J McKenna: Naughty girl

Later, I might need you, buddy! Not now! You’re embarrassing me!

He could tell DeeDee was nervous. Hell , Carl told himself, I’m nervous—and I’m old enough to have done this a few times before .

Somehow, DeeDee was different. He couldn’t explain why.

Carl stood near the couch and let his eyes roam about the room. She had a bookcase and he moved closer so he could read some of the authors’ names. Kipling, Frost, Updike, Keats—a wide and literate selection of writers and poets. Down lower, there were the usual women’s self-help books: “How to Find a Good Man”, “What Men Want” and “Understanding the Male Animal”. Carl smiled. He believed books about men used one hundred thousand words to explain what can be said in just six: Food, Work, Booze, Sports, Sex and Cars. Not necessarily in that order.

She came back with a false gaiety, her movements a bit too jerky, and for a moment, Carl was afraid his presence was starting to spook her. He could see it from her point of view—a stranger rescues her, but is he really a White Knight or just a Black Knave in disguise? She’d probably met too many Black Knaves in her life.

He took the proffered drink, then reached out and touched her forearm. She flinched.

“It’s all right. I’m nervous too.” He stopped, trying to organize his words as if he were negotiating world peace. “I find you compelling, DeeDee. I wouldn’t do anything to upset you.” Carl put his drink down on the coffee table, making sure he used a coaster to show he was civilized. “If it would make you feel more comfortable, I can leave right now and we can try again later. Maybe go on a formal date.”

That stopped her. The words seemed to comfort her. “No. No, it’s all right. I…I admit I’m a little nervous. This is happening so suddenly. I don’t know you very well and suddenly, you’re in my apartment.”

“I’m not like Frank.” What a lame thing to say , he thought. I am such a jerk .

“I know. I could tell. It’s just all so sudden.”

“Sure.” Carl picked up his drink and took a sip. “Let’s just get to know each other, okay?” In his pants, he could swear he heard his cock scoff. It withered in disgust.

She gave him a tentative smile. It was enough. “Okay. You start.”

Carl would rather talk about her, so he gave her the short version of his life. “I was born in Fresno to a schoolteacher and a county employee,” he said, falling into his one-minute biography. “After an unexciting childhood, I went to Berkeley on a scholarship.”

She leaned forward slightly and he immediately shut up. Any man would.

“What kind of scholarship?”

“Football. I was a wide receiver.”

Carl could tell she was checking out his arms. He resisted the urge to flex his biceps. A little smile graced the edge of her soft pink mouth.

“I thought all wide receivers were black.”

“Yeah, it seems like that now, doesn’t it? But there were a few of us. Especially at Berkeley.”

“Didn’t go to the pros?”

“Nope. Wasn’t good enough.”

“Sorry—I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s all right. It’s just the way it was.”

“So what do you do now?”

Carl sighed. He wanted to tell her everything, and yet, what would she think?

“I’m, um, a writer.” Okay, that was only partially true, he told himself.

“Ohh, you mean like a novelist?”

“Sort of,” he admitted, as if it were painful.

“Why so shy about it?”

“Because I haven’t sold anything of substance yet. Some articles. I’m working on a book. Mostly, during the day, I work, um, on other things.”

DeeDee sat back. “Doing what?” She wasn’t going to let him off the hook.

“Graphic artist and, um, copywriter.”

He expected her to suddenly realize he was small potatoes. Carl felt out of her league. A graphic artist couldn’t afford a stunning woman like this. Then again, she must already know this—she’d seen his cheap car.

Instead, she seemed intrigued. “What kind of work do you do?”

Encouraged, Carl told her about some recent projects. A web site for a Realtor, a print ad for a landscaper, and a mascot mouse for the city library.

“Oh, I saw that one!” she exclaimed.

“You did?” Of course, he thought, she has all those books. She probably goes to the library a lot.

“Yes, I really liked it. You did that?”

“Yep.” He was amazed that Literate Mouse had registered with this beautiful woman. “I’m working on a companion now, a girl mouse named Romantic Mouse. She’s designed to show female readers that there’s a lot of romance in the classics, if they’d just take the time to read them.”

“Oh, don’t I know! I love the classics.”

Carl noted that his cock had completely faded, no doubt bored with this literary talk, but his brain was now fully engaged. They began to talk about many of the great books they’d read and enjoyed. Carl remained aware of her beauty, but now knew she was also his intellectual equal. It was a rare package indeed.

He suspected DeeDee felt it too. Her concerns about him seemed to melt away. The conversation began to flow more easily. After his first martini, he refused more, worried that he might appear too much like drunken Frank. Carl was never a big drinker anyway, so he didn’t want to give her that impression.

“What about you?” he asked. “What do you do?”

She looked away for a moment, then said vaguely, “Oh, I have some investments.”

He didn’t want to let it go like that. Did that mean she was rich or perhaps “kept” by her rich boyfriends? “Investments? You mean, stocks and bonds…” he hesitated, “…or something else?”

Her eyes met his. “You mean, am I a dot.com millionaire? No. Mostly it’s just boring old stocks and bonds. Not many, really—just enough to keep the rent paid.”

Carl was curious to find out how she got to that point. Did she have a method? Did she inherit them from her parents? Or did a sugar daddy give them to her?

“You must be a good stock-picker,” he offered, to see if she’d rise to the bait.

But DeeDee only shrugged. “Not really. Most of them I inherited.”

“Oh, so your parents, um, have passed on?” Carl couldn’t believe how hard it was to get her to talk about herself.

“My mom’s still alive,” she said, taking a small sip of her drink. Carl felt he’d pressed her far enough on an obviously sensitive topic, so he dropped it.

The woman has some money and it’s none of my fucking business .

He sensed a lull in the conversation and felt it was time to go. He would have jumped at the chance to make love to her, but he knew it was the wrong move. She had a lot of heat and a lot of heart, and Carl wanted both fully engaged. If his flaccid cock had arms, it would’ve raised them in disgust.

“I should go,” he told her, standing up. “I’ve really enjoyed meeting you. I would love to take you out for dinner.”

“Really? That’d be nice.” She stood as well.

“How about tomorrow?” Carl looked at his watch, then grinned. It was well past midnight. “No, tonight?”

“Um.” She frowned. “Yes, I think I can arrange that. Frank was supposed to take me out, but he’s lost the privilege. I would like to go with you.”

“Listen, if he gives you any trouble, let me know, okay?”

“What—you’ll beat him up again?”

Inwardly, Carl cringed. He didn’t want to come across as a macho man. “No, no, nothing like that. I meant, if you have to talk to him, go out with him, we can do it another day.”

She smiled that radiant smile again. “No. I’d rather go with you. Unless you plan on getting drunk and abusive on me.”