Trivial Pursuits Ch. 06

Denny studied her, his body half turned to her with his arm over the back of the plush booth. "Why awful?"

But pink cheeks weren't the only thing the alcohol affected. Suddenly, she didn't care if he knew, in fact, a little part of her wanted to be free of her secret. "I thought we were in love. All of our friends were doing it, even though I was just a freshman. I just wanted him to love me. And I thought it would be good, you know? I had all these feelings, I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to feel good, to have all his promises. But when it actually happened, I don't know. It hurt. It was awkward. It was embarrassing. It was kind of gross. And the moment he was in, it stopped. All the sexual feelings I was having just stopped. He came before the pain even went away. Less than a minute," she concluded morosely.

She took her wine glass and slowly twirled it back and forth, watching the last of the liquid remain motionless even though glass moved about it.

"It was one of the most devastating disappointments in my life," she admitted with definite regret in her voice. "A week later he talked me into letting him try again, promising he would make sure I had an orgasm," she laughed morosely. "But it was just as boring the second time. Either there was something wrong with me or the entire mystique about sex had been grossly exaggerated. Maybe it's great for the guy, but for the woman? Waste of freaking time." She downed the last of her wine and looked to the stairs, eager for the waiter to come back so she could order another.

"Alessa," Denny began, but she cut him off.

"No, don't try to change my experience for me or try to convince me I had somehow missed something that was there, because I didn't. Besides, I dumped him the next day, was miserable for about a month while he spread rumors of me being a cold fish, threw myself into school, and never looked back. I was just thankful I'd figured it out before wasting my life chasing after something that didn't exist." A memory fluttered in her mind, but she managed to shove it aside, lock it away to keep up her resolve.

Alessa was relieved when the waiter brought their food. She ordered another drink, as did Denny, and dug in to her fish. The new distraction of their food allowed Denny time to contemplate everything she had thus far shared. Intuitively, he realized there was a disconnect in what she claimed and yet what she did, and eventually he began to wonder about her old penchant for writing erotica and why she ever stopped. But in order to discover the cause, he would have to confess to her his own marred past. And so, when he had made a considerable dent in his food, he braved what he had been holding back since she first walked into his office so many weeks ago.

"When you came for your interview, didn't it feel as though we had met before?"

Alessa's eyebrows drew down in suspicion. "Actually, yeah, it kind of did," she cautiously agreed.

Denny's mouth was tight for a moment before he took a deep breath and continued. "The first time you probably didn't notice me. It was when you took those classes at Stanford. I was in your poli-sci class." He gave a begrudging, half smile. "I was impressed by how intelligent you seemed, by your answers and your drive to impress the professor. And I thought you were cute then," he admitted, a quick glance up at her before looking back down at his steak.

Alessa blushed, and though she didn't want to, she couldn't keep from smiling. "You did?"

"Yeah, but you were just a teenager so I didn't bother."

"Oh." When he remained silent she asked him about the second time.

"What if I told you I have a history of acting like a jerk to you?"

She frowned. "I'm not sure I follow. When else have we met?"

Again he was silent, each step of his confession required a monumental reaffirming of his desire to be completely honest. "Do you ever play trivia?" he asked in a new direction of questioning.

Again she looked puzzled. "You mean like Trivial Pursuit, the game?"

He shook his head and downed his drink. "No, like trivia, quiz bowls, at pubs and stuff." His eyes lifted to hers.

Denny could feel the immediate change in her, her body stiffening and her expression taut, and his gut tightened. She spoke slowly, cautiously. "Not really. Not for a long time. I played a couple of times with a group of girls I was acquainted with back in college." They were both silent a moment before she spoke again. "Are you saying we met one of the times I was there playing?"

Denny slowly nodded.

Her expression screwed up in even more discomfort. "And you're saying we interacted and you were a jerk?" she clarified, not wanting to believe her suspicions.

Again he nodded.

"The alley," she breathed.

He gave one, single, solitary nod.

She was silent while she processed all the implications of his wordless confession. Denny watched in near anguish as a myriad of emotions passed across her expressive face. He saw shock, despair, anger, fear, and then guarded calculation. When she at last spoke, he began carefully rebuilding his bridge to her.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

He was thankful that she didn't slap him or demand he get away from her, and to him, that was a welcome sign. "What I did was wrong, believe me, I regret it fully. I had too much to drink, and your team...well, they annoyed the shit out of me and I just wanted to punish the lot of you for winning. And you, you were just this aloof, unattainable ice princess and you didn't even care you were single handedly beating us, beating me. And then I figured you must be cheating, you know, looking on your phone for answers."

Alessa groaned at the mention of her phone, doubtless remembering when he had taken it from her. She put her forehead in her hand. "Denny, I really don't want to talk about this."

"Too bad, because this is exactly what we're talking about," he said firmly, scooting closer so they were touching, his arm still on the back of the booth. "I don't get it. I checked you out. Checked your stories out," he admitted, confirming her deepest fear. "Not only are you a good writer, but you were writing erotica. Fucking-hot erotica. How can you say you aren't interested in sex when clearly you are. Or at least were."

Alessa looked up at him, her angry eyes spearing him. She didn't pay any mind to the fact she was practically nestled into his side. "That's right. I was until I was nearly attacked in an alley and scared out of my friggin' mind."

Denny was quiet a moment. "Really? You stopped writing because of me?"

"What do you expect? You come out of nowhere in the middle of a dark alley to verbally abuse me, libel me, falsely accuse me of cheating, and then you steal my phone and discover my mortifying secret. Yeah, how the fuck do you think I felt?" she whispered harshly, her eyes shifting down the way to other booths to make sure no one overheard their conversation. "I couldn't keep writing after that."

"What do you mean?"

She gave an exasperated sigh and stared angrily across the table to the half wall partitioning them from the restaurant. "Did you read those stories?"

"Of course. How could I not? They were very good."

"Did you notice what they were about? What their theme was?"

"You mean sex?"

"No, you idiot."

"Oh, you mean the fact that they were about rape sort of stuff?"

"It's called non-consensual," she corrected. "Growing up in high school, in college, I thought that's what I liked, that's what turned me on. But when it almost happened, it made me sick. When I got home that night, I puked and couldn't stop crying because I was so scared. I couldn't sit at my computer and write any more of those stories. It just wasn't the same. The only thing that was left after that night was nausea. It wasn't a fantasy anymore; it was real. And I realized real life isn't as good as fantasy sex. It's a lie we build up because we need something, but it never does it for us. And so, after that, my lingering desires for sex effectively died. Real life is awful," she surmised bleakly.

"Alessa, sweetheart," Denny said, his heart breaking at what he had done. "It isn't awful."

"That's what you think," she intoned drily, and turned to finish off the second cocktail the waiter had brought her.

"Sweetheart, listen, sex can be uh-mazing. Now maybe you don't turn into a crazed, sex maniac, but it's about the best feeling, and not just the orgasm...all of it: connecting with someone, touching someone, having them touch you. Sex is the ultimate pleasure."

"That's a complete lie," she refused to believe.

"If sex is such a lie, why the stories at all?"

The alcohol was coursing through her like a truth serum, but even that truth was too painful to admit to, too confusing and full of despair, and so, despite the pull to confess everything, she kept it back and instead glossed over it, giving more half-truths and general lamentations. Alessa's expression was dismal as she looked into her empty glass.

"I tried to leave it alone. When I broke up with him, I did nothing but study. I thought I could get past it. But those urges wouldn't leave, not when I was silent and still. So I turned to erotic stories. It started with romance novels, but as I got older my need seemed to morph, and I craved stories about, well, you know. And, of course, I put myself into the characters, no matter how much bullshit nonsense it was. It was my therapy, I guess. Living my fantasy from a safe distance. But after you and the alley, I couldn't believe the lie anymore, that even though it wasn't real it was just as good. So I stopped writing and just focused on school." Denny didn't miss her quiet tears that were rolling unannounced down her pink cheeks.

"Alessa, sweetheart," he murmured, his arm dropping to nestle around her shoulders and pulling her a few inches closer. The moment his arm was around her, she turned into him so her head rested under his chin. He could feel the small shake of her shoulders though she didn't make a sound. After a time, Denny lifted his hands to her face, cradling it and brushing away her tears with his thumbs.

He kissed her temple, comfortable and natural. When she raised no objections, he placed another at the side of her cheek, and then under her eye, and down along the side of her nose. His lips stopped just before they touched hers. He was staring at her when her eyes drifted up to his, red with tears dotted on her lashes.

"Alessa," he whispered again, but she began to pull back, weary from it all.

He watched as she smoothed out her clothes and cleared her throat before reaching for her water glass. He saw the waiter coming and pulled out his wallet before he arrived. "Alessa, would you like any dessert?" he asked, though knew she would decline.

He gave the waiter his card, and the two sat in silence while the waiter took care of their bill. As soon as he returned they stood to leave, and Alessa was grateful Denny was behind her as she swayed on her feet. "I guess I don't typically drink so much," she mumbled in defense when his two hands landed on either of her hips to steady her.

Denny then took her by the hand and led her down the stairs, ready to grab her if needed. But Alessa made it to the door without incident. When they stepped out into the cool night air, she looked down at their joined hands, and when she lifted her eyes to his, Denny waited for her to pull away. She surprised him when, instead, she turned to head back toward the car, their hands still clasped.

Denny was lamenting how all her defenses would fall if only he could kiss her, when they passed a particularly dark section of the path. Suddenly, he had a plan.

"I know you think sex isn't thrilling, but give me a chance to show you how good it can be. I know I can convince you in two minutes that sex, and all you've fantasized about it, isn't overrated," he challenged, pulling on the hand he was holding to bring them to a stop in the darkest shadow.

"Two minutes? Talk about premature ejaculation," she muttered, to which Denny chuckled. "I'm not letting you sleep with me just so you can prove a point," she replied incredulously.

"Hell, who said anything about sleeping together. Just kissing can be phenomenal. Didn't you ever make out?"

"A couple of times," she responded.

"Yeah, but you were just in high school, and if he was as bad as you claim, I bet he didn't have kissing down either. Let me convince you; just a two minute kiss can change your mind; I know you want to. I know you're attracted to me just as much as I'm attracted to you. Don't try to deny it, you're not a good enough liar. Besides, if you're right and reality isn't as good as fantasy, if there is nothing there, then what do you have to worry about?"

She leveled a hard gaze at him. "Okay, you got me. I'm attracted to you. But Denny, that's where it has to end."

"Why? Who made all these silly rules that are keeping you bound up? What's their purpose? Because from what I can tell, you aren't happy because of them. Not really happy." He took a step closer. "Come on, Alessa, just one kiss. Let me convince you. Let me show you." His hands were gentle on her as he pulled her tightly into him. "Just two minutes can change your life."

"Denny," Alessa sighed, her heart tearing in two. And though she wanted him to be right, she was just as frightened of that possibility as she was as if he was wrong. For if he was right, where would that leave her?

Holding onto a desire with no promise it would last.

"Just one kiss, Alessa," he begged softly, his mouth but a whisper away.

She whimpered, caught and miserable, knowing that by the need for that one kiss he pleaded for, it would be her undoing.

One hand was cupping her face, his thumb rubbing over her parting lips. "One kiss."