“I want you to meet my brother,”
my friend Dawn told me. “I’ll bet the two of you will really get along.”
“Oh, please don’t try fixing me
up,” I begged her. “Those things never work out, and I don’t want to hurt my
friendship with you.”
I was sitting in Dawn’s office.
She and I had been both friends and business colleagues for
about a year, yet I had not known she had a brother, much less one who was single.
“Don’t worry,” she assured me. “He’s
barely getting over his divorce; he just needs a friend.”
“If that’s the case, I could
always use more friends,” I told her.
“Come over to my house for tea
this weekend, and we’ll sit around and talk. No pressure, okay?”
“Sounds good,” I admitted.
While I don’t recall much about
that evening other than the warm ambiance of her house and the easy way our
three-way conversation flowed, I do recall that I fell under Alvin’s spell. His
quirky sense of humor appealed to me, and his looks did, too.
Because Alvin and Dawn shared a
house, I found myself hanging around with my girlfriend more than ever,
especially when it meant her brother might be there.
Months flew by, months of raucous
laughter and fun together. After a few months, I felt a little disappointed
that Alvin never asked me out on a date, so when he invited me to the zoo, I
could hardly contain my excitement.
On the day of our alleged date, Alvin
showed up with his three-year-old son in tow, a kink I had not expected. The
kid was adorable, though, and as much fun as the father. Soon we three were
enjoying the animals as if we were a family. After we had walked through the
zoo, we reached a playground, where the three-year-old insisted on trying out
the equipment. Alvin, not a lightweight man, climbed onto one of the animals
suspended on a heavy spring. While small children could bounce back and forth
on such a toy, under Alvin’s weight it groaned and bent almost to the ground. He
held on for dear life, and his surprised, embarrassed, and humorous expression
is still emblazoned on my brain. It was at that moment that I decided I wanted
to make the guy my own.
Alvin obviously had different
ideas, but he failed to let me know. When he moved into his own place and
invited me over, I washed up, primped, and prepared myself for what surely
would be a romantic evening.
Instead he served tea, something
he, my friend, and I had done often, and we sat and talked. And talked and
talked, until I finally tired of waiting for him to make a move on me and said
goodnight.
The same routine took place several
times, until one day I noticed he had a mini trampoline stored in one corner of
his living room. I pointed to it. “I’ve always wanted one of those,” I said. I’d
heard they were useful for people wanting to lose weight. All my life I have
always wanted to lose weight.
He looked over sat the
trampoline. “I don’t use it. I don’t even know why I keep it.”
“Would you sell it to me?”
“No, but I’d barter for it.”
Intrigued, I asked, “What would
you want?”
“Back rubs. My ex-wife used to
rub my back. I miss that.”
Excitement ran up my spine. Every
woman knows where back rubs lead, and I was ready. “Sure,” I said.
“Three back rubs,” he offered, “and
the trampoline is yours.”
“Want to start now?”
“No, wait till the next time you
come over.”
“Okay, name the day.”
When the day arrived, I felt more
certain than ever that once Alvin took off his shirt, he would make his move on
me. I spent even more time than usual getting myself pretty and prepped.
At his residence he once again offered
tea, and we launched into our usual plentiful conversation. Part of me relaxed,
knowing he wouldn’t leap into sex; the other part wanted the conversation to
end and the sex to begin. Surely that night was the one we would consummate
what had become a warm relationship.
He finished his last sip of tea,
placed his cup on his coffee table, leaned closer than usual to my face, and
said, “There’s something I haven’t told you.”
My heartbeat accelerated. “What?”
“You can’t share this with
anyone.”
“Of course not. What is it?”
“I’m celibate.”
“What? Celibate? But-but you were
married. You have a kid—”
“I mean outside of marriage I’m celibate.
I don’t believe in extramarital sex.”
“Uh, okay,” I said. I gulped. I
had no intention of ever remarrying, so there went my dreams of hot sex with Alvin.
I intended for all my sex to be extramarital. Kind of a deal breaker, huh?
He sat back. “As long as you
understand that, I’ll take my shirt off, and you can give me the first back
rub.”
I tried not to sound
disappointed. “Sure,” I mumbled. “The first of three backrubs. Let’s get
started.”
As Alvin slowly slid each button
open, chest hairs popped out, more and more, all the way down his downy chest.
While I like goose down, I’m not fond of chest hair. My father had none, and when
I read Erica Jong’s Fear of Flying
years earlier, I agreed with her that hairless men’s bodies. were ideal.
Obviously Alvin’s chest looked far from ideal, but thankfully I had to rub his
back, not his chest.
The shirt came off and Alvin
turned his back to me.
Egad! Horrors! Imagine screeching
sounds from an Alfred Hitchcock movie, because I think I heard them that night.
Alvin’s entire back was covered in hair, and I’m not talking about a soft, thin
fuzz. I’m talking a thick, stiff, revolting gorilla pelt. Eww!
The trampoline of my desires sat
in the corner, urging me on, plus my friend, who obviously had no intention of
being anything more to me, was waiting. I follow through on my commitments, as
anyone who knows me will tell you, so fighting back the urge to regurgitate, I
thrust my fingers into the dark fleece that coated Alvin’s back.
As I rubbed, he talked. It helped
me keep my dinner down to hear his voice, so I listened, but if I tried to
respond, my meal rose in my throat. I kept most of my thoughts to myself.
“That feels good,” he said. “Right
there. That’s always a sore spot. Good.”
Rub, rub, rub; try not to think, I told myself.
“When I was married, my wife used
to rub my back all the time. I miss that.”
Oh, dear God, his poor wife did this all the time?
“She had a routine.”
I’ll bet she zoned out like I’m having to do.
“First I’d take a hot shower, and
then she’d pluck my back.”
What? What did I just hear? My words came out involuntarily. “She plucked
your back?”
“Yes, she’d take tweezers and
pluck my back, and then she’d give me a back massage.”
Now I understand how she put up with rubbing his back, but . . . “Wasn’t
it painful to have your back plucked with tweezers?”
“Oh, yes, but the back rubs were
good.”
I think I know now why she divorced you.
We continued the back-rub routine
for the number of times required for me to take his exercise trampoline home,
but using it gave me a terrible headache, and I gave it to charity after a
while.
The story of Alvin and his celibacy
did not end there, however. A few months later my friend Jennifer told me she
had offered Alvin a free trip to Paris, and he had accepted.
“First of all, how’d you get a
free trip to Paris?” I asked her.
“I won it through work, and it’s
a trip for two. Alvin and I have been friends for a while, but I figure if I
take him to Paris, things will heat up between us.”
Thoughts raced through my mind,
but I recalled that Alvin had asked me to keep his celibacy a secret. I had to
keep my lips zipped, but oh, how I wanted to warn Jennifer! Instead I said, “I
hope you have a wonderful trip. He’s a great guy.”
“I know,” she said with a giggle.
“We’ll be sharing a room in Paris. What could be more romantic?”
“I can’t think of anything more
romantic,” I admitted, but I had to stop there.
Weeks later I saw Jennifer again.
“How was your vacation in Paris?” I asked.
“Don’t even ask.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m never speaking to Alvin
again,” she said. She pursed her lips and walked away. I knew I’d never hear
the full story, but I had a fairly good idea of what took place: nothing.
Not everyone hates hairy bodies
the way I do. I continued to enjoy Alvin’s friendship, as long as he kept his
shirt on. Alvin eventually remarried and had a long and happy marriage until he
passed away recently in his late seventies. Good-bye, my furry friend.