Fred was ecstatic. He had found a suitable apartment on his first try, it was available almost right away and he had a girlfriend. He glanced proudly at Myrtle. He was well pleased with her. She wasn’t a pushy woman. Fred didn’t approve of pushy women and hadn’t since the sixth grade when little Gloria Newton talked him into removing his clothes in the woods back of the school picnic. She had promised to remove hers too, so they could each see what the other gender looked like. But he was no sooner undressed than Gloria grabbed his undershorts and made off with them. Fred frowned as he recalled the incident. He found out later she’d done it on a dare and he had been subjected to an abundance of female giggling and tittering for several days afterwards. And he had never recovered his undershorts. He had been disinclined to trust women ever since and simply wouldn’t tolerate a pushy, forward one.
He gave Myrtle a little squeeze and she returned it, then she contentedly rested her head on his shoulder. He could feel the slight pressure of her head against his collar and he sighed happily into the cool evening air. It was the man who should make the first moves, he thought. Regardless of his sexual experience, or lack of it, he was in charge. And Myrtle, he was certain, was the kind of woman who appreciated that.
Actually, Fred wasn’t sure if he had any sexual experience or not. He knew Gloria Newton didn’t count, but he wasn’t sure about Hortense Lundy. He had just started at Soames Shipping and had attended that first office Christmas party wanting to make a good impression. Unfortunately, it simply hadn’t occurred to him that there was anything other than fruit juice in the punch. He remembered dancing with Hortense and he vaguely remembered wearing an orange rind on his ear for an earring. But he was never sure what happened after that, except that he woke up the following morning on an unfamiliar couch in an unfamiliar room certain that he’d been crushed to dust and was suffering the final moments of his ebbing life. He did notice in a detached sort of way that he wasn’t wearing his pants and he did wonder briefly where they were. But since he didn’t even know where he was, it just hadn’t seemed all that incredibly important.
He had lain there, a moaning mass of helpless human inertia, until Hortense appeared suddenly from nowhere, plucked him from the couch and hugged him to her, making sympathetic and very loud clucking noises in his ear as she did so. He remembered thinking at the time that it was an awful shame he’d survived all those years with his mother only to perish in the huge arms of Hortense Lundy. But she had released him before he passed out and as he plopped back onto the couch he only wanted to find his pants and get out of there. Both these desires were fulfilled when Hortense held a cup of steaming black coffee to his parched lips. As soon as the hot liquid hit his abused stomach, he was quite violently ill and Hortense quite suddenly produced his trousers, helped him into them and escorted him through the front door. He quite accidentally discovered his car on her front lawn and somehow started it. He didn’t actually recall all of the drive home, but somehow he got there safely.
For weeks afterwards he tried to ascertain if anything had happened between Hortense and himself by listening closely to office gossip. But despite prowling the water coolers and cocking an ear whenever he heard a snigger in any corner of the employee lunch room, all he was ever able to determine was that he’d taken Hortense home after the party, and barfed on her couch.
He glanced again at Myrtle and smiled inwardly. It was amusing, he thought, that a man who couldn’t seem to keep his pants on had no sexual experience he could recall. Then he frowned again, wondering suddenly why he’d thought that was funny.
As they approached the car, they each reluctantly released their hold on each other and Fred bent to open the passenger door for Myrtle. As she brushed past him to climb into the car, Fred gazed into her one good eye and asked, "how old are you?" almost instantly wondering if he mightn’t have approached the question with more tact.
Myrtle only smiled. "Twenty-six," she answered. "You?"
"Twenty-seven."
They smiled at one another in mutual satisfaction with this little revelation, then Myrtle climbed into the car and Fred went around to the other side.
"Penny for your thoughts," he offered, after they’d driven along in silence for awhile.
Myrtle giggled and patted his leg. "Oh Fred, you’re such a card. Actually I was just hoping you like ice cream with canned fruit on it, because that’s what I have for dessert when we get back to my place. I was sort of wishing I’d taken the time to bake you a pie or something instead," she revealed.
Fred grinned hugely. "Oh, I like ice cream all right, Myrtle. That’s what I usually have at home. But I like pie too, and y’know, I haven’t had any in a long time," he informed her meaningfully.
Myrtle giggled and patted his leg again, this time leaving her hand rest there. By the time they arrived at her place she had learned that Fred liked cherry or blueberry pie best, apple, raisin, pumpkin or lemon second best, and rhubarb pie third best. Since it seemed to her there was scarcely a kind of pie which wasn’t one of his favorites, she made a mental note to check her pantry to see if she had the necessary supplies to do some pie-baking soon.
As soon as they were inside, Myrtle lit a fire, then put on the coffee and served up their ice cream in the kitchen. When they’d finished that, she poured a mug of coffee for each of them and led Fred to the living room. He wanted to help with the dinner dishes, but Myrtle insisted she would do them later, so the two snuggled together with their coffee on the end of the couch nearest the wood stove and once again leafed through a catalogue. It wasn’t much attention they were giving it this time though, as Myrtle snuggled close and rested her head on Fred’s shoulder. She relaxed against him and had her eye closed much of the time, even as she flipped the pages of the heavy book in Fred’s lap. For his part, Fred was trying to keep his nose in the general proximity of Myrtle’s head so he might better enjoy the faint lilac scent of her hair.
Though he was almost always in bed by 11:00 on week nights, it was 10:45 before he reluctantly left Myrtle's. He shyly kissed Myrtle good night and waved as he backed away from her, then he turned and fell out the porch door.
Myrtle rushed to his side. "Are you all right?" she asked.
Fred nodded through the pain on his face as she sat down on the ground beside him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She laid his head against her and soothingly stroked his cheek, gently rocking back and forth. It was worth the fall, he thought as he relaxed against her. Then he suddenly realized the softness he could feel against his ear was one of her tiny breasts and was embarrassed. He moved to get up and Myrtle released him.
She regained her feet as he did, then moved close and softly kissed his cheek. "Now, you watch where you’re going," she admonished.
He smiled sheepishly and once again waved as he backed away. Then he turned and disappeared down the path without further mishap.
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