Life is full of surprises. Sometimes, it's a flat tire, other times it's a 20 dollar bill that somehow appeared in the bottom of your purse when you're at your most broke. The strangest and the sweetest surprises are often the ones that come from within. This is exactly what happened to me one oppressively humid July afternoon when I realized that I was growing maddeningly attracted to Stanley Jenkins.
The first thing you need to know about Stanley, or Stan as everyone in the free world refers to him, is that he is not my usual type. For starters, he's a slight man, standing about 5'6 in his work boots. That would be fine if I was one of your more typically petite heroines, but my form has always been more R. Crumb girl than generic-Hollywood-WASP and wasp-waisted starlet. Most guys, especially those that are smaller than me, have never really looked my way. Hell, some of the guys bigger than me would often opt for the tinier girls. It made adolescence horrible but by the time I got into my 20's and 30's, I learned to feel more comfortable with my curves. If I was too much woman for someone, then I figured he wasn't man enough for me.
But it wasn't just all of that. Stan's what my friend Deb calls a "a strange dude." It's like a burn out from the 60's had a baby with a dock worker. He's a total beer drinking, ball game watching guy whom on occasion quotes Eastern philosophy. One night, I swear, I heard him blasting Stravinsky's "The Planets" like it was "Free Bird." This intrigued me. The guys in our company are usually one chromosome away from their knuckles dragging the floors, which is par for the course in this town. The way his eyes, oceanic pools of deep blue, sparkled, like the whole world was a joke that only he was in on, intrigued me too. This was not your average man and I liked that, but I wasn't ready to start making little construction paper hearts and throwing my panties at him. He was a smart, unusual guy in a sea of male mediocrity.
Things changed for me that fateful Friday, in the navel of one of the hottest Summers on record for the county. Everyone in the office was in a bad mood, though nowhere near the languid borderline-murderous mood in the workroom, which often felt like ass on a good day. The air conditioning had decided that an afternoon featuring a high of 102 degrees with 80% humidity was a fine time to die. The way it felt in that old, concrete building, a lot of us were starting to envy that AC, since at least death would promise the cold. There were rumors that the boss was going to let all of us leave early, given that there were health concerns, not to mention the fact that productivity is often hampered when you are soaking with sweat and trying not throttle your coworkers.
I hadn't even seen Stan that day until I took my fifteen minute break, sitting in my parked car with the AC running at full blast. Unfastening two buttons on my gray blouse, I leaned towards the bursts of delightfully cold air. If I could have, I would have married my car at that moment. She was older than I was and always threatening to quit, but when push came to shove, she was there for me. "I love you, Bertha." I cooed before hearing something knocking on the glass, scaring the shit out of me.
My heart racing, I looked up and saw Stan, his thin but wavy locks plastered against his head with sweat. Relieved that it was him and not a psycho killer, or even worse, my boss, catching me in a borderline make-out session with my car's AC unit, I quickly rolled down the window.
"Sorry about that, trying to enjoy some respite from the clay oven out there."
"Yeah, that's actually why I am knocking on your window. Do you mind if I sit with you? My car's AC is on the fritz and at this point, I think you're the only person with a pulse I can stand."
My heart fluttered a little with that, while it was still recovering from the small adrenaline rush of him scaring the bejeesus out of me."
"Sure. Come on in.", I said, relieved I had de-littered Bertha a few days ago. He doesn't need to know about my bachelor-esque eating habits.
I reached over to unlock the passenger side door for him, not realizing until midway that I was more than likely giving him a bit of a show. Little tendrils of embarrassment creeped up, making me blush a little but figuring it was too hot to have a lot of shame, I pushed it aside.
That was until I noticed Stan checking me out as he slid in. He wasn't a pig about it, but looked just long enough to let me know what was up. Well, if my pale, sweat soaked cleavage brought him a moment of joy, then that was fine.
But when he started to take off his work shirt, it was my turn to ogle. At that point, I think he was just trying to cool down and god knows, if I could have gotten away with it, I would have been sitting in my car practically starkers. Seeing how taut and naturally muscular he was, I was speechless. I've never been into overly muscular guys and am still not. Gym rats look like the most boring conversationalists in the world to me. However, Stan's body was almost lithe. Slight but strong, undoubtedly from all the hard work that he naturally did. I had heard that he did some woodworking on the side. It showed, with his chest looking so compact and strong.
In a million years, I never thought I would be drooling over Stan but yet, there I was. Wanting to look away but taking full advantage of his eyes being shut as he was soaking in the air.
A deep groan emitted from his throat, making something in me whir.
"God, thank you so much Penny. It feels like murder in that building."
"Appropriate term, since I was feeling like I was going to murder someone in that building."
Stan laughed, turning to look at me, blue eyes and wide smile and all.
"I'm not on that list, am I?"
"Heavens no, it would be silly to kill the only person there with an above-average IQ."
"That's good to know."
He finally sat back, giving me a better look. There was surprisingly very little hair, with just a dusting of dark hair on his chest and around his navel. My inner voice told me to stop it and responding, I looked away and reset my gaze on his face, which was intently focused on me.
"So any news on whether we're getting out early, yet?"
"No. Mr Reynolds is still waffling."
"Fucking bastard," I muttered.
"Ooh, I had no idea you had a potty mouth, Penny.", he said, smiling at me. "I like women with a propensity for filthy language."
"Well you came to the right car. If you hang around, you can hear me recite all the classics of bad language."
"Promise?"
"Stan, if I wasn't so overheated right now, I would swat at you.", making his eyebrows slightly arch.
"Hmm. I'll take it. It's beat the hell out of Glenda trying to grab my ass."
"What?!? Glenda from supplies?" My eyes went wide. Glenda was my Grandmother's age and unlike my white-haired, church attending me-maw, she still wore tight-fitting clothes and tanned like she was going to make a couch out of her skin.
"That would be the one."
"God, I figured you were too smart for her. She tends to like 'em big and dumb."
"I think the whole having a penis thing overrode her other qualifications."
"She should hook up with Burt. They could form a union of libido-killers in the tri-county area."
"Oh you got Burted?"
"Unfortunately. I was getting ready to go home one night and all that day, he kept winking at me, which I tried to ignore. But at the end of the night, he invited me to come over and look at his gun collection."
Stan started to tremble with laughter.
"My trauma is not for your amusement, Stan."
