Dreams of a Virgin (12 page)

Eight hours later, I finished my four hundred
and sixty-second interview. I put stars by the names that intrigued
me the most. When I looked at the sheet, there were about thirty
stars. How to narrow it down to five? I went by looks (Yes, I know
I said looks weren’t everything, but they are something) and the
most honest answers and picked my five lucky finalists.

Amy, twenty-four, brunette, brown eyes,
athletic build, outgoing, great personality.

Sydney, twenty-eight, jet black hair, violet
eyes. Kind of shy. Petite. Worked with children.

Jessica, twenty-two, red hair, green eyes.
The prettiest of the five. Not very intelligent, but with looks
like that, who cares? Curves everywhere.

Desiree, twenty-six, strawberry blond, hazel
eyes, stylish glasses. Liked doing just about anything. A little
bit chunky, but it didn’t bother me.

Brooke, thirty-one, redhead, green eyes. Very
beautiful, but a bit stuck up. Divorced, with a kid.

I called each of the five and arranged a date
with each on separate evenings. My goal was to see what they could
offer me that the other four couldn’t.

Monday, I took Amy to dinner and dancing.
After an exciting evening, I walked her to the door. She invited me
inside. She whispered in my ear that she needed to tinkle. She went
into the restroom fully clothed. She came out in a pink nightie. I
knew what was going to happen next.

She wrapped her arms around me, and we locked
lips. She gyrated around my leg. I pulled away. This was not how I
want to be influenced. I kissed her on the cheek and left. She
seemed upset, but physical attraction was not what I sought.

Tuesday, Sydney and I went to see
The Notebook
. Halfway through the movie, I
placed my arm around her, and she rested her head on me. By the end
of the movie, both of us were in tears.

I walked her to her door. She mildly kissed
me on the cheek. She walked into her house and closed the door. She
didn’t try to make a move on me. I appreciated that.

Wednesday, I took Desiree to a nice dinner
and an evening at the theater. We held hands and, on occasion,
gazed through each other’s glasses at the other’s eyes. After the
play, we took a drive in the country, and we parked at a lookout
with a terrific view.

I turned on some soft music. I placed my arms
around her and drew her closer. She fought at first, but eventually
gave in. Our lips touched. She drew back.

“I’m not that kind of girl.”

I apologized and took her home. I walked her
to the door. I offered to kiss her on the cheek. She said no. So
ended our date. She was crossed off the list.

Thursday, Brooke and I went to dinner at a
fancy restaurant. She ordered the most expensive thing on the menu,
ate three bites, and said, “I’m full.” Good thing she couldn’t see
the steam coming from my ears.

From there, we went to a comedy club. She was
not happy. She thought that she was too good for this place. From
there, I took her home. I didn’t even walk her to her door. She was
lucky I didn’t tell her how I felt.

Friday, I went to pick up Jessica. She
invited me in. She already had dinner made. We agreed to spend the
night at her place. The room was dimly lit. The chairs were close
together. She had a nice Caesar salad in the center of the table, a
bowl of vegetable soup by each plate, and for the entree, a
mouthwatering lamb chop, perfectly seasoned.

I felt a light breeze blowing in my ear as
she poured the wine. She watched my every move as I ate, seeking
approval at every bite.

“This is the tenderest, tastiest piece of
meat I have ever eaten.”

“Why, thank you. But it’s not over yet.”

She took a piece of lamb and placed it
between her teeth. She leaned over and kissed me. Next thing I
knew, I was chewing the morsel. I felt her foot rubbing against my
leg. She pulled away.

“Let’s adjourn to the living room.”

She led me to the sofa. She sat me down and
moved to the fireplace. She bent over to light it, showing off her
assets. She flicked a switch and light music filled the air. She
joined me on the sofa.

She stared deep into my eyes and ran her
fingers through my hair. Her legs wrapped around me. I was not
looking for physical love, but how could I resist someone as
charming and stunning as she? We fell to the floor, onto a thick
rug.

She then began to undress me. So, in turn, I
undressed her. Nothing felt better than thick rug on bare skin.
Unless it was her bare flesh on mine. I couldn’t help but to stare
at her radiant body. Her sultry legs, her supple breasts, her plush
lips. I thought she was the one. Even if she wasn’t, I was going to
enjoy the moment.

As I ogled over her, she gripped my Johnson
and squeezed carefully. Shortly afterward, it found its way through
the forest and discovered the buried treasure. Once it spotted the
mother lode, it was in no hurry to leave. As it had its fun, I
enjoyed nibbling and licking in the upper canyon. I could hear the
silent wailing in delight.

Ten minutes later, it was all over. We got
dressed. I promised to call her tomorrow. I told her that I would
make the decision in the next few days. What I didn’t tell her was
that she was the one. I just needed time to do one last thing to
prove her love for me was real.

I called the newspaper and told them to run a
phony article. The next day, the headline read “LOTTERY WINNER
GIVES ENTIRE FORTUNE TO CHARITY”. This way, I could see if she
loved me or my money. After seeing the headline, I called
Jessica.

“Hello, Jessica? Good news. You’re the one
I’ve chosen.”

“So what? Without your money, what do I care,
you ugly piece of trash. I can’t believe I actually had sex with
you.”

Well, I guess she wasn’t the one after all. I
called my next choice, Amy.

“Hello, Amy? Good news. You won.” CLICK!

I went to my next, and final choice, Sydney.
I had lost interest in Desiree and Brooke long ago.

“Hello, Sydney? Jeff.” CLICK!

All they wanted was my money. I knew then I
would spend the rest of my life alone. Suddenly, the phone
rang.

“Hello, Jeff? You might not remember me. I
showed up at your interview. My name’s Rebecca.”

“Hi, Rebecca. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I saw what you did with the money, and
I think it’s very noble of you. When I came in to the interview, I
just wanted to meet you. You seemed like a very nice guy, money or
no money. I thought you were cute and a kind individual.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. So, have you made up your mind
yet?”

“Almost. I just have to do one last thing.
Would you like to meet me for dinner sometime?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“But, I thought you’d already made your
choices.”

“I did, but they were the wrong ones for me.
All they wanted was my money. That’s why I placed the phony
headline. To see if it was me they were fascinated with or my
fortune. But now I know that there is one woman who will like me no
matter what. You.”

“Wow. Okay. When do you want to get
together?”

“As soon as possible. How’s lunch
tomorrow?”

“Works for me. See you then.”

After I hung up, I looked over the list
again. Rebecca was one of the last names I had crossed off.

So, I guess the saying was true. Money
couldn’t buy you happiness, but it could make you see who people
really were.

What if you liked someone but could never tell her?
And what if you had a second chance to tell her?

I was at my ten year reunion, meeting all of
my old friends from high school. Some of them were successful;
others turned out just as we planned. I picked up my name tag and
mingled.

One voice rang out over the rest. Stephanie,
who had a thing for me in high school. Back then, I wasn’t
interested in things like that.

“Jeff, how you doing? You look great.”

“Fine. So do you.”

We talked some more. She introduced me to her
husband Derek, a tax accountant. Seeing her now, I wished I had
said yes one of those times.

As I walked around, I saw the same sight
everywhere. Husbands and wives. Wives and husbands. Me and no
one.

To further embarrass me, they displayed
pictures from high school. Of course, they had to include the one
of me sleeping in Mrs. Remeta’s class, drool coming out of my
mouth.

To make me feel even worse, they started
playing slow music. Everybody was dancing but me. I was just
standing around, minding my own business.

Until in came Brittany, the head cheerleader,
Homecoming Queen, and vice-president of Student Council. And she
came alone.

All eyes turned her way, including mine. Of
course, she ate up all the attention. A crowd formed around her. I
was too scared to talk to her.

Back in high school, I sat behind her in
English class and beside her in Chemistry. She still never noticed
me or talked to me.

We were from different worlds. She was
pretty, popular, and promiscuous. I was ugly, unpopular, and
untouched. I concentrated on grades. She concentrated on her
make-up.

I always wondered what it would be like to be
with her. I always noticed her, but was afraid to cross the line
into her world. Besides, she didn’t know I existed. I would fall
asleep in class, as already mentioned, dreaming about her as my
wife.

Anyway, the crowd dispersed and the reunion
got back to normal. Everybody mingled. I drank a beer in the
corner, avoiding Brittany.

The really embarrassing part of the show
began. The president came up to the DJ booth, carrying our senior
yearbook.

“Welcome back, Class of ‘88. Well, let’s see
if everyone turned out like we thought. Okay. Most successful.” The
spotlight shone on Seth, M. D.

“Okay. So far, so good. Best couple.”

The spotlight shone on Brittany, but Ryan,
her high school boyfriend and star quarterback, was nowhere
nearby.

“Oh well. So, we’re not perfect. Most
Athletic.”

The spotlight shone on Greg, star shortstop
for the Class AAA Pawtucket Red Sox. I started getting worried. I
knew what’s coming up.

“Okay. Most Likely to Not Get Married.”

Of course, the spotlight shone on me.

“Well, we hit that nail on the head, didn’t
we?”

I ran out of the room. The humiliation had
piled up so high. This pushed it over the edge. I sat on the bench
and started crying.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked up. It
was Brittany.

“You okay, Jeff?”

“I will be. You remember me?”

“Yeah, you sat by me in Chemistry.”

“But we never talked. I didn’t think you
noticed me.”

“Of course I noticed you. I always have.”

“So, why didn’t you ever say ‘Hi’ or
something?”

“You’ve got to understand. When you’re
popular, you have to act a certain way. You can only talk to
certain people, do certain things. My life was controlled by my
popularity. I envied you. You could do what you wanted, when you
wanted.”

“You? Envied me?”

“Yeah. I even wanted to ask you out, but I
was afraid of how my reputation would suffer.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You were cute then. And smart.”

“Well, I had the biggest crush on you back
then. I went to every football game just to see you cheer. I had
your name written all over my notebooks. I would dream about what
it would be like if you were my wife.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. But now it’s too late. You’re married
by now.”

“Was.”

“Was?”

“Yeah. Divorced. He left me with a
two-year-old girl Bryce. Caught him cheating on me.”

“That bastard. If I were your husband, the
thought of cheating would never enter my mind. I would treat you
like a princess, a queen, a goddess. You would never have to worry.
I’d give you anything you want.”

Grabbing hold of my hand, she said, “Maybe
it’s not too late. Let’s see what we can do about that.”

We went back to the reunion, hand in hand.
When the next slow song played, she dragged me out to the center of
the dance floor. What dance floor. I was dancing on the clouds with
Brittany. Everyone stopped and watched us dance.

All of a sudden, she grabbed my fanny. I got
a shocked then relaxed look on my face. We danced the reunion
away.

After the reunion, we had a few drinks
together. We remembered the times we had on opposite sides of the
tracks, finding some common ground here and there.

I walked her back to her hotel room. We were
both feeling a bit tipsy. She invited me in. I started pulling
away. She tugged harder.

“You said you dreamt in school about what it
would be like to be with me. Well, let’s make those dreams come
true.”

She drew me in close. Grabbing the back of my
head, she pressed her lips to mine. As if I was going to pull away.
I mean, really.

She threw me on the bed. She started to take
down my pants. I was glad she didn’t laugh at my baggy boxers.

She grabbed the straps of her black evening
gown. Very slowly, she lowered them. She slid out of the dress,
wearing only a white lace thong underneath.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. For over ten
years, I’d fantasized about this moment. Just me and Brittany. In
the buff. Alone. Now what would I do?

Before I could make up my mind, she grabbed
my piston rod and started stroking. First gear. Second gear. Third
gear. As we all know, heat expands. My rod was now twice its
original size.

To cool my rod, she placed it in her mouth.
Her tongue started doing laps around it. It must have been rough
terrain, because her head kept bobbing. Suddenly, some fluids began
to spill. Time to pit.

I now put my rod into her shaven garage. Most
pit crews tried to do their job as quickly as possible. Not me. I
was taking my time. My fluids drained out. After a few minutes of
this, I was out of gas. My race was over.