Elle was our babysitter, and I had been looking at her for the last six months. I am a horrible person, probably.
She was 21 and in college, and I was just 31, so it's not like the age was that super creepy. But I was married, technically -- my wife and I were trying what our therapist called a "trial separation with cohabitation," which basically meant I'd been sleeping on the couch for a month. We needed Elle once a week so we could go to counseling, which was an excuse for me to get into a room with my wife and have her tell me why I was horrible.
I took it, mainly, because I don't like fighting with a referee in the room. It had been a decade of ups and downs and downs and downs, and most days I couldn't remember how we got here or if we ever were anywhere else.
There was also the hitting-30 thing. And the being-a-father thing. And the-not-wanting-to-turn-into-my-dad thing. And the-wait-you're-sure-my-hair-is-still-thick-in-the-back thing. I had all of those cliched midlife insecurities that most boring, sad, middle-class white men have. I know I am not painting a great portrait, but like I said in the beginning, I might be a horrible person. What can you do?
But Elle. Jesus Christ. I'd look at her and want to beat someone up -- caveman shit. She was tall and soft, in a good way. With her red hair, she always seemed to be backlit, like a glow. I never saw Elle in anything but jeans and a tight tshirt, and every time she left the house, I'd lock myself in the bathroom and masturbate furiously. Furiously.
And I was OK with that relationship. I never said or did or looked at anything inappropriate when she was around -- I tried to stay out of the way, mainly. So when Elle asked if I could give her a ride home one day, I said OK.
She normally rode her bike home, but it was fall and my wife and I had been running late. It was just 6 p.m. but already dark outside. My wife had come home -- after a particularly exhausting session where she had basically said she didn't really like me that much anymore -- and took our daughter and went straight to the bedroom, locking herself in.
I grabbed my keys and put her bike in the back of my Jeep. I opened the door for Elle. I tried not to stare at her ass as she slid into my Jeep, but I couldn't help it. It was just so... stare-able.
"You seem sad Paul."
"Yeah, well, it's been a tough, um, day. Month? Year? I don't know."
"Can I tell you something and you not get mad at me?"
"Ha, sure. I hear that a lot lately."
"Susan isn't nice to you. You deserve better."
Silence.
"You know, I, uh, that's tough to respond to."
"It's just my opinion. But I would think if you have someone in your life, you'd want to make them happy, not sad. And everytime I see you two together, you look like you are in pain."
More silence. This was the longest drive ever. I could see out of the corner of my eye she was staring at me, waiting for me to respond.
"Well, you know, we are going through this thing. Kind of a separation. But kind of also not. It's...weird."
"I understand..."
"So... um... I can't say I disagree with your premise."
We passed the library and a few shops that were closed on Main Street. The downtown was dark and dead. Elle's house was a mile away.
"Can you pull into the parking lot over here to the right?"
"Beside the record store?"
She nodded. I turned. And, honestly, I wasn't even suspicious. I had been living a life of taking orders the last three years, so I did as obeyed, without really wondering why.
"Can we park and talk for a second," she asked. And, OK, that was a little weird, I thought, but we're both adults and sometimes two adults stop to chat in dark parking lots.
I navigated the Jeep into a spot facing a brick wall. Even though it was fall and dark out, it was a warm day. The top was off. I could smell a fire burning. It was nice.
We sat there. Saying... normal stuff, where you kind of talk but say nothing. And then there's an awkward silence. Finally, courage, she turned toward me. Her arms were sort of crossed in front of her, putting her ample cleavage in the forefront. I could smell her perfume.
"Can I give you something?"
You know when someone says something and your heart sort of feels like it stops and you immediately get butterflies in your stomach. I had that.
"I guess... that depends."
"I want to give you a blow job. For you," she said, emphasizing the "you" in a way that made it seem like a tremendous favor.
