Page 9 of Bad Professor

I should call him. I should really call him. It’s been a long time.

“Call him,” I order my reflection once I get home, trying to imitate the forcefulness of my best friend, Juliet. She got me to accept a date with Brian tonight—what would she tell me about this?

Can I have a one-night stand with a man? I mean, sure, I’m able to. I’m allowed to.

But can I?

I’ve slept with three men in my life—Carlos, Scott, my high school boyfriend who I dated for all four years of university until I found out he was also sleeping with one of his roommates, and Kevin, the one-night stand after finding out about Scott. That night resulted in a horrible hangover and a vow never to touch rum again, as well as an STD that I cured with antibiotics. It also cured me of thinking I could handle casual sex.

I met Carlos a year later, and I thought I’d be with him forever.

There were more than a few times when I wished I had been more adventurous in my youth. Not letting a mild case of gonorrhea frighten me away from meeting men in bars and going home with them as some of my friends did. Or dating men that lasted a few weeks rather than years.

There were many times I wished I was more experienced, so I could know if Carlos’s lovemaking was usual for a man, or he was just a very selfish lover.

Scott didn’t know what he was doing with a woman, especially since he liked men, and Kevin was in and out before I really knew what was going on.

I could call him. I should call him. But maybe…

My hands clenched into fists, I scrunch up my face and let out a high-pitched scream of frustration.

And then my eyes fly open at the noise I’ve just made.

“Shh,” Carlos would say. “Calm down.”

My ex-husband had not been a person who expressed emotions, or understood the fact that sometimes, emotions needed to be expressed. He preferred me calm and in control, and during our years together, I perfected the soothing tone I used whenever he was upset.

Carlos also preferred me to be quiet in the bedroom. The second night I spent in this apartment without the girls—the first night I spent crying—I used the vibrator Juliet gave me for the first time and had a silent orgasm.

No heavy breathing, or gasps. Just lips pressed firmly together so nothing would escape.

It took me a lot quicker than it ever had with Carlos in control.

That amazed me, so I tried it again. This time, a little gasp slipped out.

Back then, I thought that maybe it was time to let go of a few other things.

Like fear.

Of everything.

But now, I take off my dress, hanging is neatly back in my closet and head to the bathroom to wash up for bed.

I suspect that this Dexter is younger than I am, so what would his reaction be if he got a look at my forty-five-year-old body with the tiny pooch no Pilates will get rid of, and breasts that will never be as perky as when I was twenty?

Most days, I feel good about my body. It’s strong, it brought two beautiful daughters into this world, but these days, no one sees it but me and my mirror.

And my mirror is never very complimentary.

Having Dexter touch me, talk to me like that, really gave my libido a jump-start. I have a vibrator, and yes, it was off to a good start with it, but good starts don’t always mean good finishes. I’ve never even had to change the batteries since I got it. I’ve never had much of a sex drive, which was one of Carlos’s countless complaints and, according to him, the reason he found other partners to satisfy him.

Basically, Carlos did his best to convince me it was my fault he cheated on me, because he didn’t know how to satisfy me and wasn’t enough of a man to try and figure out. He blamed me, stopped trying, and took his business elsewhere.

Thanks to my therapist, who got me to the realization that it wasn’t my fault.

I wonder what my therapist would say if I called and asked her if I should text a stranger I sort of met in a bar, while I was on a date with another man, to have sex with him.

I can’t see her thinking it’s a good idea.

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