T F W B C

© 2009 by Penelope Street

Want to know what it's like to be the chubby, spectacled, second-chair trombone player with a unibrow? I can name that tune in two words: No dates. That's right, none. No dances or proms or even a movie. No holding hands, let alone a kiss. Not one boy from high school ever even pretended to be interested in me.

I had some hope college might be different, but a year and a half later, the only ones ever to direct the word "love" at me were members of my family. I made a few new friends, but I can't say I was close to any of them. They were more like acquaintances. When I lived in a dorm, some of the girls even had one of those sex toy parties and didn't even invite me. Not that I needed any more toys.

But it still hurt to be left out and maybe that's one of the reasons I started looking into an apartment for the next semester. Of course, there was no way I could afford one without a roommate, so that's where my search started.

Being a college town, there was no shortage of online ads, and I was overwhelmed, even after narrowing my search to non-smoking females in my age group. I made list after list, but couldn't decide which to call first. That all changed when I read one particular ad. It started with the usual; where, when available, and how much, all within my search criteria, but it was the last line that caught my attention:

Must be at least size sixteen.

My brow shrouded my eyes while I tried to imagine why anyone would put such a restriction on a roommate. After staring for a few minutes, I decided I could at least find out why. I clicked the on-line link and responded that I met the qualifications and was interested to learn more. I was still perusing other possibilities when the chime announced I had an incoming message, which was:

Hi Becky! I just got your note about the room. Can we chat about it over coffee? Let me know! Karen.

By this time, I had some concerns she might be a lesbian seeking more than a roomie, or maybe something worse I couldn't even imagine, but I couldn't see any harm in meeting her for coffee.

Karen turned out to be a young brunette who also met the physical qualifications expressed in her ad. We chatted about the usual things; our family, our majors, part-time jobs and hobbies. By the time I finished my coffee I was convinced she had to be a girl's girl, because everything else about her seemed too good to be true. When she asked if I had another question, I couldn't wait any longer.

"Just one," I said. "Are you a lesbian?"

"Lord no!" She leaned back and tilted her head. "Are you?"

I shook my head. "No."

She laughed and leaned back toward me. "I'm glad you asked though, because I have a few boyfriends and I really must stress this is a private part of my life."

"Oh," I said with a swallow. "A few?"

She nodded. "Yes. I'm usually out several evenings per week and most Sunday afternoons too. And if I bring a young man home, I hope it won't be too much to ask for you to make yourself scarce?"

"You mean leave the apartment?"

"Not necessarily," she said with a shrug. "But maybe just stay in your room until we retire to mine." She paused to grin. "Which won't be long."

My eyelids fluttered in the face of her frankness. "I, uh, guess that won't be a problem. And I didn't mean to pry into your personal life, I was just curious why you wanted a roommate at least size sixteen?"

Karen laughed again. "Oh, that? Why didn't you just ask? I just wanted someone to go clothes shopping with!"

I'm sure I must have flushed ten shades of red. "I'm sorry," I offered. "I feel really stupid."

"It's okay! I like honesty. Hope you do too. What are you anyway, a twenty-two?"

My jaw and brow dropped in unison. Was this the honesty I was supposed to like? "No! Eighteen."

Karen grimaced and shook her head. "We so need to get you into some real clothes. Ones that fit."

"Oh, Please!" I said, shaking my head. "I can never find anything that fits."

"Yes you can! Even if you can't quite find it on the rack, anything can be tailored. You just have to embrace the quest." Her eyes brightened. "I know! Why don't we go shopping now? What's your favorite?"

I shrugged. "I usually just go to Target."

"Gawd!" She rolled her eyes. "That handful of racks in the back corner? Tell me you're not serious!"

So we went shopping. And not at Target. She even talked me into buying a thong because, as she put it, "The bigger the butt, the bigger the panty line."

~ ~ ~

I moved in with Karen the following week. Any lingering doubts I had about her orientation were laid to rest by the series of young men who called for her.

When Valentine's Day arrived and again I didn't get one, jealousy got the better of me and I asked Karen how she met so many men.

She shook her head, "I wish I could tell you just now, but I just can't. The instant I can, I will, but I'm afraid you'll have to allow me this one little secret until then. Okay?"

Little secret? How could she think such a concealment could be little, let alone okay? I hoped she hadn't seen the tears form in the corners of my eyes when I turned and marched into my room. It was one thing for a clique of skinny dorm rats to not invite me to their precious fuckerware party, but this was something else entirely.

I was half-tempted to follow her on Sunday just to see where she went, but she had implicitly trusted me not to and I had promised to respect her privacy. Plus she'd all but said there would be a time when she could tell me. I'd waited years for my first Valentine, why not wait a little longer?

Spring came and went in the manner seasons do. The pressure of finals was enough that I managed to find something else to dwell on other than my non-existent love life.

On the first Saturday after the semester ended, I awoke to the smell of bacon and found Karen in our little kitchen flipping eggs and chatting on her cell.

"Perfect timing," she said, looking at me and closing the phone. "In more ways than one."

"What?"

"Have a seat and I'll tell you."

I slid into a chair while my roommate carried the griddle to our table. "That was the call I've been waiting for since we met. I was hoping it'd be sooner, but I knew there'd be at least one opening at the end of the semester. There always is."

My head leaned to one side. "What are you talking about?"

"Where I go every Sunday." She slid into her chair and scooped an egg onto her plate. "Eat up. They get cold quick."

"What about Sunday?" I asked, reaching for my egg and two strips of bacon too, just so she wouldn't have any additional excuse to get sidetracked.

"I'm in this club, you see" she began, pausing for a bite. "But it's small and we like to keep it that way, so someone has to leave before someone else can join." She flashed a wide smile and looked my way. "And you're finally in!"

My brow assumed its customary position low over my eyes. "I am?"

"Well, not officially of course, but you're as good as. I've been singing your praises for months and you've been at the top of our prospect list since spring break. Mrs. Humphrey, she's like the president of the club, wants to see you tomorrow before our meeting at her house, if you can make it."

I shook my head, trying to make sense of it all. "What kind of club?"

"Well, you've probably guessed it has to do with meeting men, haven't you? But, really, I'm not even supposed to tell you even that. Mrs. Humphrey will explain everything. I'm just so thrilled it doesn't have to be a secret between us anymore. You'll understand. I just know you will." She motioned to the untouched egg on my plate. "Now eat up, I didn't cook breakfast just to have you watch it get cold."

~ ~ ~

That Sunday I followed Karen to Mrs. Humphrey's house, if you could call it that- I would have labeled it a mansion. After polite introductions, the lady and I retired to a library where she asked most of the usual questions, like where I was born, did I have any siblings, and what was my major.

Then, without the slightest bit of inflection, she asked, "Do you enjoy sex?"

My eyes sprang wide. "I, uh," I began, trying to think of an honest answer besides admitting I did not know.

"Okay." Mrs. Humphrey's head rocked in a slow bob. "Let me phrase it a different way. Do you like men?"

I nodded my enthusiasm. "Yes!"

She smiled. "There's a perception in our society that sex is for skinny girls." Her smile broadened and she leaned towards me. "Well, that's bullshit. The average woman is ten sizes larger than the typical model. Being average doesn't mean you're fat- it just means you're a true woman. That's one reason our current members call their group the True Friends With Benefits Club, the T.F.W.B.C. for short."

Though I heard all her words, one ricocheted about my psyche:

fat

. It triggered all manner of unpleasant memories, from 'No Fat Chicks' bumper stickers to my little brother's merciless singing, "Joy to the world, the lard has come."

"So that's what our little club is about," Mrs. Humphrey continued, "not letting arbitrary physical standards come between young ladies and the joyful passion that should be part of everyone's life." With that, she leaned back in her chair and folded her fingers across her lap.

Within a few seconds I began to feel the weight of her stare and allowed my own eyes to wander. My mind wandered too and I granted myself a single deep breath to steady my nerves before I forced my attention back to her face. "Can you tell me a little more about your club?"

"Like what?"

I shrugged. "Like how do you enjoy these, uh, passions?"

Her lips swelled in a close-lipped smile before parting. "The same way men and women have for, well, however long there have been men and women."

My throat flexed through a dry swallow. "You're not, like, a madam, are you?"

"Oh, child!" Her head fell back and she sent a laugh skyward. "No," she whispered, bringing her gaze back to me. "Nothing like that. You've heard of friends with benefits, haven't you?"

I shrugged and shook my head.

"Really? Well, that can be both good and bad. Friends with benefits refers to a situation where friends engage in sexual activity without any monogamous commitment or pretenses of long term relationships."

My eyelids burst wide.

"Yes," she said. "That's what our club is about."

"And you want me to join?"

She nodded. "Only if you want to, naturally. Of course, all our members would have to give their approval, but after meeting you in person, I'm sure that'll be just a formality."

Again, I heard all of her words, but felt one of them.

Approval

. My eyes fell to the floor. "I see."

"No," Mrs. Humphrey insisted. "I don't think you do. You still don't imagine a man can want you for your body, do you?"

My eyes shot to my tummy and then to her face. "I don't know."

"I do!" she said, all but leaping from her chair. "Well-meaning friends have probably told you about inner beauty so many times you don't imagine you have any other kind." She shook her head and sighed. "But nothing I say will convince you. It'll take a young man to do that. Perhaps several, but once they do, you'll wonder why you ever doubted."

She came to the couch and slid onto the cushion next to me. "Our club works like this. Every Sunday we have a little party. Nothing fancy, snacks and pop. Mostly we visit, maybe play some cards. We plan it when a sporting event is on." She paused to smile. "For the men if they get tired of cards and chatting. After all, they are men."

We shared a grin and a giggle before she continued, "Aside from staying in touch, appearing at the party says you're available for dating that week, but the boys aren't allowed to ask you out directly." Her eyes dropped and she chewed her lower lip for a breath or two. "You don't need to worry about the exact procedure, all a girl really needs to do is decide if she'd like one or two dates during the week, though I can't promise you'll always get two. We use a magnetic whiteboard for that and also for you to indicate which days are best for you."

Did she just say I'd for sure get one?

The corners of my mouth bounced upward at the prospect.

"A day or two after the party," she said, "a boy will call you and ask you out. Where and when you go out is up to the both of you- however you have to go Dutch. It's important that there be no appearance that the man is paying for something later. You've heard of the third date rule, right?"

"Sure," I said with a nod.

"Well, our club has a first date rule."

That single eyebrow leapt into my forehead as I inhaled a sharp gasp.

"That's right, every date ends with sex, and we're not talking petting. So if that's not what you want, then this club isn't for you."

As if my body thought I needed a hint, my thighs inched toward the sudden tingling between them. "What if it turns out I really like just one boy, you know?"

"And you want to date him only?"

I nodded.

"If a couple wants to become exclusive, that's fine- but you both have to drop out of the club. If fact, that's the way many members leave the club. Speaking of exclusive, you do understand you aren't allowed to see any men outside of the club?"

I nodded again. "Of course."

"Also, I hope it goes without saying that we apply the same physical standards to the young men in our club."

My head fell to one side.

"The men are average too," she said with a grin. "I'm talking big noses and curves, zits and moles and tattoos. Maybe an attempt at a mustache. Just real young men, like you're a real young woman. I trust that's not a problem?"

My consciousness visited each of the young men that had called on Karen. None of them would ever grace a magazine cover, yet with each recollection, my smile broadened. "Not a problem!" I concluded.

"You should go home and sleep on it," Mrs. Humphrey said. "No point in going over all the little rules until you're sure. If you decide you are, your first party will also be something of an interview process. You need to decide if all the boys meet with your approval, and, of course, they have to make the same decision about you. I'm afraid if any of them doesn't want you in the club, then we can't accept you."

My quivering lower lip fell along with my hopes.

"New girls are always popular with the young men," she continued. "I can almost assure you that you'll be approved, I just can't quite promise. I hope you understand."

I brought my dangling lower lip upward just enough to chew it. "So has it ever happened before, that a girl didn't get in?"

She nodded. "It's happened a few times over the years, for both men and women, but I'm confident you have nothing to worry about. Now, why don't you go home and think about it? And I'll give you the address to the clinic where you can schedule your STD test, if you decide you're interested."

On the way to my car, I wondered if there'd be a date on my test that showed how little time I'd needed to make my decision.

~ ~ ~

The party at Mrs. Humphrey's mansion was pretty much what she said it would be, the boys watching some car race and the girls chatting. Our conversation centered on the three F's: Food, fashion, and sex. Within a matter of a dozen minutes, the topic went from whether Avenue was better than Lane Bryant to fellatio techniques to the best marinade for salmon. No one, except perhaps me, seemed to think this was the least bit strange. If physical intimacy was the most personal act imaginable to the other girls, you wouldn't have known it- they were totally willing to share anything.

While I tried to keep my attention on the conversations, I couldn't help but glance at the young men in the next room. To my pleasant surprise, there were always multiple pairs of eyes looking back. I'm not sure I can put into words how it felt to have men staring at me

that

way. Not looking me in the eye. Not wanting me for my mind. Outright ogling. I wondered if they talked about me in hushed tones when I wasn't looking. I sure hoped they were. Little more than a week earlier, I had wondered if any boy would ever want me. Now it seemed at least a dozen did!

Before I knew it, I was standing before the whiteboard with Karen by my side. I put my first token on Friday, and the second to the side, indicating I was only interested in one date this week.

"Please," Karen said, moving my second token to Tuesday. "You know you want two."

"Probably," I admitted with a sheepish grin. "I just didn't want to look greedy."

"Hey, it's okay to be greedy," she said. "Besides, the boys will all be so disappointed if you say just one. They'll wonder if you don't like them."

"Really?"

"Never underestimate how fragile the male ego can be," she replied. "Makes an egg shell look like granite."

I shared her laugh. "Aren't the other girls going to be jealous of me getting all the attention?"

"Probably. I know I am."

"What?!" I half-gasped, half-whispered.

"Chill," she said. "We may be jealous, but we remember what it's like to be the hottest babe at the party. Enjoy it."

Hottest babe, me? I couldn't quite believe it yet, but enjoy it I certainly could.

My cell phone chimed before I got home. Mrs. Humphrey had been correct, I needn't have worried- I was in. That anxiety over, I soon found another: I had essentially agreed to have my first sexual experience, still the most personal act imaginable to me, with a complete stranger.

~ ~ ~

"You should probably start waxing." announced Karen the instant we arrived home.

My eyes tried to cross and focus my brow. "Really?"

"Yes," Karen laughed. "But not your eyebrows."

"Then what?" My head leaned to one side, then that brow rose, taking my eyelids with it. "Oh, you mean..."

"Of course!"

"But why?"

"Have you ever felt a burning desire to lick hair?"

I wrinkled my nose. "Okay. I see your point."

So to make a long story short, Karen helped me wax. And it hurt, of course. There in the bath, in those moments after we finished, I felt I could ask her just about anything. So I did.

"What was your first time like?"

Karen leaned her head to one side. "Waxing?"

"No," I giggled. "With a boy."

"Oh," she said. "Pretty much same as yours will be. It was when I joined the club."

My eyes widened. "So you know?"

"Know what?"

"That, uh, it'll be my first time?"

She smiled. "Don't worry about it. Not like it's a badge of shame or anything. I think every college virgin imagines she's the only one."

I smiled back. "So what's it like? Sex, I mean. And doing it with a stranger. It just seems so personal. And where's the romance?"

Karen giggled. "Kinda bummed it won't be a wedding-night consummation in some French chateau with the love of your life?"

"How'd you know?"

"I think we all had that fantasy." She paused to look at the ceiling and nod before turning her eyes back to me. "I know it's traumatic, really, I do. But don't get too caught up in thinking you have to be in love to enjoy it. Maybe that helps, but pure, old-fashioned lust doesn't get near the credit it deserves. You'll see."

~ ~ ~

"Who'd you get?" Karen asked the instant I'd closed my cell phone.

"Donald," I replied.

"Shut up! You lucky bitch!"

My eyes wandered to one side and I allowed myself a swallow before admitting the truth. "I'm kinda bad with names. Which one's Donald?"

"Tall. Kinda skinny, but has a nice ass. Big round glasses. Mousy brown hair."

With a nod, I recalled his face. "So why am I a lucky bitch?"

"You can tell when a guy likes something, and he definitely does."

"What does he like?"

"Us," she said with a smile. "You know that T-shirt of mine that has 'E=mc2' on it?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"I bought it just for Donald. He totally thinks Einstein was like god."