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Learning Lessons (2 of 8) Dinner For Three: Chapter 1
🕑 Added 2024-02-13 00:00:03 +0000 UTCJess, Pete Jr., and little boy Andy were at Pete’s sister’s place at 3PM. Jess had asked Patty for an overnight with their favorite aunt and uncle, told her that she and Pete had a date night and wouldn’t be back until late. Jess could practically hear the wink-wink over the phone with her. If she only knew. What would she think about the crazy thing Jess and her brother were going to get up to tonight? Would she still want to sit the kids?
“All right, babies,” Patty said, standing at her open door, “run in and say hi to your cousins. They’re in the basement playing games, there are snacks, there’s—”
They were gone already, Petey taking Andy’s hand and escorting him down their hall to the basement.
“Date night, huh?” Patty said, wry smile, arms folded.
“Patty,” Jess said, looking away, feeling herself blush.
“Hey, good for you two. When you take ours, Russ and I are usually in bed by nine.” Patty and Russ lived about ten minutes away and they would swap nights alone once a month—tonight was a special, extra request. “You two have fun tonight,” Patty said, gave Jess a knowing smile. Jess blushed again. Two? If you only knew, Patty.
“We’ll see how it goes,” she said, backing down the steps to the house. She turned and headed along the walk, “Knowing us, we’ll probably fall asleep on the couch after dinner.” She waved to Patty over her shoulder as she got to the minivan, heard Patty laugh behind her.
Pete’s sister waved to her from the doorway as she backed out of the driveway and drove off. She had a strong urge to just go back, go down to the basement and kiss her boys, scoop them up and put them back in the van. Tell Pete and Tyler that tonight was off. This was too crazy. But if she did that, told them it was off, there was a strange reality. Tyler would be disappointed. Jess would be disappointed. And most crazy? Pete would be really disappointed. It might be the sanest thing to do, but no one would like it. Besides, there was a carnal drive in her belly that was like a burning steam powered engine room. A roaring fire in there that was operating all her moving parts. Chugging the gears of her arms and legs. Operating the hydraulics of her size six foot that was planted on the pedal, roaring the old van to the drugstore to buy some extra large condoms for her lover.
Jess went out to the Walgreen’s on North High Street. It was out of their neighborhood, with less chance of running into someone she knew. She ran around behind a wobbly cart, hoping she wouldn’t run into any of the parents of the kids she taught. She’d gone out in white sweatpants and flip-flops and a tight t-shirt. She didn’t even know how that happened. She was just so worked up about tonight that she’d left home to do errands wearing the old things she wore around the house. She hadn’t done her hair or makeup yet. Her hair was a spiky blonde mess. Hopefully, if someone saw her, they wouldn’t even recognize her. She had a ball cap on and her glasses. It was like she was wearing a disguise.
She went through the aisles grabbing some random items; utility stuff, things that they kept stock of in the house. Q-tips, toilet paper, lady shave gel… Then she grabbed a big bottle of wine and headed for the condoms.
Jess had slept with twenty-two men before she was married, and they were really all the same size. A few smaller ones, then Pete at the smallest. Then there was Brad. She thought Brad was huge. Until Tyler. There were so many kinds of condoms, she was a bit overwhelmed. She thought that this would be easier. Pete bought his own condoms. She knew the box. Knew they were the smaller size, snug-fit they were called.
There were Magnums, then there were Magnum XL. Were they even bigger? Did Tyler need the biggest size? He had to, right? I mean, it wouldn't be possible that you could be much bigger. What if XL was too big, and it slipped off? Shit. That had to be impossible. What if it was too small? She felt her shoulders shake with a silent laugh, hunched over in the condom aisle like a weirdo, hat pulled down so no one would recognize her. What if Tyler took some XXL condom she didn't even know about, that the store didn't even keep in stock? Maybe he custom ordered them. God, look at all these boxes of XL condoms they had. How many men in this town were packing what Tyler had? Whatever. Tyler was getting the XL. It couldn't be too big and too bad if it felt too tight for him. He'd be bringing his own condoms, anyway. She just wanted to be prepared. Didn't want the night to be ruined because no one was smart enough to bring protection.
Her neck started to get hot standing in line. She hoped she wasn’t getting red. There were three people ahead of her, a young girl at the checkout. The girl was maybe sixteen—Jess did some math, she’d been teaching in this town for seven years—this girl could have been one of her students. Jess studied her face from the middle of the line. Please don’t let her know me. It’s not that buying condoms was the biggest deal. The enormous guilt that came with her purchase couldn’t be recognized by an outside party. So what—she was buying condoms. The most likely thing someone who knew her would garnish was that old Pete Mapplethorpe was apparently packing a whopper. They couldn’t ever suspect the dirty thing sweet Jess was going to try to do with some stud while her husband watched.
Her flip-flop was tapping while she waited anxiously. She had a horrible thought. What if the condoms were too small, and he stretched it over himself too tight and it broke inside her? Did she want to be a thirty-five-year-old divorcee carrying her young lover’s baby? Oh, boy—or AIDs or gonorrhoea… Her palms started to sweat. Who knew where her hung lover had put that thing. Who knew the string of little sluts he’d been with and all the dirty places they’d been. Maybe she couldn’t do this. So what if they were all disappointed. This was insanity. She could miss out on this. She was a married woman, for crying out loud. She loved her husband. She loved her kids.
“Ma’am?”
It was the young girl at the checkout. Geez, calling her ma’am at thirty-five. It seemed like yesterday she was a kid herself. She looked at this pretty blonde teen with her ponytail and her Walgreen’s tunic. When she was her age, a boy came inside her after his condom had slipped off. They panicked, struggled like crazy to get the rubber out of her without going to the hospital. They got it, but she was crushed with dread, cried herself to sleep every night for two weeks until her period came.
She put her items up on the counter. The wine, the condoms, and all the other things she’d added, so she wasn’t just buying wine and condoms. The condoms would be fine. She was being hysterical. Nerves, anxiety—he wasn’t too big for them. Come on, Jess, be real.
She kept her head down while the girl swiped her items. She didn’t even look twice at the Magnum XLs. Just swipe-beep, and dropped into the bag. Jess paid with cash and got her bags out to the minivan, then raced home.
#
Jess got herself home, got water boiling, and prepped the roast. She patted it down, her hands moving fast. She seasoned it, coated it in flour and then seared the roast in butter, rotating it quickly around the pan, crisping up all the sides, then grabbed her pasta bowl and ran upstairs and locked herself in the bathroom. She shaved up between her legs, too nervous to get a thrill from it, jumped in the shower and gave herself a good scrubbing under the hot water. She put her contacts in, then ran back down the stairs and chopped up the potatoes and put them in the water that was just about to boil over. Everything was on schedule.
She held her hands out over the counter and watched them. They trembled. She felt the nervous energy traveling up her wrists and shooting into her shoulders. She gripped her hands into fists and rotated them in circles, tried to ease out some of that tension. This was huge. This was crazy.
She’d already made love with him, but somehow tonight was the real first time. When they’d done it in the van, it was all about speed. It was hot and passionate, but it was quick. And it was a surprise to both of them—happening before they even realized it. He stuck it in her and hammered until he came into his condom. Then he ran off. She didn’t get to take her time, she hardly got to explore him, she didn’t even put her hands on his penis. Tonight, if they could convince him, they would go slow, make it last. And Pete was going to watch. She was going to take her hands and touch every part of that kid’s hard, beautiful body. She was going to kiss his abs, let her lips brush every hard ridge. She wanted to suck his nipples, his balls. Poor Pete. She was going to make him suffer. She was going to break him down, make him hurt.
The recipe called for two cups of wine, so she skimmed a little for herself—she’d bought a big bottle of the cheap stuff. She filled a kitchen glass to keep her company while she cooked. It might numb her a bit too, calm her mind. The wine was terrible, but she was going to finish it.
The dutch oven went over the burner; olive oil, onions, carrots, leeks in there. This onion smell better not stick to her, she thought. She should have showered after she was done, but she was running out of time. She got them sautéed, added the rest of the wine and a splash of cognac, threw the roast and the other vegetables in, and waited for it to boil.
Pete’s car pulled into the driveway and she watched him jump out, suit jacket and briefcase tucked under his arm, and speed-walk up the path. He threw the things down in the hall. She heard the hollow sound it made on the deacon’s bench. Then he was in the kitchen, eyes wide, wrought with anxiety. He didn’t say anything, only watched her, just his eyes moving, tracking her in the kitchen.
“What is it?” she said.
“It’s still on?”
“Oh, no, why?” Had he changed his mind?
“No—I want it to still be on…”
“Yeah, yeah, Pete. It’s on. Come here.”
He came around the island and stood next to her in the cramped kitchen. She said, “I need you to cut up these vegetables and put them in the dutch oven—”
“What’s that?”
“The black thing here, Pete, come on.”
“All right, okay.”
“I need you to boil them and then in about fifteen minutes put it in the oven—covered, Pete—and then watch those potatoes, take them out when they’re ready and strain them.”
“I don’t know, Jess, this cooking thing—I’m not really—”
“Pete, I’m not going to let him make love to me if I smell like onions, all right?” She put her hand between his legs, squeezed him a bit, said, “So if you want to watch me get pounded by a real man, you’ll watch these pots for me while I wash my hair again.”
“Yeah, okay. You go, I’ll figure it out. Go, go,” he said, sending her out of the kitchen and rolling up his shirt sleeves.
