Denise Swank: The Curse Keepers

Dwight broke into tales about his family and growing up with snow in Grand Rapids while I consumed two glasses of wine. Since I’d skipped dinner, the wine was going straight to my head. Too bad Dwight had only drunk half of his.

I watched him as he talked. He really was an attractive man. If I squinted just right. But he was educated, even if he seemed a little slow in social situations. So maybe he wasn’t perfect, but he had potential. I wanted the magical love my parents had had, but I was beginning to think I couldn’t afford to hold out for perfect. Maybe their love was so rare that most mere mortals couldn’t hope to find it.

I was partway into my third glass when I decided it was now or never. I set my wine on the table, then leaned over and grabbed Dwight’s face. His eyes widened with surprise as my mouth touched his, and his body stiffened slightly. I worried he was about to shove me away, but as my lips and tongue coaxed his, he relaxed and put an arm around my back.

We kissed for several minutes, and I tried really hard not to grade his technique. Dwight might be an overachiever in the insurance world, but he could have spent a little less time studying actuary tables and more learning the art of French kissing. But the wine helped ignite my fire, and I reached for the knot of his tie, trying to loosen it.

His hand pushed mine aside, and he leaned his head back. “Let me do it. This tie was a gift from my mother, and I don’t want to wrinkle it.” He expertly unknotted his tie, folded it neatly, and laid it on the arm of the sofa.

My mouth dropped open in disbelief, and I was about to cut my losses when he turned back to me, pulled me against him, and took charge.

Maybe this could be salvaged yet.

I reached for the buttons of his shirt, wondering if they had been laid by golden geese. But he not only allowed me to unbutton his shirt, he let me pull it loose from his pants. Encouraged, I straddled his lap, hiking the skirt of my dress to my upper thighs. I slid my hands across his chest while he kissed me, but something was off, and it wasn’t his scrawny upper frame or his tiny potbelly. I just couldn’t figure out what it was. Perhaps there was a slight lack of enthusiasm on his part?

I sat back and lowered the straps of my sundress, dropping the top half to my waist.

Dwight studied my light-pink, lacy bra with interest. His hands skimmed my back, and his face lowered to my cleavage.

As he pushed down the cup of my bra, I leaned my head back and tried to remember what time I was supposed to be at the New Moon the next day. No! Don’t think about that right now . But there was no denying that Dwight’s lack of skills weren’t limited to the neck up.

Maybe he just needed a little incentive. I unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants while he turned his attention to my other breast. Slipping my hand into his pants, I searched for his erection.

And found nothing.

Well, that’s not entirely right. I found something , but I had to search. A lot.

I sat up and cocked my head. “Um… I need to go to the bathroom for a second.” I climbed off his lap and pulled up my bra, then I held up a finger. “I’ll be back in a second.” As I moved toward the bathroom, trying not to run, I snatched my cell phone off the counter and closed myself in the lavatory. Then I dialed my best friend, Claire.

She answered on the first ring. “So how did it go?”

I sat on the toilet and ran a hand over my hair. “Um… it’s still going,” I whispered.

“It’s still going? Then what are you doing calling me?”

“Well… it’s just that…”

“What?”

How could I put this? “I can’t find his penis.”

Claire paused for half a second. “How drunk are you?”

I hunched over my knees, trying to gauge my level of intoxication. “I’ve had a couple of drinks, but not enough to stop me from finding an important part of male anatomy. I mean, how hard can it be?”

“Obviously, not hard enough.”

Giggles erupted, and I clapped a hand over my mouth. After a couple of seconds, I settled down. “This is serious, Claire.”

Claire burst into laughter. “Are you sure he’s not a tranny?”

“I thought trannies were guys dressing as girls, not the other way around.” I took a deep breath to settle my giggles. “And no, he’s got a part, just not an interested one.” Great, I couldn’t even get a boring guy excited about me. “What am I going to do?”

“What do you want to do?”

Covering my eyes with my hand, I sighed. “I don’t know.”

I heard Claire’s exasperated exhale. “Ellie, why are you with this guy? Why are you doing this to yourself?”

Outraged, I sat up straight and hissed, “How was I supposed to know he couldn’t get it up?”

“Anyone could have—no, that’s too easy,” Claire muttered. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Why are you wasting your time with this guy when you can barely stand him?”

“That’s not true.”

“ Please .”

I had to concede that she might have a point. “I can’t just send him away.”

“Why not?”

“It will be too obvious.”

“Well, then I suggest you stock up on Viagra.”

I groaned. “You’re no help.”

“Yes, I am. You just don’t like what I have to say.”

“Ugh! I have to go.”

“You might as well go since you won’t be coming—“

I hung up on her before she could finish. And she was wrong. There was a reason I kept a vibrator in my bedside drawer.

When I returned to the living room, Dwight had removed his pants and shoes. He leaned back, wearing his white Fruit of the Looms and his unbuttoned shirt.

Maybe I needed to make more of an effort. Maybe he needed more foreplay. One part of me said to send him home and call it a night, but another part of me screamed Ellie Lancaster is not a quitter. Well, maybe with piano, yoga, and knitting, but I’m not a quitter in this.

I dropped my dress to the floor and sat on the sofa with renewed determination. This man was going to have sex with me whether he liked it or not. But as soon as Dwight leaned over to kiss me, I realized I couldn’t go through with it. Call me a quitter, but I was done.

Rolling away, I stood, reaching for his pants and shoes. “You need to go.”

His eyes widened. “What? Why?”

I glanced down to his crotch and then back to his face. “This just isn’t going to work out.”

He climbed to his feet, and I shoved his pants at him. He stepped into the pants and looked up at me. “Ellie, if you would just be reasonable.”

I grabbed my dress off the floor. “Reasonable? If I were reasonable, I wouldn’t have gone out with you after our second date, when you suggested that I should reconsider ordering dessert.” I wiggled the dress to my waist, struggling to get the straps up my arms.

He shook his head in confusion. “But you had just mentioned you wanted to go on a diet! If you want dessert, you can get it—”

I opened the door and pushed him out while handing him is shoes. “You’re damn right I can get dessert!”

I stood in the doorway, pulling the door shut behind me as I watched as Dwight clomped down the stairs, irritated that I’d put up with him through five dates. I really sucked at dating. Man after man after man had paraded through my life, each one worse than the last. My judgment was not to be trusted.

Maybe it was time to find my purpose in life. A purpose that didn’t include men. Maybe I’d even try to move away. No , I could never move away from Daddy, and Myra needed me to help with the inn. But I could try to take a trip in the fall. I’d always wanted to see the Grand Canyon. I’d learn some breathing exercises to deal with my anxiety of getting too far from Roanoke Island.