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The museum at which I am a docent embarked on a monumental task. We were to archive historical manuscripts and place them into basement storage. At the same time we were to prepare for a new exhibit of Renaissance art that was loaned to us from another museum. The task was overwhelming, one that had triggered the retirement of my coworker, a woman in her early sixties. We needed a person with more stamina and had recruited a student from a local college.
Margaret was a freshman who had just begun her studies. Bookish and serious, Margaret nevertheless had looks. Her long red hair and baby blue eyes were captivating. Her smile could light up a cave.
Along with beauty, Margaret possessed the gift of gab. She would keep me apprised of goings on in her life. She admitted to not being athletic, preferring the Bard to baseball, Longfellow to lacrosse. Margaret loved animals, especially dogs. In time we became coworker buddies.
One day the subject of boyfriends came up and I asked Margaret if she was seeing anyone. Her face fell and reddened a bit.
"It's alright if you're not. Your grades should be your priority now, not boys," I counseled.
Her blush subsided. "There's a guy I like," she confided.
Silence ensued.
"Would you like to tell me about him?"
"His name is Patrick. He's kind of quiet and nerdy."
"Where did you meet him?" I didn't mean to pry, but I sensed she wanted to talk and needed a push.
"At the animal shelter where I volunteer."
"Does he know you like him?"
"No. But he likes me. Or at least he did."
"He did? I don't understand."
Margaret hesitated. "He asked me to accompany him to the volunteer appreciation banquet. I was noncommittal."
"Why?"
"Too shy? A coward? I wish I knew," she replied, her voice forlorn.
I sympathized with her and my male protective instinct kicked in. "Stop beating yourself up. You're going to fix this."
"How?"
"Do you have his phone number?"
"Yeah."
"Good. You're going to call him right now. You're going to apologize if you hurt his feelings. And you're going to tell him you'd be delighted to accompany him to the banquet."
"I can't do that," she pleaded. "What if he hangs up on me?"
"He won't." Margaret was still too innocent to understand that with her beauty, guys would accept her apology and forgive her.
We were alone in the basement, out of earshot of everyone. I pulled her phone from her pocketbook.
"Unlock it." She held it up to her pretty face and her home screen appeared. Scrolling through her contacts, I found a Patrick.
"Is this him?" Margaret nodded.
I pressed the icon and her phone dialed. I stepped away to allow her some privacy.
Margaret spoke coquettishly. She acknowledged her impoliteness of being apathetic to his invitation and apologized. Margaret continued by informing him that she'd love to go to the banquet with him if he would forgive her and if he was still available. All seemed to go well; Patrick soon had Margaret laughing and they stayed talking for half an hour.
Margaret rang off all smiles. "Patrick will pick me up on Saturday evening. Thank you so much for insisting I call him."
~~~
Margaret and I had grown close over the months and I invited her to my house for lunch Saturday, the day of the banquet. Margaret spoke little as we ate. She looked distraught.
"Why the worried face?" I inquired as we finished eating.
A litany of reasons poured forth. "I have no experience with guys. None."
"That's no cause for concern..." I tried to reassure her, but she cut me off.
"I'm an eighteen year old virgin, a total nerd," Margaret cried in exasperation. "My friend has had two boyfriends. I've had none," she lamented. "I'm going to die a virgin."
"Margaret, Patrick will fall in love with you. You'll make him fall for you."
"And how am I supposed to do that?" she demanded.
"You'll be yourself. And you'll use feminine guile along with the assets that nature provided you."
Margaret glared at me. "I don't want him to love me just for sex. I want him to love me for who I am."
"I'm certain Patrick will love you for who you are, but compatibility in intimacy goes a long way toward fostering love."
"There's more to a relationship than sex, you know."
"Of course there is. But the hard truth is that people want satisfying intimacy from their partner. You don't want to lose Patrick due to naivete' in love. If you don't get him, some conniving hussy will. She'll be the winner; you'll be the loser."
She pondered that for a moment. "Fine. But that doesn't solve my problem."
"Margaret, this isn't puppy love. You're on the threshold of womanhood. You need to know how to engage with men."
"What do you mean, 'engage with men?'" she asked defensively.
"Margaret, when interacting with men a woman sometimes needs to act like a wounded kitten. Other times a bitch. And sometimes she needs to act like a whore."
Margaret was aghast. "Well I never in my life!"
I ignored her contrived umbrage and continued. "I'll teach you how to be the girl Patrick always wanted." I left unsaid 'and the whore he's dreaming of.'
The room fell silent, my words hanging in the air, Margaret stoically contemplating.
I stood. "Come with me," I ordered.
I took Margaret to my bedroom and drew the shades. Taking her in my arms, I kissed her lips.
"Undress me, Margaret."
Her mouth dropped open.
"Unbutton my shirt," I insisted.
Margaret hesitated, but my counsel was sinking in. The shock on her face turned to resolve; no conniving hussy was going to steal her man. Margaret stepped tentatively forward and reached for my top button.
"Take your time in foreplay. Good loving is never rushed."
Margaret unbuttoned my shirt and removed it. I had her pull off my undershirt too. I ordered her to remove my pants. She paused, and then unfastened my belt. She needed help with the button, but soon had me in my boxers.
"These too," I beckoned.
Margaret complied and I sprang out. She just stared. I took her hand and placed it on my erection. She gripped it tightly.
"Go easy, Margaret. Most guys prefer a gentle touch." Margaret eased off.
