How would I describe Beth?
First, she's one of the funniest human beings I've ever met. I mean
stand-up comedian
funny. Her wit slices like a razor blade. Being part of her hilarious diatribes is like serotonin being injected straight into the cerebral cortex. But get on her bad side? Watch out. I've seen her reduce grown men to quivering piles of emasculated goo.
Next, Beth is smart. Scary smart. She's a chemical engineer working in a local lab doing disease prevention research. Real work. The kind that actually helps people.
And Beth is hot. Not
supermodel
hot. Not
college-sophomore-volleyball-player
hot. No, hot in ways I think are way better.
Beth has long, straight, dark brown hair. She wears glasses--the prescription mild enough her lovely brown eyes shine through the lenses of her hip frames. She has an hourglass figure, fleshy in all the best ways. She's fit, but everything still kind of... jiggles. Beth is pretty in an every-gal sort of way: straight-angled nose, smallish mouth with well-defined lips. Average height, maybe around five-seven, if I had to guess for a raffle.
I got to know Beth through a mutual friend--one of those friend-of-a-friend situations where we kept ending up at the same gatherings.
Recently I learned that Beth is getting a divorce. From what I've heard, there wasn't any dramatic reason. It just stopped working. I've met her soon-to-be ex a few times. Not always with Beth at these gatherings, which, you know--warning sign. I never understood how they ended up together. He's brooding and serious. Handsome, sure. But I've seen Beth making people literally double over laughing while he would just stand there with a placid, exasperated smile.
Beth tends to find me at parties. I think she sees me as some kind of pet project. I'm pretty introverted, so social stuff isn't easy. My therapist says I need to get out more, so I drag myself to these things, working out conversation starters in the car. Once, I had to circle the block ten times, making topic lists, before I felt confident enough to go in.
Beth will catch me in the kitchen taking way too long to look for a drink. Or in a corner scrolling on my phone. Or nodding politely while someone monologues.
It was during one of those moments that Beth came over and pulled me away, saying she needed my help. Once we got to the next room, she said, "You're welcome."
"I was okay," I protested.
"You looked like you were about to commit suicide."
"I think you're exaggerating."
Beth has an uncanny ability to break me out of my shell. Get me to talk about real stuff. Nothing profound--just honest. I like that about her. She's fascinated that I'm in the arts, a profession so radically different from hers. And she likes my dry humor. So there's that.
Today I'm driving from A to B when I pass by Beth's house.
She's in the front yard, negotiating a large couch that's just sitting there on the grass. I don't even think. I pull over, park, hit the stop button, and get out. I click the key fob over my shoulder and hear the locks chirp.
"You need help?" I shout from the street.
Beth looks over. Doesn't say hi. Just drops her shoulders and says, "Would you? That'd be awesome."
She's standing beside the couch, fists on hips, elbows out. Sweatpants and a T-shirt. Sneakers, no socks.
"Beth, why is there a couch on your lawn?"
"Andy."
Her husband.
"What happened?"
"I told him the couch was mine and I wanted it back. Woke up this morning and found he'd left it here overnight."
"I see."
"Can't blame the guy. He's pissed."
"About the divorce?"
"Oh no," she says. "About me getting the house."
"Ah."
We stare at the couch for a beat.
"Well," I say, breaking the silence, "how about I get this end?"
Beth drops her shoulders dramatically, squats, and grabs the opposite side. I follow her lead.
"Don't look at my tits," she says. "Didn't have time to throw on a bra."
I do my best and fail.
"I said don't look at my tits!"
"You brought them up!"
Beth sighs, theatrical.
"They
are
great," I say, trying to lighten the mood.
"Not the time!"
We start the awkward shuffle toward the short steps leading to her front door. Beth takes a tentative step onto the first stair.
"If you lift your end a little more, that'll shift some weight to me. Might help," I say.
"'Kay."
She climbs the steps one at a time. I tighten my grip. The couch is heavier than it looks.
Now she's on the narrow porch, backing toward the door.
"We should spin it on its side," I suggest. "So it's narrow enough to squeeze through."
Beth stops. Tilts her head. Shoots me an exasperated look.
"Dude, if you mansplain one more time, I'm gonna hit you."
"Sorry!"
We get the couch inside. Rotate it too many times. Move forward, backward. At one point feeling like we're giving it a tour of the first floor.
"I thought engineers had great spatial sense," I say.
"I thought artists knew when to shut up."
Eventually, we get the couch into the living room and into the exact spot, faded outline on the rug giving it away.
We stay there a moment, breathing hard, both sweating.
Beth claps her hands twice in a done-and-done gesture, then glances my way.
"Beer?"
"God, yes."
Cut to us in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. We sip our beers in rhythm, almost like a choreographed routine.
I turn to her.
"How you doing?"
She knows what I mean. Shrugs. "Oh, you know."
"Yeah." I pause. "Well, I
don't
know, actually, never having been married. But I can imagine."
Beth perks up. Gives me a playful elbow to the ribs.
"How come I never see you with some sexy girl at your side?" she asks. Then, quickly: "Or fine guy--I don't judge."
I wave it off. "I'm straight--not that it matters. Just haven't had much luck lately."
Beth looks relieved. Then stares at me, straight into my core.
"I find that surprising," she says.
"Please don't patronize," I say, pretending to be offended.
"I'm not!" she laughs. She looks at me with a crooked, knowing smile. "Dude, you're hot."
I stare at her, genuinely surprised.
"Hey--thanks for your help," Beth says, leaning in to kiss my cheek. She pulls back, but doesn't move far.
I can smell her. That spectacular scent, now mixed with a faint trace of sweat. Her eyes lock on mine. I get caught in them.
Beth leans in again and kisses me on the mouth. It starts as a long-ish romantic kiss, but it doesn't take long for us to get serious. We start kissing harder, lots of tongue.
Beth turns so she can properly wrap her arms around me. She pulls close and I can feel her braless breasts push against my chest. Nipples harden. I pull her in, hands sliding up her back.
We lose track of how long we've been going. Pull apart, gasping.
