Chapter 20: Dating

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height

We reach the last flight of stairs and exit into the main lobby. The brightness of the sunlight after the dim artificial lighting of the stairwell ruins the illusion of intimacy. Voices and the bustle of people intrude into our safe cocoon.

"What time is it?" We both look at our watches. "I'd better be heading out soon. I've got my stuff." I pat my bag. "How about you show me the library's other secrets another day."

"All the virgin and sex talk didn't spoil the library for you?"

"Haha, funny." I look around. Might not be the best place to talk about sex. I purse my lips to keep a smile away. I locate the direction of the exit to the 'L' train. "I know this is your attempt at a self-deprecating joke, but please, please, please, let's not talk about sex again." Please. I'm too worn out to broach any more of that subject. "This way."

"Never again?" He matches my pace.

"Well, not today. When you have plans to 'seal the deal." I even do the whole air quotes thing there. "Maybe then. OK?"

"That could take a while . I doubt any date of mine will be jumping straight into sex without any preliminaries. I've done plenty of research about the hand-holding, touching, kissing, second and third bases before you get to the actual sex part."

Why do I, a grown-up and not a tween who used to close her eyes during a particularly steamy French kiss, feel heat bloom on my cheeks. I side-glance and note the upturned corners of his lips. He must've noticed my reaction.

"And I'm not telling you this to rile you up," he says. "I'm stating the truth. Is there a way you can guide me through all those steps?"

Guide. Why didn't I think that part through before agreeing to help Ben? Am I supposed to draw diagrams? I'm good at mind-maps. And documenting the steps. But he specifically said he'd had enough of that. That leaves what. Talking?

"Let's start with talking." My whole face is hot now. Maybe he'll think it's from going down the stairs, not my thoughts. I take a breath and try to think logically. I've had plenty of practice discussing difficult topics with people during the qualitative portion of my psychology paper on Cross-Cultural Views on Sex before Marriage. Maybe I am just the right person for what Ben's looking for.

"Talking about touch?"

"Is there something you are not telling me? Do you find physical touch unpleasant?" When my hand was on his elbow, his skin under my fingers, his palms on me—he had not removed himself away.

"No, I like being touched. I just rarely initiate it. Unless it's something that is part of a routine or a protocol." Both the speed of Ben's speech and his walking accelerate. "I touch people at the dojang during the sparring matches. I hug my parents and shake hands with friends, colleagues, and, when the situation requires it, with strangers. I have not held hands with someone I felt attracted to," he says.

I'm starting to understand. I can't begin to imagine what his experiences as a teenager were like. I held hands when I was in middle school, and worried I was behind the curve.

We enter the hallway that leads to the train station. "I'm confident I can manage that, but I guess the part that is confusing is how? What do you start with?"

"Well, I'd say do what you feel like doing ... as long as you are sure you are not misinterpreting anything or harassing a person. The basic consent principles and all." I might be overly cautious as Ben's a reasonable and well-mannered person, but better safe than sorry.

"It's hard for me to read people. I'm fine with the common facial expressions but I do misinterpret things, and the double-meanings or innuendos are lost on me." We make another tight turn. "Is it OK if I ask if I can take their hand before I do it?"

"Sure. Nothing inappropriate about that, but there are subtler ways. For example, if you walk next to each other, like we are, it could lead to holding hands." Holding hands is still one of my favorite things. I loved holding hands with Dad as a kid. But with a partner it can be so hot or loving. "If you walk closer to the girl where your arms are almost touching, you can brush her hand with yours." I graze his hand with mine and my skin's extra sensitive where we touch.

"Then, interlace your fingers with hers." I thread my small fingers through his long one. They fit. "And watch for a reaction. See if she is accepting it or if she's not interested in continuing." Ben holds his hand still, not engaging with me but not taking it away either. The warmth spreads around my palm. "If she isn't removing her hand or asking you to remove yours or telling you, she doesn't like it, or to stop it—it means she at least doesn't mind." His fingers are strong and I can feel how much rougher his skin is than mine.

"If she holds onto you, squeezes your hand, or starts moving her fingers along yours, it could mean she is into it."

My illustration of hand-holding, coupled with talking him through it all, leads me to tracing the pads of his fingers with mine. The tingles run from where they come together and into the sensitive spot behind my sternum. Danger zone. There's no blaming my reaction on the heat or our quick strides. I can't lie to myself any longer. I'm attracted to Ben.

Heat blooms between our fingers. My chest tightens, and my breath quickens. The physical pull is strong and it's not going to end well. I inhale and hold the air in, force my attention away from where our skin melts and merges. I attempt to slide my hand out of his when Ben squeezes my fingers and doesn't let me go.

We enter the lobby of the 'L' train station.

"We're here." I state the obvious. "I need to catch the next train." Our palms remain where they were. Linked.

He squeezes my fingers tighter. "You need to go."

"I do." I should take my hand back.

"Have a good afternoon." Still linked.

"You too." I shake his hand. "Let me know if your Saturday plans change or if you have any more questions."

"Dating questions? Or any questions." He shakes my hand.

"Any questions, within reason of course." Helping his dating life is the point. I need to focus on my school. Clearing the messes in my life, not following impulses. My grasp loosens.

"Of course." Ben's fingers slip out of mine.

A sense of loss fills me with every stair that takes me away from the spot Ben's standing at and to the platform of the 'L' train. 

You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net