For the "One Night Stand" Challenge
The thing is, she didn't do one night stands.
Not that she had any moral problem with it, not really, despite a decade of Catholic school indoctrination, not to mention eighteen years of dinner table discussions -- no, make that lectures -- that usually started with "You don't let a boy even touch you on the boobies until you got the ring on your finger, you hear me?" from her mother, and which ended with "Don't be a fucking slut," from her father, assuming he was actually there for dinner.
No, her main objection was that she wanted a relationship, a steady boyfriend, and yeah, a husband, not somebody who was just in it for fun, who would hump and dump her. No, she didn't want that, she wanted permanence and loyalty and a ticket out of her family. The one time she'd gone all the way it had been with a guy she was crazy about, who said he was crazy about her, too, who'd talked of them getting married after high school, who was willing to settle for long kisses and a grope or two, what they used to call heavy petting, for a really long time. Who'd been sincere and loving from the day they met, right up to the night she let him get into her pants, and for at least a day after that.
So after that, she should have known better than to do a one night stand, right?
But this guy, this guy--!
Okay, she was vulnerable. Everyone at Donna diLucio's party was paired up, and Donna was wearing Mike Belachek's ring, they were engaged, and she and Donna had a sort of competitive-type friendship, friends but, well, you know. And the guy looked like he was the only other un-paired person there, and he was all moody-eyes and bad-boy attitude, leaning against the wall, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, checking out everyone under his eyelids, like he was superior to them, and who needed that?
But that was before Anne Marie whispered to her that he was real upset because he'd just broken up with his longtime girlfriend. Before she struck up a conversation with him. Before she ended up in the back seat of his car, with him pouring out his broken heart, her nodding and saying she understood, she'd been humped and dumped too, agreeing with him they both needed someone to make it better.
She had a feeling she knew him from somewhere, seen him around the neighborhood, maybe, but it wasn't until they were swapping spit that she remembered her brother knew him, at least a little. She thought maybe he'd even been over to the house once or twice, shooting hoops in the backyard with her brother and a couple of other guys, and maybe she hadn't paid much attention to him before. Then she stopped thinking about before, because right now he was unhooking her bra and she was letting him. And his damp hands were on her breasts, rubbing them, pinching maybe a little too hard, like he was really eager, and he was kissing her with a sloppy desperation she echoed right back at him, and she felt the hard shape of his erection pressing against her, and oh, hell, who needed permanence, when you could have immediate gratification? So she stopped thinking about how she didn't do one-night stands, because even though she wasn't even sure she actually wanted to see this guy again, because he looked like trouble, still it was the kind of trouble she wanted right now, so she just let him get between her legs and push down her panties, and push his way inside.
Later, of course, when it was all over, when she panicked, realizing he hadn't used a condom and she couldn't remember where she was in her period, or even later, when she remembered the name he'd groaned in her ear while he was coming was his girlfriend's name and not hers -- well, somehow in retrospect, that one night stand wasn't what she wanted or needed at all.
Nope. It wasn't anything but a crappy memory--
-- and one she probably never would have recalled, fourteen years later, if that guy weren't walking across the bullpen towards her with a strange look in his eye, and if he weren't stopping in front of her, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, and offering a nervous smile, taking a shallow breath and managing to gulp out, "Hey. Hi. Frannie. Francesca. Long time, huh? So. I'll be, um, your brother, while he's, you know, doing his thing. Funny, huh?"
Yeah. Real funny.
redchance @ aol.com
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