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The Mrs. Robinson Complex

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Things don't get weird between them, even after Trish sort of accuses Andy of trying to roofie and kill her. She doesn't laugh at his virginity and he doesn't stab her in the face, and they both love each other, so it pretty much works out. Trish apologizes to Andy by buying him another bike, and he mostly stops giggling whenever she sticks her hand down his pants.

They still don't have sex. They celebrate getting back together by almost reaching third base, and for their two month anniversary, Trish buys herself a new vibrator.

The third time she tries to have sex with Andy goes a lot better than the first or second time. They play putt-putt golf in Sherman Oaks and eat dinner at a Polish restaurant off of Santa Monica, and when they get to Andy's place, Trish presses him against the door and licks at his lower lip.

They kiss while slipping their hands under each others' clothes and stumbling toward his bedroom, only briefly stopping at a wall so Trish can work one of her legs between Andy's ("Is that an Asia poster?" she asks before Andy distracts her by grinding against her thigh and lightly biting the sensitive skin near her collar bone) before both of them tumble onto his bed.

There's no chance of her kids barging in on them, and they both promised over dinner that neither of them were going to run away screaming in the near future, but Trish knows she can't go through with it when she watches Andy reach for the lone condom on his night stand. Sees his forehead wrinkling in concentration as he carefully tears the wrapper open. Looks at him deliberately breathe through his nose for a moment before finally pulling the actual condom out.

At least now she knows why her floor was littered with rubbers that one time, and it wasn't because of the expiration dates. Fuck. "Andy?"

"Yes?" He gives the latex a resentful look, rubbing it between his fingers

"You might want to take your pants off first."

Andy looks down at his belt. "Oh, hey," he says in an overly bright tone. "Right. I knew that." He turns his head and flashes a nervous smile that makes her want to snuggle him almost as much as she wants to straddle him and scrape her chin against his stubble.

She rests a hand on his wrist. "You know, we don't really need to have sex tonight. We can just, I don't know, do whatever?"

"Yeah? Are you sure?" He wrinkles his face, unconvinced.

"I mean, we've pretty much only been making out. We can always just move a little slower. You know, ease into it all? So everything's comfortable?"

"Really? Because everything does feel right. You feel right." He looks over at his other hand, which happens to be resting just above her ass, and slides it away quickly. "Um. You know what I mean." He presses a kiss at the corner of her mouth.

"Yeah. I'm sure.

"And," Trish adds as she pulls off her blouse, "we can always just work on topless-ness tonight."

Andy swallows, staring at her chest. "Yeah." He nods. "I can definitely do that."

"Good." She smiles, then slides her hand up his undershirt and tweaks his nipple.

She doesn't have the heart to tell him that he probably fucked up the condom anyway.

Trish isn't sure how much her kids know about her and Andy's relationship, but she gets a feeling that Marla might have found out about the whole virgin thing before she herself did - especially when educational brochures like Sex Is Not A Video Game and Prophylactics And You! start turning up in her mail basket and key drawer.

Trish is surprisingly okay with that, since she figures that means Marla can't use Trish's love life as an argument for why teenagers should have absolute permission to fuck their boyfriends.

That is until they get into another screaming match over Marla's inherent right to slut around, and Marla wails, "What do you want? Do you want my boyfriend to become a lame-ass magician?" before slamming her bedroom door shut.

Trish's first boyfriend was Chris, an arty senior who thought he was a better guitar player than he actually was. But he was tall and lean and two years older than her, with hair like Rod Stewart's. He kissed like a fucking rock star, all tongue and teeth and one callused hand underneath her shirt, and took her virginity in the back of her mom's Oldsmobile when they ditched a pep rally one afternoon.

They'd been making out in the back seat for a while when he grabbed her ass between his hands, pressing her up against him, and asked, "Can I? Can I?" And she shot back with a rushed, "Just do it already," and started unbuttoning his fly.

He pushed into her, mouthing one of her breasts through the thin cotton of her shirt, and Trish was kind of into it all until he came with a grunt after only a couple of thrusts, biting down on her nipple just this side of painful.

"That was awesome. Don't you think that was awesome?" he said, wetly frenching her as he tucked himself back in. Trish, still needing some release, just studied him - her pants bunched around her thighs and a stupid saliva-damp spot on her favorite shirt, his mullet dampened with sweat - wondering why she ever thought he was so fucking cool.

It wasn't how she'd pictured her first time, exactly, but she was never one of those sappy, doe-eyed girls who planned their first kiss months in advance, like which cheesy song would play in the background or what kind of flowers he'd give. So she shrugged it off, and broke up with Chris the next week.

She hooked up with her second boyfriend a month after that, and had her first kid thirteen months later.

Two more kids and twenty-one years later, Trish still doesn't need perfection. She just doesn't want her first time with Andy to end with him staring up at her, wondering why the hell he wanted her so bad.

At thirty-eight, Trish realizes that she actually likes making out with soft, romantic music playing the background, surrounded by lit candles, with Andy staring at her in wonder.

She's straddling Andy on her bed, with a basket full of condoms left over from a dissolved marriage by her side, and demonstrating to Andy how to put on a rubber. The candles are jasmine and vanilla scented. "We're not having sex, we're just practicing," she lays out to Andy at the start, before pinching the tip of a condom and rolling it over his hard-on.

Later, she spoons Andy from behind, both of them working together to roll on a third condom. They're still not having sex, but there's definitely some excellent hand action going on in between playing around with each rubber, and Trish can't help the giggle that escapes as she kisses the back of Andy's neck. "Okay. You know... I'm kind of starting to feel like a fluffer for a porno."

"Like in one of David's videos?" Andy scoots in closer to her. "Well, then I think you have a pretty secure back-up job." He turns his neck, looking at her from the corner of his eye. "Hey. You know what would make this really awesome?" He tries to hold on to a straight face, but gives it away when his eyes crinkle in amusement. "If you dressed up like Captain America."

Trish snorts and palms his dick. "Not until you actually put out."

Trish's business really takes off after her eBay seller rating shoots up from the first shipment of Andy's toys. (Collectibles, the Andy in her head corrects.) People start bringing their original paintings and vintage furniture to her, and her income depends less and less on bids for creepy animal figurines and dusty polyester lamp shades.

Her store itself is pretty dead apart from an hour or two during the evening rush hours, when people stop by to drop things off or to make sure she hasn't taken off with their shit. So by lunch time, Trish is close to falling asleep when the bell on the door chimes and a few of Andy's co-workers walk in.

"Hi, you guys. Come on in." Trish leans back in her chair, yawning into her hand. "Um. Andy's not around..."

They stop in front of her desk. "Yeah, Paula sent him out to do something somewhere. Actually, we're here to talk to you," the hairiest one says.

She squints at him, something niggling at her memory. "I thought you mostly spoke Spanish."

The other two standing next to him shift awkwardly on their feet. "Uh, Cal's inglés has been muy bueno lately," one of the guys dryly states.

Trish looks at his name tag. "Oh. So you're David." He seems less skeevy in person than she thought he'd be.

He hesitates. "Yes?"

"Whatever." The hairy one, Cal, rolls his eyes. "Look, Andy told us that he finally told you he was a virgin. So we're just here because we, as Andy's friends - some might say his only friends - feel that it is our duty to protect his interests by lowering your standards."

"Well, I wouldn't say lower... more like warn, right?" interjects (Trish glances at his badge) Jay. He looks at the other two guys, and they just shrug back at him. "Warn you about our boy," he concludes.

"We just want you to realize that Andy is a sweet soul, and we're just hoping you'll remember to take that into consideration," David says helpfully. He perches himself on Trish's desk, and tilts his head sensitively.

Cal stares at him. "Are you fucking serious?" He leans toward Trish. "He is going to be bad - I mean, really fucking awful. He will probably jizz on your thigh. And I've seen him try to dance both drunk and sober, and I really don't think you'll be able to get a decent rhythm going the first few times."

"You don't really know that..."

"He's actually got excellent hip movement," David argues, talking over Trish. "So it'll be more like banging a rhythmless hula dancer."

"Plus, feel this," says Jay. "Since he's a virgin, it's like she's," he gestures at Trish, not looking at her, "getting all the benefits of acting like a cougar, without feeling like a total pedophile after it's all said and done. It don't matter if they say they're eighteen; if they don't got hair in all the right parts, whether or not they say it's just wax, you always end up feeling kind of dirty."

Her eyes widen, and she feels bewildered and mildly disgusted. And when Cal turns to her, he immediately puts his hands up in a placating way. "Look, Trish - can I call you Trish? Andy kind of reminds me of a cross between a little brother that I want to protect, and a creepy uncle that I feel kind of bad for. We have trained him as much as we can. And short of some really gay shit, I don't think we can totally prepare him for everything. So, please, do not fucking laugh if something goes wrong. He's not really all that young - no offense - and he'll probably have a hard enough time getting it up as it is. Laughter will only make him go all rubbery down there."

"But really, what's most important is that you both share a real connection," David adds. "And that there's love." David shoots a pointed look at the other two.

"Love." Cal nods. "Totally."

"Yeah. Love," Jay finishes.

All of them stare at each other in silence for a moment.

"You know," Trish starts, clapping her hands together, "in a way, this is sort of sweet. But Andy and I kind of have our own thing going, so I'm going to just pretend this didn't happen..."

Cal scratches the back of his neck. "That's probably a good idea."

"... and promise that I might not kill any of you the next time I see you guys."

"Thank you. That's real generous of you." Jay points a thumb at the door. "We're just gonna go. Now."

"It was nice meeting you!" David apologetically calls out as the guys walk out to the sidewalk, the bell on the glass door chiming as it swings shut behind them.

Trish can't help but thumb through the safe-sex brochures whenever they turn up in her house. Sex Is Not A Video Game has an overreaching Sonic the Hedgehog metaphor and clearly went out of date after the 90s were over.

Some of the brochures are useful. "You know what I read today that I didn't really want to know?" Trish says to Andy as they watch TV one night. They're on her couch, with Andy sprawled out, using Trish's leg as a pillow. "Apparently third base includes oral now."

"Really? Seriously?" His face twitches. "Wow... kids these days."

CSI: Miami goes to commercial after a dorky quip from David Caruso, and Trish looks down at Andy. "Wanna go back to my bedroom?"

"Yes, please," Andy quickly replies, already standing up.

Trish may or may not have something that technically counts as a freak-out one afternoon.

"Hey Mom," her oldest kid, Sarah, says after Trish answers the phone. "So is Marla totally lying or are you actually defiling virgins?"

"Oh my god!" Trish props herself against a door frame, putting her arm over her eyes. "No! We are so not having this conversation!"

"Wait. Have you even, like, deflowered the new boy-toy yet?"

Trish thumps the back of her head against the solid plaster behind her. "No, I have not deflowered him!" she hisses into the receiver.


"Yes, seriously! He is actually really sweet and considerate. And we're just taking it slow and easy and - hell - we might never have sex! It's not like I haven't peaked already! Grandmas have to menopause some time!" She starts to pace the kitchen.

"You're not that old, Mom. Like, how old is he? Forty? What if he's really bad? What if that's why he can't get laid? What if he jizzes on your thigh-"

"You know what?" Trish interrupts. "It's not like it was even all that good most of the time with your father! I had to fake it! At least Andy's tried to learn where a woman's clit actually is!"

"Oh gross! Mom!" Sarah whines. Trish can hear her own grandson start to cry on the other end of the line. "Aw shit. It's woken up. Gotta go."

The phone clicks just as Trish hears Marla's scream come from the living room. "God, Mom! Did you have to say that?" Marla yanks the front door open; her friends are waiting in the driveway.

"If you're too young to hear that, then you're too young to have sex!" Trish yells back from the kitchen doorway. "And you better come home before six tonight!"

Trish finds herself attracted to things about Andy that would have made her cut and run on any other guy before they met. Andy is a nice guy, with dorkily parted hair that's fun to mess up and an arsenal of lame jokes and even cheesier magic tricks that he always performs with a boyish smile and playful eyes, never failing to make her smile.

She could do without the boring wool sweaters, or that creepy-ass action figure (collectible) on Andy's nightstand. She doesn't need Steve Austen staring at her whenever she's trying to concentrate on scraping her teeth against the soft skin of Andy's inner thigh. But she can't help but love the way Andy's eyes go wide, the innocent but thrilled look he gets every time they try something new and just a little dirty, which is sweet and surprisingly sexy as hell, and she desperately doesn't want to fuck him up.

Andy is a blank slate, with nothing to compare to their first time together. And while Andy may be a middle-aged virgin, Trish is a high-strung granny with two decades worth of baggage trailing behind her.

It takes a bottle of wine and a couple days of some quality insomnia before Trish finally confesses anything to Andy, both of them sprawled out on her bed in their pajamas one night, her head pillowed on his shoulder and one of her legs thrown across his. "I just really don't want it to suck, you know? What if you never want to have sex ever again?" she finishes, bleary-eyed and feeling just a little pathetic.

"Huh," Andy says thoughtfully. "You've been putting the pussy on a pedestal."

"Wuh?" She has no idea what he's just said or where he's going with this.

He wraps an arm around her and pulls her in closer to him. "Trish, everything we've been doing - everything we've done - there is nothing that could make me want you any more than I already do. You have nothing to worry about." He turns toward her and huffs a laugh into her hair. "You know, you're the one with all the experience. I've mostly been worrying about making it good for you..."

"Well, experience kind of sucks."

"I mean, I even called up this ex-lesbian I met a while ago for pointers and stuff. Uh. Though I think she only gave me advice because she thought it'd be a threesome. She sounded really interested in you."

Trish pats his chest reassuringly. "Andy? It's been so long since the last time I did it, that the next time I have actual sex, it will be great no matter what. So it'll definitely be amazing with you."

"I think I have you beat, time-wise, so you're going to be a superstar in bed."

"Heh." She turns into him, rubbing her nose against his shoulder. "I'm gonna totally ravish you. It'll be like it's our wedding night, and you're my blushing bride."

She can feel Andy freeze up next to her. "Well... Why don't we do that?" he says carefully.

"Role play?" she asks, uncertain.

He looks down at her, eyes serious. "Why don't we wait until we get married?"

She sits up, feeling very awake all of a sudden, her buzz from the wine mostly gone. "Andy, are you asking what I think you're asking?"

She watches him prop himself up on his elbows, working something out, before he finally shifts to grasp her hand with one of his and sits up on his knees. His palm is warm and just a little sweaty. "Look, Trish. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I can't think of anything that could make me happier or make being with you more special than having our first time be on our wedding night."

He forms a circle between his thumb and index finger on his free hand and holds it up to her. "Pretend this is a ring." He slips those fingers of his over her ring finger. And she almost can't believe she loves someone this corny, but his shy half-smile makes something tug at her stomach, and she feels warm. "Will you marry me?"

She sniffles, tearing up a little, and nods to make sure he definitely knows her answer before she kisses him, throwing all of herself into it - tongue and teeth and a hand underneath his shirt.

He breaks off the kiss after a minute, and leans his forehead against hers. "And I'm really hoping we get married soon, because I'm not totally sure I can wait for our honeymoon."

"We can work with that," she says before hooking her fingers into the waistband of his boxers, both of them grinning at each other, like a promise.