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Friday Night Adventure

Mike Schneider

    I knew by the expression on Julie’s face when she politely knocked at my open door at one o’clock Friday afternoon, my first totally non-confrontational week wasn’t going to cross the finish line.
    “Mrs. Glenn would like to talk to you about her son, Joey, again, Anika. She’s rather upset, still complaining about the way Mr. Thompson treats him.”
    I had talked to Mrs. Glenn several times in the past. It’s not about how Mr. Thompson treats Joey, it’s about how he treated her when she was in middle school choir, or her perception of it. I’ve never heard her belt one out but if her singing voice is anything like her annoyingly squeaky speaking voice, that Joey’s voice mimics, Mr. Thompson’s continuing efforts to help him, while urging him to consider an instrument to better exploit his musical talent, speak highly of the choir director’s patience and dedication.
    “Ok. Tell her to come in.”
    I had been looking forward to Friday night all week, there was nothing Mrs. Glenn could do or say to spoil it. I had everything ready.
    Last night I vacuumed and dusted, even though the lights will be low. Then I strategically placed candles in the bedroom, deciding to go with two votives on the highboy against the wall, across from the foot of the bed, another for the vanity against the wall on my side, and an extremely small one for the nightstand on his side. I came to that conclusion after waxing my bikini lines and lying naked on the bed with a hand mirror. Five had been too many. Four proved to be perfect. Adequate light for him to distinguish the things I want him to see, but not clearly enough to remove all the mystery, and most importantly, not bright enough to reveal my imperfections—the few strands of gray creeping into the temples of my jet black hair that denotes my Indian heritage, minor stretch marks on my stomach, and the still slight but increasing effects of gravity relentlessly tugging at my breasts for almost 20 years now.
    After that I gave myself a mani-pedi, choosing Red Hot Rio polish, as it seemed appropriate for the Friday before Ash Wednesday. Tonight, I will apply Aphrodite Kiss, lip gloss by L’Oreal, that is not only seductively beautiful but will also play to my mindset. And finally, a hint of Coco Chanel to mortally wound any resistance that might still linger.
    I quickly dispatched Mrs. Glenn by telling her I would talk to the director again, while reiterating his suggestion that an instrument might be a better route for Joey, at least until his voice changes. Afterward I completed my weekly reports, placed an online order at Domino’s for a small pepperoni pizza to be picked up at 5:15, and departed the building at 4 o’clock. That left enough time to stop by the bakery for a few bagels and rolls for our breakfast, should he happen to want breakfast.
    Once home, a luxuriously long, warm, bubble bath drew out most of the tension developed during yet another week of having to over-prove myself, after moving too quickly up the ladder. At 29, the next youngest administrator in the district has 10 years on me. I have met more veiled resistance than I expected, and sometimes almost more than I can handle that isn’t veiled.
    Tonight I would do something for myself for the first time in a long time. Something necessary, vital, and exciting.
    Although 11 years older now, lying back in the tub I kind of reminded myself of me, my freshman year in college. When, for a time, hookups occurred spontaneously and often; the way I chose to learn the ins and outs of my sexuality, celebrate new freedom, and relieve the pressure to succeed that was far greater than I had ever imagined it would be while practically coasting to salutatorian in high school.
    It will be a different setting, of course, a nicely furnished, attractively accented, and precisely arranged bedroom, a queen size bed with lovely soft accoutrements, and candle flames providing a romantic orange glow, as opposed to a sloppily kept dorm room with an unmade single bed, most of the dirty clothes in a basket in the corner, and a precariously stacked tower of ramen noodles atop a small bookcase, all of it seen under the harsh glare of spiral fluorescent lights, or sometimes, God forgive me, daylight.
    Smooth jazz playing softly on DMX by artists such as Gerald Albright, Jeff Golub, and Chuck Loeb will replace Mariah, Kanye, and Black Eyed Peas blasting from a laptop.
    And the biggest change of all, me. Gone are the days of protesting by refusing to wear poisonous chemical deodorants, hiding my breasts under an oversize sweatshirt with no bra, and wearing rolled up, faded, thread bare blue jeans that also did nothing to highlight my form.
    Tonight my aroma will be alluring, a low cut dress and underwire bra will make my girls the desire of every man and envy of every woman. If my short dress and platform heels fail to telegraph what a voracious tigress he’s getting, he’ll have no doubt, and I’ll rob him of his breath, when he discovers I’m not wearing panties, nor a thong.
    I know he’s waiting for me somewhere in The 30s, a singles bar in Rocky River a couple miles from home, that caters to its namesake age group. It’s conveniently dark, there’s a small space for dancing that I cannot in good conscience call a dance floor, but with which you can make do, if you don’t mind rockin’ it out with the likes of Justin Timberlake, Fergie, and Gorillaz. In a hook up mecca you accept the sounds that come with it.
*
     When I walked in no one was at the end of the bar closest to the door, so I took a seat there, ordered a pina colada, and surveyed the crowd, or rather the men in the crowd. Before I could even taste my drink I felt a tap on my shoulder.
    “Hey, aren’t you Anika Verma?”
    “Yes, and you are...?”
    “Suzie Green.”
    “Oh my goodness! Last time I saw you we were playing softball for Westerville Central. You’ve become a redhead!”
    “Sure have. Do you live around here now? “
    “I do, here in Rocky River. How about you?”
    “Lakewood, where I have an interior decorating business. What are you doing these days?”
    “I’m assistant principal at McCormick Middle School in Wellington, if you know where that is.”
    “Oh, very familiar. My ex and I used to go camping at Findley State Park. Love Dog Tracks Diner and Bread-N-Brew.”
    “Me, too,” I said. “Sometimes I eat lunch at one of them.”
    I sipped my drink.
    “So are you here for the same reason I am?” she asked. “To get laid?”
    “I’m here to relax with a pina colada.”
    “I only asked because that tall, good looking guy, standing at the table by the juke box, talking with his friends, began glancing over this way as soon as you came in, has been ever since.”
    “Actually, I kind of have my eye on the blond fellow at the far end of the bar.”
    She laughed.
    “You did come to get laid!”
    “Well, I guess everyone feels the need now and then.”
    “Girl, how well I know. Since you’re not interested, I’m going to check out stretch over there. Here’s my card. Text me sometime, I’d love to have lunch or dinner, catch up, and talk about old times.”
    “Thank you, I will. Great seeing you, Suzie. And good luck by the jukebox.”
    “Thanks. Same to you.”
    I motioned to the barmaid, handed her a twenty dollar bill.
    “I’d like to buy a drink for the man at the end of the bar down there.”
    She rang it up, brought me my change, then mixed the drink and delivered it. They talked for a moment. When she left, he looked my way, shot me a super brief acknowledging smile, and nodded.
    After ten minutes of him ignoring me I took my drink, walked down there, set the glass on the bar. By then his face was turned away, buried in his phone. I pulled the stool next to his just far enough away so when I moved between it and him, to sit down, my right breast brushed the back of his left arm. He spun around.
    “So tell me, what kind of drink did I buy you?”
*
     As soon as I shut the door behind us and locked it, he took me in his arms, kissed me deeply, and wasted no time finding the surprise awaiting him under my dress, nearly choking on his own saliva when he did. Two minutes later a trail of hastily removed clothes led from the front door to the bedroom, where our urgency peaked in a rapid crescendo that fully awakened every lust-starved nerve in my body, in a way I hadn’t felt for many months, maybe a year.
    The second time was much more measured, with practically no urgency, each of us exploring the glory of the other’s body, wherever we wanted, however we wanted, and for as long as we wanted. Almost like we were Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, unraveling all of the as yet unknown, wonderful pleasures of the flesh, like it was the first time in our lives either of us had ever done this, yet having the advantage of knowing how to draw the most from every touch, breath, whisper, and moan. The final pinnacle left me panting.
    As we lay there quietly drifting from consciousness to sleep, how different each time had been ambled through my mind. Not for long though as I was spent, totally exhausted, soon asleep.
*
     I awoke with the sun creeping under the bottom of the shade on the east window, last night still running around in my head.
    Sex nerd that I am, I glimpsed the alarm clock on the dressing table each time. The frantic first time, start to finish, took only three minutes once we got to the bedroom, while the second lasted 59 minutes, all but six of them devoted to the extended prelude.
    Both had their strong points.
    The second time the finish, for me, was much more intense, and getting there became a true carnal adventure. But that didn’t necessarily make it better, as that frantic urgency the first time was such a pleasure, in and of itself, that it was totally worth the short duration. I think knowing there would likely be more to follow contributed to that; might have felt short changed had it occurred in the cramped restroom of an airliner, or at a clothing store behind the door of a dressing room.
    I was lying on my right side, wondering if last night might be like a song on my tablet that can be replayed at will, and taking in the pleasing view as he slept beside me—his wavy blond hair, nicely tanned Caucasian skin, talented lips, and eye lashes like brooms, when his eyes opened.
    We both smiled.
    “Well that put some excitement back in our marriage,” I said.
    “Oh my God, I guess! What a great idea you came up with Anika.”
    “I can’t take credit, read it in a magazine.”
    “No kidding?”
    “Yep. At the dentist’s office.”
    “Amazing! And we better get cracking, only have two hours to get ready, drive out to your mom’s, pick up the kids, come back and get Swati to her friend’s birthday party, after which we have the grocery shopping,” he said, springing up, sitting on the edge of the bed, sliding his feet into his slippers.
    “Really?” I said. “Two hours? I think we have time for a quickie.”
     That was all it took.

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