiss at every red light, and he keeps his hand on my thigh as he drives.

When we‘re almost there I put my hand in his lap and lightly trace the inseam of his jeans, which makes him hard. We‘re both so wound up with desire we‘re not talking much, but we‘re all over each other as soon as we get in the condo.

Right before he thinks we‘re about to have sex and asks for a condom, I say, ―Actually, I have a Thanksgiving present for you that‘s way overdue.‖

―What do you mean?‖

I take a package of extra-thin strawberry-flavored condoms out of my purse. ―Use one of these this time. I just bought them.‖

―Why—Oh. Okay.‖

I huddle over him as he rolls it on, and then without giving myself time to think about it, I drop my head and start licking and kissing the length of his penis. Wes sighs as he crosses his arms behind his head and relaxes his body.

I stop for a second and ask, ―Is this okay so far?‖

He laughs. ―Yeah, I think you can say that.‖

It occurs to me that hunching over his crotch might not be the prettiest sight, so I pull the blanket over my head.

―Dom.‖ He pulls the covers off. ―I want to watch.‖

Self-consciousness wells up inside of me, and I‘m afraid I won‘t be able to go through with this after all. Somehow it feels more up close and physical than actual sex, and I don‘t want Wes watching the slobbery mess of it all. But I just have to succeed this time, or else I‘ll keep agonizing about it.

I close my eyes and take the head into my mouth. I‘m afraid I‘m going to bite him accidentally, so I keep my lips tightly pursed over my teeth. I get only half of his penis inside before I feel like I‘m going to gag. So I continue to suck just the top half of it and bob my head up and down slightly. The more I do it, the more I‘m able to fit in my mouth. Unfortunately, the condom does not taste like any strawberry made by nature—imagine sucking on a rubber band dipped in Kool-Aid. I don‘t know why they call it a
blow
job either, because I‘m not really blowing anything, but it
is
a job. My neck and shoulders are sore from bending over, and I barely have sensation left in my jaw by the time he comes.

―Dom…I really enjoyed that,‖ he says a few seconds later.

―Well, in that case, I plan to do it often,‖ I say cheerily as I peel off the condom.