Freds Spotty Education

"Tequila sunrise?"

Emma's voice cuts over the thin crowd of Jerry's Bar on New Years' Day. Most people are too hung over today to want to come in to a bar and drink, but there's always diehards. Four of them tonight. Tequila sunrise, I know this one.

"Tequila and OJ."

Emma waits. There's one more, but I can't think...oh yeah. "Grenadine."

"Good job, Fred! Your turn."

Emma has been teaching me drink recipes against the day I might have to tend bar for her while she is home taking care of kids. I promised Jerry, the owner of the bar, that I would learn to tend bar if I knocked her up. So far, it hasn't happened, but we've only been going out a week, and we're very careful. It's my turn now, and I swing my left arm so my hand swings against my left knee. "What's this, Em?"

"Uhhh...' She has this habit of chewing her lip when she thinks. "Slashing--no, tripping." She's identified the correct hand signal for a hockey call.

"You are correct!"

Emma has had no experience with hockey prior to the past few days. She's told me she was a fast learner, and she's told me that she's no liar, and she's proven both to be true.

"Okay, mojito?"

I know this one. "Shot of light rum, a little lime juice, and soda water."

"Mint," she reminds me. I groan. "Green motherfucker?"

"Not a clue," I tell her. She giggles.

"151 and Creme de Menthe. Okay, I cheated, no-one knows that one. Martini?"

"Gin and dry vermouth."

"And?"

"Olive." She beams and nods. "Okay, easy one: What's icing?" I ask.

"Sweet stuff on a cake." Emma shoots me a quick wink and makes a round of the bar. I don't bother her when she's doing that, I've watched her and I see how much she has to remember and think about on a slow night like tonight, forget about a Friday or Saturday.

She usually has Thursday and Friday off, but she swapped shifts with Danny the bartender to to take me to the hospital on the 26th. The knob of bone on the side of my right ankle was broken by a bowling ball blow but there was nothing they could do about that, they gave me a cast thing to protect it and told me to give it six weeks. It still hurts but nothing like it did; I was able to roll a doubles game with two new friends on Monday and not injure myself again. She walks back over to me, putting that wonderful little wiggle in her walk she knows drives me crazy.

"Shooting the puck over the center line to the end of the ice when no-one on your team can possibly get it," she answered finally.

I wait. "On purpose," she adds. A few of the bar patrons clap for her. I smile and nod, and she treats me to that beautiful smile I love. "Grasshopper?"

"Creme de Menthe and creme de cacao?"

"And?"

I draw a blank. "White shoe polish," I tell her, shaking my head. Emma blows me a raspberry and sticks out her tongue.

"Cream," she tells me. I groan.

"Okay, Derf, what's in a Long Island?" she asks, using her pet name for me--Fred backward.

Easy. "Tequila, gin, light rum, vodka, Coke, lemon juice."

Emma applauds. "Yay!"

"What's this?" I ask, and I cross my wrists in front of my chest.

"I HATE hand signals!" Emma protests.

"I'll help ya," one of the bar patrons tells her.

"You tell her anything," I say, "I'm stealin' your next ten drinks."

"Never mind," the barfly tells Emma, and she sticks her tongue out at him. She walks over to me, the only one on this side of the bar.

"Getcha another?" she asks me. I nod, and she fills my glass with soda water. Her eyes, blue as sapphires, sparkle. "I dunno, tell me."

"Nope, you gotta guess, beautiful."

"Damn you Fred. Is it...a penalty shot?"

I'm impressed. "No, interference. Penalty shot is--" and I cross my wrists above my head.

"Oh, that was too close!"

"It was real close," I agree. "How did you know that was a penalty shot? I don't think I ever talked about that with you."

She shrugs.

"Do you know what a penalty shot is?" I ask her. She looks embarrassed and shakes her head no.

"Is that like a money shot?" she asks, and I chuckle.

"Tell me, tell me!" she says in a whiny little girl voice. I take her hand and kiss it.

"Okay, know what breakaway is?" She nods eagerly, and I have to smile; she's so intense about things she wants to know. Emma is a very, very smart girl. "If a player's on a breakaway and someone draws a penalty on him or checks him illegally, he gets a free shot on goal, just him against the goalie. That's a penalty shot."

She nods and her lips make an 'oh' shape with no sound. "So if I'm on a breakaway and you grab my ass and I get distracted and we start doing it on the ice, I get a penalty shot?"

"What does it matter?" I ask her. "We're both gonna score."

Emma laughs. "Fred, Jan called me before you came in, she asked us to roll with her and Jo again on Monday. Do you want to?"

I consider. Janice and Jo are a cute couple, two girls who love to bowl and cannot do it at all. "You know, Em," I tell her, "I like Janice and Jo. Sure, they suck, but they're fun to roll with. I'm okay with it if you are."

"I'm fine with it," Emma says with her fantastic smile. "I like 'em a lot too, even if Jo is a bit...uh, restrained?"

I nod; I know what she means.

"Jan's openly affectionate with her, and I know Jo loves Jan to pieces," Emma continues, "but she just, I dunno, she seems like she's afraid to be seen loving her, you know?"

I nod. "Jan is really open about her sexuality. Jo's just...not."

"We oughta teach 'em how to be easy with each other," Emma replies. "Like we are."

"We oughta teach 'em how to fuckin' roll, like we can," I say, and Emma tries to stifle laughter.

She looks around. "Whoops, be right back," she says. She makes her round of the bar and I sip my soda water. It used to be that I would show up and have a beer and Emma would have one only when I was there, but she's so paranoid about her figure I just drink soda water and she can join me in that. My mind wanders back...

I awaken to soft stroking on my hard dick. Not sure whether I'm dreaming or not, I let it continue for a while and I hear Emma's appreciative whimper. I open my eyes.

Emma sits next to me on the bed, her blue eyes sparkling and little smile playing on her lips. "I wondered who'd get up first, you or him," and she strokes again, maddeningly soft. "He won."

"He sure did, and so did I," I tell her, and I sit up. Emma's naked, sitting on the covers, her golden-copper hair aswirl in tangles above her beautiful triangular face. Her breasts hang heavy, her pink nipples hard and wrinkly with her excitement. I take one between my fingers and squeeze, very gently, and I hear her answering gasp.

"You're glad I'm awake, aren't you?" I ask her, smiling, and she nods.

"I am, Fred. I don't want to fuck you while you're asleep, what if you say...someone else's name?"

By 'someone', I know she means my ex-wife, or soon-to-be ex-wife, Carol. "Em, there's no-one else."

"There's...never mind."

I pull her close and hold her to me. "That part of my life is done, Emma. You are my wife now."

"Not 'til Halloween," she tells me. "Til then I'm just Emma Grossberger."

I lay down, pulling her on top of me. "Not 'just Emma Grossberger', you're Emma Duncan the Amazing Spectacular Bowling Nurse." She giggles, then looks serious again.

"Fred, she's just so beautiful--"

"She's nowhere near as beautiful as you are, and you know she's not a nice person." She'd told Carol that before, that she wasn't a nice person. Carol hadn't denied it. She couldn't. "I have everything I want right here in bed with me. And now I'm gonna fuck her silly."

Emma looks delighted. "Goody!" she cries, and feels along the edge of the bed for the new box of condoms. She rips one open and rolls it onto my loaded weapon, then straddles me, her breasts pressing against my chest and her hips--narrow enough to be accurately called 'beautiful' but wide enough to be accurately called 'fucking gorgeous'--circling, pressing her red-gold fur against my own black pubic hair and slipping my cock up and down her cleft.

"Fred..." she whispers in my ear, "...tell me you love only me?"

"I will love only you forever, Em." And I angle my hips back so I am right at her entrance and her eyes pop open. "Here, I'll show you," I say, and I feel myself begin to slide into her. She whimpers and presses against me, forcing me deeper into her wet tightness.

"Oh...yeah...my Derf." She wriggles her hips around me and my hands twine themselves into her bed-mussed hair. I pull just a little and I see goose bumps break out on her skin. She speeds up, plunging against me and I rock to meet her, and my hands drop to her hips, pulling her tight against me so she has to slide her mons across my pubic bone with each thrust. I keep her compressed against me while we move together, the external friction pleasing her as much as me, the internal friction maddening and tipping me rapidly over--

Emma groans loud and low and I feel her squeeze, and then she's crying my name out loud and I feel her spasming, one cry per spasm. I'm going to try something, I don't know if she'll like it but if she doesn't she'll forgive me--I pull out, rip off the condom and I explode onto her face, again and again, and Emma opens her mouth to take what I give her.

Spent, we collapse; I see my Emma has come all over her face and neck and she's smiling. "Fred, you're a fucking kinky bastard," she tells me. "I am so in love with you. And I'm silly, you fucked me silly."

The door opens and a couple walk in; they take a seat at a booth. "Now's your chance, Mr I-wanna-work-at-your-bar-Jerry," Emma tells me from the other side of the bar. I grab a pad and walk over.

"Hi, folks, what can I get for ya?"

The woman looks me up and down and slides her eyes over to her companion; he's looking at a menu, and she gives me a smile and a wink. "I'd like a daiquiri." She slides her eyes over again and sees her companion still engrossed in the menu. And you, she mouths at me. I ignore this.

"Anything else for you?"

"A...tossed salad, lowfat ranch."

"You got it. And you, sir?"

He looks up from the menu. "Martini, a cheeseburger, medium rare, onion and lettuce only, fries crispy, and...cheese sticks first."

I nod and write this down. "Would you like the salad out with the cheese sticks?" I ask the woman, and she smiles a little and looks me up and down again.

"No, with the cheeseburger, please," she replies, and she openly, suggestively licks her lips. I hear her companion clear his throat.

"Okay, that was mozzarella sticks out first, a cheeseburger, medium rare, onion and lettuce, crispy fries for you, sir." I turn to the woman. "And a tossed salad, lowfat ranch."

He ignores me. The woman nods.

"That's exactly right," she tells me with a smile.

"I'll be right back with those drinks, sir," I tell the man. He ignores me again, and I walk to the bar.

"Martini and a daiquiri," I tell Emma.

She grins and I fall in love with her again. "What's in a daiquiri, Fred?"

"Rum and daiquiri mix."

"He can be taught!" she says quietly and turns away to mix. I walk to the kitchen and drop off the food order for Sam the cook, who is sitting around looking bored.

"Mozz sticks first, salad out with the burger," I tell him. He gives me a thumbs up and I walk back out to the bar, where the efficient Emma has their drinks ready. I wink at her and bring them out to the couple.

"Martini," I tell the man, setting a cocktail napkin and the drink in front of him. "And a daiquiri." I set it the other drink down on a napkin. "Anything else you need?"

"This has an olive in it," the man says, his voice snide. "Did I order an olive?"

"No sir, they come standard," I tell him.

"Take this away." He pushes the drink away, too hard, and the glass tips over, spilling his drink down my leg. I catch the glass deftly as it rolls off the table and mop up with his cocktail napkin. He looks on with a tight little smirk.

"Sure, sorry about that," I tell him. "Would you like something else in it?"

"A prawn."

"I'm sorry, I don't believe we have them."

"You don't believe? Go find out."

I almost turn away, but I think I know what's up; he's seen his girl looking me over and now he's gonna be the Customer from Hell. "Yes sir. If we don't have them, would you like anything else?"

He glares at me. "I'll let you know."

I give him a friendly smile and start to head back to the bar.

"Excuse me," the woman says, and gets out of the booth. Her long coat hides her hand sliding up the back of my thigh to my ass and copping a feel. I stiffen, and she walks toward the restrooms.

"Be right back," I tell him, and walk to the bar.

Emma wrinkles her nose at the smell of gin. "Fred, you're supposed to be servin' 'em, not drinkin' 'em."

I show her the wet stain down the front of my leg. "He didn't want the olive; he wants one with a prawn."

She nods. "No prawns. We have onions, olives, peppers, lemon peel."

"Be right back." I walk over and tell him this.

"Lemon peel," he answers. I walk back and tell Emma, and she mixes a martini for him and whittles a strip of peel off a sliced lemon with a knife above the glass, then hangs the strip over the rim of the glass and sets it down on the bar. I reach for it and she takes my hand.

"Relax, Fred. You're doing fine."

We smile at each other and I know what she's gonna be doing later: me.

My phone rings. It's dark; I feel around on the floor for my pants pockets for my phone, pull it out, and answer, my eyes still closed.

"Fred..." Shit. Carol.

"Carol, it's the middle of the fuckin' night, what do you want?"

"Oh, Fred...I've been an idiot."

"So, that hasn't changed."

"I've been a real bitch to you, I know I have and now I have no-one." She sounds tearful, but I've gotten this game from her before.

"Maybe next time you'll know better than to be a bitch to your man."

"You're my man, Fred," she responds. I lay back in bed and sigh.

"No, Carol, Frank Caswell is your man. He left his wife for you, remember? You guys are both unfaithful, you're made for each other."

There's silence for a moment. "That hurts, Fred."

"Yep, hurt me too."

The crocodile tears start again. "I know I hurt you, and I'm so, so sorry--"

"Carol, what do you want?"

"If we can't be man and wife...can you treat me like I'm your wife? Just for a little while?"

"You mean sex?"

"I mean making love, Freddy, the way we used to--"

"Carol, you haven't made love in years."

"That's not true, it was every time, with you--"

"Leave me alone, Carol, I'm with Emma and I don't want you." I pause. "We're getting married."

"What? You're marrying that bar whore trash?"

"You want to watch what you call the woman I love."

"You don't love her, you love me, you know you do, you're just trying to make me jealous--"

"I don't care about you one way or the other anymore, Carol."

Beside me, Emma sits up and takes the phone from my hand. "Hi, Carol? This is Emma," she says in a low, fast, flat voice. "I never had anything against you, I never wanted to fight you even when you insisted, I never had a problem with you. Now I do. And if I catch you talking dirty to Fred again, if I even suspect you're within five hundred yards of him, I will put you in traction, and I will show up in your hospital room with a jar of fire ants. You have a nice night." She disconnects and I can feel her shaking next to me.

I put my arms around her and hold her close; she puts her head on my shoulder and whispers in my ear. "Fred, she makes me really...really mad."

"She's just trying to get me back, so she can say she didn't lose the game. She doesn't want me, she just doesn't want me to be happy with someone else."

"Well, I'm gonna make you happy to spite her." I hear tears in her voice.

"Don't do it for her, Em. Do it for us."

She sighs. "Fred, I want you to do something for me."

"Anything," I tell her.

"Lay me back and make me yours."

"With pleasure."

"Yes, with pleasure...make me yours with pleasure..."

And I lay her back and I kiss her soft skin, soft everywhere; kiss her cheek and I taste tears already drying, I kiss her neck and feel as well as hear her moan. I lick her nipples and I feel them stiffen and pucker; I suck one, then the other, gently because she is so sensitive. I feel her chest heave up to me, her hand on the back of my head as I suck her and my hand travels downward. I circle my fingers in her hair, feeling her shift as she spreads her thighs for me, hearing her low throaty moan as I slip a finger into her channel, find it already wet for me. I slip in another finger, she grasps me with her sex and draws a shuddering breath as I start a slow in-and-out motion.

"Fred...take me now, please?" she begs, and I feel myself throb, straining for her. I find the box of rubbers and slip one on in a hurry; she's already slipped a pillow under her ass, laid back and pulled her knees to her chest. "Hurry," she says in a pleading voice, and I position myself before her, stroking the insides of her thighs and feeling her tremble. I slip inside her, slowly, feeling her stretch for me, feeling her grip me in fingers of velvet, throbbing. I pull back and she moans; I press inside her and she cries out, her hands on her knees to keep them drawn up against her.

I change my angle, coming in from below, and her breaths becomes cries of pleasure as I glide across her G-spot with each thrust. I stroke inside her and press against her, deeper in her than ever, almost deeper than she can stand, and our lips meet; she kisses me frantically and moans as I thrust into her, faster now and she points her toes to the ceiling, and I remember she was in that position when we first made love.

I know it's time now, Emma is going to go off like a rocket and so am I.

"Emma--"

"Yes...yes Fred--"

"You're mine," I tell her, and I come inside her and she screams her pleasure to the bedroom walls.

I carry the cocktail to him and set it down with a dry napkin.

"Where's the olive?" He asks. I should have known.

"You asked for lemon peel."

"Don't tell me what I asked for when you obviously can't get it right." He pushes again, but this time I'm ready for him and I catch the glass before it tips.

"An olive," I repeat.

"Are you fucking deaf?" he asks me, and I physically restrain myself.

"No sir, one martini with olive, coming right up," I say loudly, and carry the drink back to the bar. I hear a bell; Sam's done with the mozz sticks. "Martini with Olive." Emma looks confused and I look over to the customer discreetly to see him watching me, grinning. I lower my voice. "Put some turpentine in it." Then I walk to the kitchen and get the sticks, bring them out to him with the fresh martini Emma's just made for him. I just know he's going to say he didn't order the mozz sticks.

"I didn't order these," he says.

"I read your order back to you, sir," I say in a flat voice.

"Obviously you didn't read it right. Get rid of these."

I check his ticket. "You wanted a cheeseburger, medium rare--"

"Medium WELL, you idiot," he says loudly. I bite my tongue and taste blood.

"Sorry, medium WELL, lettuce, onion, crispy fries, tossed salad for the lady."

He ignores me.

"Was that correct, sir?" I ask him loudly. "Cheeseburger, medium well, onion, lettuce, crispy fries, tossed salad for the lady?"

"Yeah, whatever. Fuck off."

"Anything you say, sir," I tell him, and Emma appears at my side.

"Is there a problem?"

I watch this guy's eyes slide all over my fiancée. "Well, hello there," he says in a greasy voice.

Emma smiles at him, not her usual smile; it doesn't touch her eyes. "Hi, I've made the same drink for you three times and I wondered if there was something we could do to make it better for you."