Friday 15

By GeorgeAnderson, based on characters and a sketch by stev2244. Thanks to stev2244 for letting me use his ideas. Thanks to BlackRandl1958 for beta-reading, copy-editing, encouragement, and friendship. She's great at all of it. Thanks to both of them for liking the result: it means a lot to me.

This story contains no lurid sex scenes, no Navy SEALs or Army Rangers, and no dwarf-tossing or cow-tipping. It is not a morality tale. It's just a story about some fallible humans trying to build lives in the midst of what Life throws at them. There is love. You have been warned.

*****

Friday. Bleccch.

I hated the day of the week that everyone else seemed to live for. By mid-afternoon, no one was doing any work. That was okay; we were always far enough ahead that it didn't matter. The problem was that everyone was chattering away about where they were going that night, who they were going with, and what they were going to do to him or her afterward. I put my earbuds in, turned them up loud, and concentrated on the code review I was doing.

It's not as if I didn't enjoy going out and having fun any more. I was only 25, for goodness' sake, as was my wife, Lena. So why did my Friday's entertainment consist of mediocre beer, bad television, and my right hand? Three simple words: Girls' Night Out. The second scariest set of words in the English language, right behind "we need to talk."

Lena's Girls' Nights Out were with her two best friends from work, Chrissy and Anna. Chrissy's husband Bill, Anna's fiancé Todd, and I were left to make the best of it. They seemed to be nice enough guys, I guess, and we occasionally got together as couples, but those girls were joined at the hip. If I hadn't been so sure Lena loved me, I'd have worried that Chrissy and Anna meant more to her than I did. It got so bad that sometimes I even invited Bill and Todd over on Friday nights, but the last few times I called they were unavailable. So it's back to solitary snacks and TV for me.

Friday. Bleccch.

It wasn't always like that. I used to look forward to Friday just like everyone else, even before an otherwise unremarkable Friday turned into the best day of my life.

I was newly hired at the web design and application company for which I still work. I had gone with a couple of other guys to the Gables, which had good food, reasonable prices (that's important when you're 22), and a dance floor and live band, which we hoped would lead to some female companionship. I was navigating from the restroom back to our table when I literally ran into a girl. I helped her back to her feet as we both apologized profusely. There was a nervous moment when we just stared at each other.

There wasn't much to her; I'm pretty average at six feet and she didn't even reach my shoulder. I looked down into her eyes; they seemed to shine in the semi-darkness of the restaurant. Deep blue, they were, and I was dazzled. Then she smiled, and I was lost. I felt like I could spend the rest of my life gazing into those eyes, and waiting for that smile. Maybe that's a cliché, but it had never happened to me before. It was all brand new. I stared at her as if she were some kind of ghostly apparition, which was rather silly considering how hard we had cannoned into each other.

"Dance with me, please." She spoke! To me! Don't get me wrong, I'm no troll, but this girl was way out of my league. I wasn't completely stupid, though, so off we went to trip the light fantastic. On the way, we became Lena and Jason, which was much better than "you."

Lena wasn't into dirty dancing, nor was she wearing sexy club gear. No matter, I wouldn't have traded her for anyone I'd ever met, seen, or even imagined. Her beautiful body moved with style and grace, and she knew how to dance with someone, not just move about in the same vicinity. She was exquisite, and she was with me!

We were enjoying our first slow number together when I was tapped (no, more like pounded) on the shoulder. A burly guy with an unpleasant facial expression wanted to cut in. Lena turned away from him, hiding her face in my chest. Her body language was pretty plain, so I made an apologetic gesture in the guy's direction, and turned back to Lena. He pounded my shoulder again, harder. He was about to say something when an even burlier guy loomed behind him, tapped him lightly on the shoulder, and steered him off the dance floor. I don't know whether he was a bouncer or a buddy; all I cared about was that I was still dancing with Lena.

I know, you want to hear about how I took her home and rocked her world until the sun came up. It didn't happen. I walked her to her car in the parking lot, got a kiss on the cheek and her phone number, and that was that, for that night, anyway.

I'm still not sure what Lena saw in me. At first, I was just a guy to be with. It seems the burly guy at the restaurant was an ex of hers who didn't want to remain an ex. That was fine with me: anything that resulted in my spending time with Lena was fine with me.

I'm a pretty simple guy. I'm good at one thing: code. Everything else about me is boringly average: I had two parents, one brother, one sister, one job, a couple of serious girl friends and a few not-so-serious ones through high school and University. I wasn't totally shallow, at least I hoped not, but I knew I was nobody's Deep Thinker of the Month.

Lena was a different story. She worked with a local firm as an interior designer. That had been her major, with minors in studio art and literature. She'd done it all in four years, summa cum laude at that. I soon discovered, though, that this beautiful, brilliant girl had no self-confidence whatever. Her need for approval was almost pitiful. She would back down from an opinion or decision if I even asked a question about it. Of course this had left her vulnerable to jerks of the male persuasion. I was almost ashamed to be a guy as she related some of her experiences. No wonder she wanted me to take it slow with her!

I wanted to know about her past. Heck, I wanted to know everything about her, but she resisted me. I could see there was pain there, and didn't push her. It took three months or so before she trusted me enough to open up to me. She said no one else knew the whole story. No one else had wanted to know it. I almost cried at the pain in her voice when she said that. I put my arm around her as we sat on the sofa; she snuggled her face into my shirt, then haltingly, she began. This is her story as I remember it; I won't attempt to reproduce the way she struggled as she tried to get it out.

Lena's parents were immigrants who had met in Boston. Her mother was Czech; as a young girl, she had seen the brutal repression of the Prague Spring. Her father had escaped from East Germany four years before the Berlin Wall finally fell. Their demeanor and their outlook on life reflected the grimness of their backgrounds. There was little that was light or happy in either of them. For all that, their love for each other was deep and strong, and their little Lena was the light of their lives. They didn't have much, but everything they had was lavished on their little girl.

Lena was only two when her father was killed in an industrial accident. There were rumors of safety violations at the plant, but the company and their lawyers managed to avoid investigation - and avoid paying anything to Lena's mother. The company-paid life insurance policy paid her six months' worth of his salary, which she managed to live on for almost a year, but that was it.

Lena's mother had no job training or skills, but she parlayed her willingness to work hard and her ability to make almost anything spotlessly clean into a night job as a janitor. When that didn't provide enough income, she took on private house cleaning jobs during the day. Lena hardly ever saw her except on weekends. Her manner toward her little girl changed as well. Lena, too, was required to work hard, to be the best at whatever she did, even at an early age. There were no excuses. Life was hard and intolerant, and demanded perfection. Lena started school, and excelled. In addition to her natural aptitude for learning, she had inherited both her parents' work ethic. Still, she could never please her mother. Any praise she received was tempered by criticism. First place in her class was good, yes, but that math score needed to be higher next semester. They had no money for extracurricular activities, so there were no dance or music lessons. She had no social life: she was always studying or working.

Boys noticed her early on. Her beauty made that inevitable. They sensed her insecurity, and crowded around her to take advantage of it. She was bullied mercilessly. She became solitary, retreating to the classroom and the library, broadening and deepening her already impressive academic skills.

I'm sure it was with the idea of protecting her, that Lena's mother told her a series of blood-curdling horror stories about men and sex. The tactic may have protected her from disease and pregnancy, but left deep scars on the sensitive girl's soul, and an abiding fear of physical or emotional intimacy.

Lena earned a full ride scholarship to our state University and used it to the fullest, digging into the many subjects that interested her like a starving girl at a smorgasbord. Being away from her mother allowed her to experience some social life, and during her first year she had sex with three or four guys. It was so horrible for Lena that it reinforced everything her mother had said about sex. Since that disastrous experience, no man had even come close to bedding her. The burly ex from the night we met had heard a couple of days before that he wouldn't be getting lucky, and did not take his failed expectations well.

I don't know how long we sat there, Lena crying into my shirt as I held her, my tears falling into her hair. I do know I made a promise that night. As long as Lena would let me stay in her life, I would do everything I could to undo the damage from her childhood. I wanted to see this girl free to soar; if that meant she soared beyond me, so be it. That was how I first knew I truly loved her.

I was on a mission now. No, not that mission. Of course I wanted to have sex with her: anyone would. She was by far the most beautiful woman I'd ever met. My mission was to undo every "not good enough" that her mother had planted in her. I was still very conscious that she was far out of my league, but pouring encouragement and validation into her was like watering a plant in the desert and watching it bloom. I could see her growing more confident week by week, and I fell deeper and deeper in love with her.

We talked about books. I'd never talked about books with a girl before. She taught me what I'd missed by not paying attention in English class. Somehow learning literature from her was different than getting it from old Mrs. Offherrocker, if you can believe it. It was great for both of us. My mental horizons expanded along with her confidence, and the sharing drew us closer.

We talked about Lena's work. (I was glad enough to leave mine at the office door.) Clients were beginning to ask for her by name, and she hadn't even worked there for a year. One evening she had to work late finishing a layout. Rather than cancel our date, I joined her at her office. Most of her work was done on the computer, but for some larger drawings like the one she was working on that evening, she preferred pen and ink at the big easel. I watched her work, producing drawings that were accurate to the millimeter, but had an artistic flair that was all her own. She was concentrated completely on her work, arms and hands moving rapidly and surely at the command of her mind and vision. She was the art, as well as the artist. I must have disturbed her with some small noise; she looked over at me and saw tears in my eyes.

"Jason, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Lena. It's you, it's the work, it's the way you move, the way you concentrate... it's indescribable beauty, Lena. I never imagined anything this beautiful before I met you."

We went out, too, to celebrate her accomplishments at work, or my finally understanding King Lear. (It really wasn't that hard once you got the language in your ear. We had a great time declaiming it to one another.) Neither of us was much of a dancer, but neither of us took it too seriously, and we enjoyed trying together. Of course, Lena was hit on. I wouldn't have minded her dancing with other men, as long as they behaved themselves and weren't too good looking, but Lena just wasn't interested. At first, she shrank against me for protection, as she had on the night we met. As time went on, though, she would simply give the man a sweet little smile, shake her head 'no,' and gaze into my eyes. I felt like the king of the world when she did that.

To make a long story short, I met her mother, I asked her to marry me, she said yes, and we became husband and wife. We didn't have sex until we were engaged, and it was slow and tentative in the beginning. I think the first two or three times, I only did oral on her. I remember her first climax: I worried a little that I wouldn't get my tongue back, she clamped down so hard. I don't think she knew her own strength. Afterward, we lay quietly, holding each other close.

"Jason, what do you call what we just did?" Wait, what? I explained as best I could.

"Well, you can call it cunnilingus, oral sex, eating pussy, dining at the Y,..."

"You mean this was really sex?"

"Um, Bill Clinton wouldn't think so, but most other people would. Why?"

"Then if this was sex, what was it those other guys did to me? Why did it hurt, and make me feel so dirty afterward? That was the most exciting and wonderful thing I've ever felt, and now I just feel safe and warm, and so secure, and not dirty at all..."

I won't even try to describe the honeymoon.

After we married, Lena continued to advance in her job, becoming more sure of herself, and even more attractive, especially to men. This did nothing to allay my fears that she would wake up one morning and realize she could do a lot better than me, and I would be history. Things came to a head one night when she called to tell me she would be taking a (male) client out to dinner, and would be home by 8:00. This wasn't unusual: she knew her stuff, and represented the firm professionally and well. When she wasn't home after 10:00, I called her cell, and went straight to voice mail. She finally appeared after 11:00, looking disheveled. I was furious, she was furious right back, and I don't remember a single thing that either of us said, but I slept on the couch that night. It was our first serious fight; I don't think either of us got any sleep.

The next morning, we were falling all over ourselves to explain to each other. It turned out the design for this client had to be completely revamped that night, or the contract would be lost. Lena had called in another designer to help, and they and the client had stayed at the office. They never did get dinner, and she didn't call because her phone was dead. Then she dragged herself in the door, hungry and dog-tired after a tense 14-hour day of work, only to have me shout at her. No wonder she was upset.

"I know I was late, and I should have called, and I'm sorry, Jason. What I don't understand is why you got so upset? You've never shouted at me before, and it scared me. You know I would never even think of cheating on you."

"I'm sorry for shouting, Lena, but..." I stammered to a halt and turned away from her, my head in my hands. I didn't know how to explain myself, or even if I should.

"But what, Jason? What's wrong?" Bless her heart: she was sincerely concerned, her anger forgotten. That gave me courage to stammer out the feelings I'd always had, but never shared with her.

"Lena, I'm nothing special. I'm average. I'm just some guy. You're brilliant, you're gifted, you're amazingly beautiful, you're totally out of my league. You could have any man you wanted. I'm afraid that someday, you'll see some great-looking guy and think, 'What am I doing tied to this Jason guy, when I could have him?' I was afraid yesterday was that day, and I'd lost you."

Lena looked me in the eye, a serious expression on her face.

"I think I understand what you're saying, Jason. It's a surprise to me, because I've never thought of you that way. I don't think of you as average, in any way. You're right, I will meet and interact with men who are more handsome than you are, better off than you, better dancers, smarter, whatever. I can see now that concerns you, but it truly doesn't matter. You're the best man I've ever known. You are the one who loved me and encouraged me when everyone else just wanted to use me. That's what counts for me, and always will.

"My co-workers, clients, lots of people tell me how much more secure and self-confident I am now. They're right, and every time they say it, I say to myself, 'Thank you, Jason.' Before you, I never had the kind of unconditional support and encouragement that you give me every day. That's why it was such a shock when you shouted at me last night, plus I was exhausted ..."

We were both in tears by that point, and held each other gently as we reaffirmed our love. I know it's another cliché, but it's true: at that moment, we were sure we were the happiest people on earth.

Lena's new confidence was reflected in the bedroom, too. At first, she had been reserved with me, afraid I would hurt her or worse yet, not like her. (I know; as if!) Now she was up for anything, initiating sex at least as often as I did, reveling in the joy we had together, whether we made slow gentle love, or fucked each other into the middle of next week. She was constantly bringing us new things to try. It seemed like she interrogated every woman she knew for her best sex ideas, and brought them home to try with me.

We had a problem when she suggested swinging. That was completely off limits as far as I was concerned. I certainly didn't need another woman, as if there were any in Lena's class anyway. I had absolutely no desire whatever to see her with another man. The sky was the limit with the two of us, and I would try just about anything once (as would she), but I was adamant: just us, no one else. She was used to my going along with everything she suggested, so she was a bit upset at my refusal, but that blew over after a while.

I met several of Lena's work colleagues during our courtship and engagement, but the two she seemed closest to were Chrissy and Anna. You remember the girl in high school who ran everything important, dated the hottest guy in the school, and basically got everything she wanted? That was Chrissy. She was tall, about 5'9" or so, blonde and blue-eyed (of course), with a beautiful face, and shaped like the cheerleader in an adolescent's wet dream. She was the world's easiest person to get along with, as long as she got her way. If she didn't? Well, that didn't happen often enough to matter.

Even when I first met her, I thought Chrissy was jealous of Lena. She wasn't used to someone else being more attractive than she was, and didn't like it. I thought about warning Lena that I didn't think Chrissy was a very good friend, but hesitated because I was encouraging her to make friends at work. Also, Chrissy was a buyer, so she and Lena would have to maintain a good working relationship. Chrissy's husband Bill was a bit smug for my taste, and didn't bother to disguise the "I want a piece of that" in his eyes when he looked at Lena. Aside from that, he seemed okay.

Every Chrissy has a sidekick. Hers was Anna. She was an accountant, a good one, and quite a pretty girl in her own right. Anna was our age, perhaps three or four years younger than Chrissy. She was only average height, but her face and figure were the equal of Chrissy's. She was a genuinely nice person, too, warm, with a sparkling sense of humor, when she let it out to shine. It was just that no one noticed any of that when Chrissy was present. That was most of the time, because she followed Chrissy around like Mary's little lamb. She acquired a fiancé named Todd, probably with Chrissy's approval. Chrissy certainly had Todd's approval; he stared at her whenever he thought neither Bill nor Anna would catch him. I wondered why Anna didn't seem to mind. I guessed she was either too much in love, too much under Chrissy's thumb, or simply too nice a person, to do anything about it.