Q&A
D. A. Hosek When did he first meet her? I met her at a Halloween party. I had decided I wanted to meet a redhead with big tits—any redhead with big tits—and I found her instead, a brunette with small breasts (she was that kind of girl, the kind that had breasts, not tits). She sat across the room, wearing a sexy nurse outfit. She kept trying to pull the bottom of the skirt lower and the top of the blouse higher but that just exposed her belly or the top of her panties. It’s really sexy when a girl tries to be modest like this and fails. We didn’t talk at first. We snuck peeks at each other. When the guy dressed as a pirate spilled his beer in an unfortunate accident involving his peg-leg, his eye patch and a cat that had slipped into the apartment with a group of late arriving guests, we shared a secret smile. Is that when his relationship with her began? It was the start. As the night wore on, I moved on from furtive glances to conversation. I told her that I thought it was sexy how uncomfortable she looked in the costume. She laughed and became even more uncomfortable. I was turned on more. I offered to get her a beer from the fridge, but she wanted a Diet Coke instead. To impress her with what a gentleman I was, I brought her a cup with ice and the Coke so she wouldn’t have to drink out of the can like she’d done the whole night. She put the cup down after I brought it and never picked it up again. After we’d talked a while, I asked her if she might be interested in getting together sometime. She said sure and gave me her phone number. I waited three days to call her. I didn’t want to look desperate. When I called, it was her mother who answered the phone. Her mother! Why would her mother be answering her phone? Turns out she lives with her parents. Can you believe it? Thirty years old and she still lives with mom and dad. We talked a while. I suggested dinner and a movie and she agreed without hesitation. That should have been a warning sign. Normal girls don’t act eager to go on a date. What were his thoughts about her on that date? She wasn’t really my type. I prefer girls with big tits and that definitely wasn’t her. On the other hand, a girl I knew in college said that more than a handful is a waste (she was a lesbian), so I figured that she had plenty of tit—I mean breast—for me. What stood out to me was how she reacted every time I touched her. When I walked her from her house to the car that first night, I put my hand on the small of the back; she flinched, like I was going to push her down the stairs or something. During the movie, I put my arm around her and she giggled and pushed it away. It was exactly like dating a thirteen-year-old girl. And when I kissed her goodnight, I started to open my mouth and again she pulled away. I doubt that she’d ever been properly kissed in her life. All this and the living with the parents thing—she really needed to be living in the grown-up world. Did he try to change her? I did. It was for her own good. She was a little strange, like she seemed to live outside the grown-up world that the rest of us inhabit. It wasn’t good for her to keep living as a child. She had a good job, teaching third grade. She could have easily gotten her own place, somewhere that it wouldn’t be a big deal if she didn’t come home every goddamn night. Some changes came easily. By the third date, she didn’t flinch or withdraw every time I touched her, although she still wasn’t able to really kiss. Usually, the third date is when you have sex for the first time. You make it past date number two, then you plan on getting laid. But not with her. Like I said, she acted like she was a child sometimes. So at the end of the third date, when I hadn’t even gotten to second base, I was ready to call it quits. But at the same time, there was something about her that stuck inside me somehow. Maybe she just needed someone to mentor her, to make her a woman instead of a girl. Help her see the joys of adulthood. She said she couldn’t have pre-marital sex because she was Catholic. Fine, but a hand up her shirt isn’t sex. Neither is a blow job, just ask Bill Clinton. And I knew she’d come around on the sex thing eventually. After all, in high school everyone knew that the girls from the Catholic high schools put out. What did he do after the third date? I should have given up, moved on. I didn’t. Instead, I kept at her. I started with small things. I made a point of giving her a glass of wine every time we had dinner. I tried changing the clock in my car so that she would get home after midnight. It didn’t work. She noticed right away that the clock was wrong and at eleven-thirty on the dot, she told me it was time for me to take her home, even though my car’s clock said quarter to eleven. On Monday, that damn clock made me late for work. I pushed her a little further with each date. I managed to get her to not only let me French-kiss her, but she began to initiate it herself. I ignored her warnings and protests as my hands roamed her body, and sometimes, it seemed like she would move my hand to her breasts or below her waist if I wasn’t moving fast enough for her. Was he only interested in her for sex? It was more than that. I cared for her, in my way. If he cared for her, why did he make her do things that she didn’t want to do? I didn’t. She wanted to do what we did. Maybe not at first, but eventually she did. A girl doesn’t let you take off her clothes if she doesn’t want to be naked with you. OK, yes, most of the time, the first thing she did once I had her bra off was to wrap herself in a blanket, but it was still something she let happen. And it’s not like she never took off my shirt or unbuttoned my jeans. All the religion in the world couldn’t keep her from feeling horny once in a while. And she was in control in her way. Even to the end, she insisted that I have her home by midnight. It was all about being respectable she would say. Was he intimate with her? She was a virgin. Nobody had ever touched her like I did. She didn’t even play doctor when she was little. So it took time, but yes, we fucked. I did it one night while we were laying on the bed together naked. I caressed her body running my finger from the space between her breasts down her belly, across her snatch, kissing her the whole time. I poised myself over her, staring into her eyes. She wanted it. “Are you scared?” I asked her. I didn’t wait for her answer before entering her. How did she react? She cried. Some girls do that when they come. I’d made her come before, with my finger, so I knew. Then she grabbed me and held me tight. She whispered “I love you” to me. I didn’t say anything. She asked, “Do you love me?” What did he answer? I kissed her cheeks, clearing her tears with my lips, then her neck and her shoulders, caressing her body the whole time. I let my body speak for me. It was better than answering with words. Did he love her? I don’t know. I don’t think so. Not the way that she loved me. She wanted to marry me. Losing her cherry to me only made her want that more. She said that once we’d made love we were married in the eyes of God. But if that was really the case then I already had a fucking harem in the eyes of God. I was smart enough not to say that to her. I cared about her. I still do. I want her to do well, but I could never marry her. If we got married, we might as well have the divorce papers filled out ahead of time. It might not end right away, but it would end. It always ends. Did he keep seeing her? Yes. The sex changed things. After that first time, we had sex almost every night, even though she still insisted on being home by midnight. Not once did she spend the night with me. I used a condom every time we had sex—except that first time. Six weeks later, she told me that she was pregnant. The first time she has sex, she hits the fertility lotto. What did he tell her? I said that we obviously couldn’t keep the baby. She needed to get an abortion. What did she tell him? She said absolutely not, she was a Catholic and she didn’t believe in abortion. I told her to get herself together. I’d take her to Planned Parenthood myself. She said we should get married and raise the baby together. I told her I couldn’t do that. Is that when he broke up with her? No. I couldn’t leave her when she was pregnant. I had to persuade her to get the abortion, I told her how important it was that she give up this baby, how it wasn’t really even a baby at all, just a bunch of cells, barely differentiated, that it wasn’t a good time for her to be pregnant. Did he persuade her to get an abortion? In the end, yes. I went with her, I held her hand while she vacillated in the parking lot, but she insisted on going inside alone. When she came back out, I held her, I let her cry into my shoulder, I told her everything was going to be fine. What did he do after that? I kept seeing her, but the calls and the dates became less frequent. Once she was free from the pregnancy, she should be free from me and then she could be free from the guilt from the abortion. Why did he break her heart? I didn’t break her heart. I only brought the relationship to its natural conclusion. I didn’t want to fool her into thinking that there was more here than there was. I would have broken her heart more if I had let things drag on. I had to end it. Even if part of me didn’t want to end it yet. Why did he break her heart? OK, fine, maybe I was falling in love. I was afraid. Terrified really. What if I married her? What if we kept the kid? I wasn’t ready for that. She wasn’t either. Don’t forget she was still living with her fucking parents. She’d never lived anywhere but that goddamn house. She couldn’t cook anything with more than one ingredient. She was so simple and inexperienced. I need more than that. So why do I keep thinking about her? Why can’t I forget her? Why can’t I move on? Why did he break her heart? |
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About the Author: D. A. Hosek’s writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Southwest Review, Popshot, Masque & Spectacle, Westerly, Meniscus and elsewhere. He earned an MFA in fiction from the University of Tampa. He lives and writes in Oak Park, IL and spends his days as an insignificant cog in the machinery of corporate America. You can find his website here.