The “bump into” always leads to the backslide. Seinfeld
Exiting the supermarket that late afternoon, the double doors automatically whooshed wide for Vernon, and exactly then he knew he wasn’t alone.
He held a brown bag with two bottles of wine, clinking, nestled in his arm like precious babies. Two fingers on his hand held four plastic grocery bags that stretched tight with the weight of apples, cheeses, crackers, spicy jellies, and tiny smoked sausages.
The sun was bright compared to the store’s indoor lighting, so, as his eyes slowly adjusted to natural light, he saw the face of who he already knew was there.
“Barb.” He squinted in the contrasting light.
“Oh, hi, Vern,” she said with caution.
He knew enough from that response she felt as awkward as he did. However, she used the name no one else used. A playful name that she had not forgotten or now rejected for a more formal Vernon, or worse, Mr. Roberts.
“Hi.” It was all Vernon could muster at the moment. The weight of the bags and the bottles became suddenly heavier. He readjusted the bags on his fingers.
“Doing well?” she asked, trying to fill months of silence with a couple of words.
His eyes could not adjust fast enough for him to take in all of the woman he had dated.
“I am… fine, yeah, fine.” He smiled, forcing his lips to broaden as if proving he would not be lying. “You?”
“Good.”
She raised her sunglasses to hold back her curly hair, as if the glasses were a dam.
“Wine for dinner tonight?”
“You know me.” He chuckled, damning himself for saying that. He quickly added, “I mean, er, I have a penchant for wine and charcuterie boards.”
He admitted his like, as if she had not eaten hand-picked finger foods with him many times for many months before then.
Their relationship had faded as other aspects of life had drawn them apart. They had lost their fervor along the way. There were fewer Saturday night concerts at the park or flea market getaways on Sundays or bad independent films to mock in the theater. Work and new job positions caused it.
“Your Pinot Noir,” Barb said.
He hoisted the recycled brown bag that was nestled in his arm. The bottles clanked again. “They pair so well.”
The following silence made him flush, even though he stood under the cold blow from the store’s industrial air conditioner at the entryway.
The automatic doors closed behind Barb.
“Well, it was nice to see you again,” she said. She offered a half-hearted, flat-lipped grin, like he had. “I need to, um…” And she pointed ahead to the piles of fresh fruits and vegetables farther in the store.
“Maybe I’ll see you…”
“We shouldn’t, Vern. We can’t.”
And she shuffled away to the produce section.
Vernon was left with the loud AC gale, soured wine, and a relaxed evening turned bad before it even began.
He hated to let go. He watched her walk. Walking is such a basic function for surviving creatures, but she did it better than most.
He remembered purposefully falling behind at flea markets, as if he was interested in odd trinkets and junk. However, it was solely to let her get ahead of him and walk. She was graceful and her butt was hefty enough—despite her lean, six-foot body—to shuffle and bump in her sundresses. Even more, when she didn’t wear panties, the dress’s thin material would get caught between her rubbery cheeks. She would thoughtlessly tug at the dress that had lodged itself. It was a tiny thing that gave Vernon a big smile.
This time, at the store, her butt bobbed with each step ahead into the produce section. Not as buoyant as at the flea market, but she wasn’t in a sundress either.
Vernon redirected his attention to his car to get the groceries off his fingers before the thin plastic snapped.
He plopped into the driver’s seat of his black Mustang, which he bought after his breakup with Barb. He eased his shoulders and stared through the tinted sunroof.
“Barb, Barb, Barb,” he uttered. “How can you ruin a charcuterie board and two bottles?”
Vernon revved the super-powered V8 engine, but he let it only growl evenly through the parking lot. His taste had changed for the night’s meal. He pulled into the fast-food drive-thru.
“Double-burger, large fries, and a Coke,” he told the voice through the speaker. “No, wait. Make that a single, no fries and a bottle of cold water.”
Barb intended to buy a few peaches and a pineapple to top a mound of cottage cheese. It was dinner. But, as she left Vern at the front door, her heart was speeding.
“Stop doing this to me, Vern,” she scolded silently, passing the honeydews. “I don’t want to get involved again.”
She squeezed the peaches for their firmness and kept them below her nose as she wasn’t smelling them for ripeness but because she was calming herself following the bump-into.
She dropped two fuzzy peaches into a plastic bag and grabbed a prickly pineapple. Her hands were full. She did not think about getting a shopping cart when Vern had caught her so off guard.
A young worker spoke from behind her. “Ma’am, do you need a cart?”
She thanked him and placed the fruits into the basket. She strolled aimlessly through the grocery store—up and down, aisle after aisle. She soon found herself in the beer and wine section. Not her intent. All the meandering through the store now would not make Vern fade from her mind. His little bag of wine that he held so closely to his chest. The finger foods he used to feed her. He could put together a great night of food.
She avoided buying wine or any other alcohol or else she would call him. It would start things up all over again.
Sitting in her car, she twisted around her wrist the diamond bracelet she bought after they separated. She knew he was enjoying that charcuterie board and sipping wine, while she was about to survive on cottage cheese and lumps of fruit.
Tearing open the bag at home, Vernon found the burger was only two buns, missing the meat, and the water was warm.
He flung the food on the kitchen counter.
The charcuterie was not an option, nor was wine. He jammed the plastic bags of food into the empty refrigerator and closed the Pinot in his wine fridge.
He grabbed his keys and sped to a local dim bar with average beer and poor television reception. Even though the sun hadn’t yet set, he could wallow well enough for hours.
He could not flush Barb from his mind. New old memories rose again. Over and over, he wrapped and released his hand around a cold mug of the hoppy beer.
They had been in a miniplex theater watching a poorly made sci-fi film when her hand touched his thigh.
“Oh, sorry,” she squeaked a true apology, “I missed the popcorn.”
“Want me to move it?”
“Mhmm.” Her tone was sultry. And her hand slid deep into his lap to feel him. Soon, she had taken him to outer space in the cramped seats of the dark theater. Soon, he had her at his apartment and, later, she told him—while zapped and sprawled out on the bed—she really, really liked his choice in films.
Two beers and an hour later, Vernon left the bar. It was before he would have trouble getting home as well as trouble at home fighting his running mind.
Putting his key in the door lock, he hoped Barb might have busted in and been waiting for him on the small sofa that she had convinced him to buy instead of living with a single, ragged recliner.
She wasn’t there. The place was silent. Dark.
Across town, Barb set down her bowl of lumpy cottage cheese, topped with a quarter of a peach. She jammed her spoon into the center, frustrated and uninterested in eating the gunk.
She took a deep breath, raising her shoulders and stretching her chest, and exhaled into a slump.
“Damn it.” And she pounded the table once. The bowl bounced with the slam. The spoon clacked onto the table. Bits of cottage cheese flung onto the table.
She wanted a charcuterie board. Spicy jams and preserves, fed to her by a strong man.
Artisan crackers topped with that spicy cherry jam. Brie and Gouda cheeses. Thin-sliced salami and tiny smoked sausages. Garlic-stuffed olives. Roasted almonds. Sliced strawberries and red grapes.
Cottage cheese was lonely food. Food for a single woman who worked too much and got nothing real from it, except for a larger salary. But what was money with no one to share it?
She pushed her bowl to the other side of the table. Her stomach was empty but repulsed by the white clumps.
Vernon wanted to be careful. Those beers gave him courage.
“I’ll call, just to say it was good to see her.” He picked up his thin phone. The screen brightened at seeing his face.
Immediately, he set it down. He paced through each of the rooms in his apartment.
“I can’t. I shouldn’t. No way. What would she say? ‘Don’t call me, I am over you’.”
Barb remembered going to the flea market with Vern. She giggled, as if she hadn’t noticed his game. He would fall behind, looking at items for sale, to watch her walk. He was a man—too obvious. But she did the same. She remembered watching him return from a hard gym workout. He had a body he liked to keep relatively toned. She liked it. She was one who stared too. There was more—more that she would never admit to him. A certain scent clung to his body after his workouts. She could never pinpoint what it was. A musk, a deep smell of ruggedness, of vigor. Maybe machismo, as if he was working out to impress her, like male beasts do for the female’s attention. She would entrap him in a conversation about honest nonsense just to keep him close to her before he showered the goodness away.
She had not smelled him or that scent in months now. She hoped she would find, and not forget the musk. She wanted to smell it again.
Barb shook her head. Charcuterie boards and musk. She had to push Vern from her mind.
TV was the best way. She grabbed her long nightshirt and shed her business wear. Half-naked, she glanced into the tall mirror. She twisted herself to get a look at what she had done. Her butt was tightening up, after she took up jogging. Her purple panties cupped it nicely. Would Vern be impressed? Would he think it should have been left big?
Every sitcom and drama series was bland and as unappealing as the cottage cheese left on the table and, by now, at room temperature.
Despite all the diversions around her, she could not shake the desire to call. There was an urge. Yet she resisted for fear of the unknown, of what might become.
“I can’t, I shouldn’t. What would he say?”
Vernon noticed a pair of gloves that Barb had left months ago. She had gone home quickly that night, frustrated by him. It was a snowy night, and she went out angry and gloveless.
Barb recognized a pair of ankle socks. They were Vern’s. He had left them as he quickly changed clothes, because he was late for an important morning meeting. She had commandeered them, wearing them during jogs. At first it was over frustration, as if crushing his memory with each step. Soon though, it was to have him close to her again, even if it was merely fabric.
“Would she want these gloves?”
“I could tell him I have his socks.”
Barb waved off the notion as absurd. Downright dumb.
“He probably never knew he was missing a pair.” She laughed for a moment at herself for thinking up the idea.
Vernon picked up the gloves. Leather with soft fleece inside.
“Nice. I’d want them back.” He flapped them against his palm. “Yeah, I’ll call her. No.” He slapped them against his palm again, a reprisal. “She must have bought a new pair. These won’t make a difference. Probably doesn’t even know they’re missing.”
He tossed them aside. The pair scattered, one on the couch, the second under the light stand.
Barb sat on her couch; arms crossed. Her phone was just out of reach. She would have to lean forward to get it.
Vernon sat in his recliner, avoiding the couch. His phone was just out of reach. He held his TV remote instead, not realizing how tightly he held it.
Vernon eyed his phone. A hunger urged him to grab it.
Barb stared at her phone. Hunger urged her to pick it up.
Vernon and Barb took their phones, no longer able to resist.
Barb typed out a message.
Nice to see you today. Hope
Her typing was interrupted.
Vernon found her profile in his phone and pressed call.
Appearing on her screen was Vern’s profile picture of her and him together at her birthday party several years ago.
Immediately Barb took the call.
“Hello, Vern,” Barb said, nonchalantly, although she had made no delay in answering his call.
“I found a, er, a pair of gloves of yours here—here at my place,” he said. “They look kinda nice. Thought you might—”
“That’s where they’ve been this whole time!” She boosted her reaction. In fact, she had already bought a new pair, and she hadn’t thought of those gloves in a long time. “I have been looking for them.”
“I can bring…”
“No, don’t.” She didn’t realize how quickly she had responded.
“Oh, okay.” Vernon was quiet on the other side of the phone for a moment, as if the air was sucked from his lungs. “I understand what you mean.”
“No, no.” She tried to brighten her voice. “I only meant I’m not home right now, so I wouldn’t be there to get them.”
“Ah, you’re… out. Alone?” Vernon could not hide the deflation of his excitement.
“Yes, I’m out, but, Vern, I’m on your side of town,” she lied.
“Convenient. I have this charcuterie board made up here. I’m just in front of the TV. I can’t eat all of this.”
“You needing help eating?” Her throat tightened, as if conscience and logic and the fear of a backslide fought against her.
“Food’s better when not eaten alone.”
“Vern,” she giggled lightly, “the king of one-liners.”
“You know me.”
They laughed together.
“Are you hungry?”
She paused for a moment to keep him in suspense, as if she needed to. Then, she answered.
“I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
“Great—good to hear. I’ll just prep…”
“Thought you said it was already ready?”
“Well, not all of it.”
“Save the crackers and jam for me.”
“I know what you like. I remember.”
Only fifteen minutes later, Barb knocked on Vernon’s door. He was obviously enthused to see her there. He had trouble swallowing, like there was a clog of excitement at the base of his neck.
“Come in, come in. Glad we could work this out,” he said.
“Me too,” she said softly, slipping off her flats, so she was barefoot.
Vernon saw her lean over to take off her shoes. The loose collar of her light blue blouse gave a perfect view of her breasts cupped in a beige bra.
“I was surprised to bump into you at the store. Great timing.”
She stood. She saw him dart his eyes away. Her heart fluttered wildly. It’s what she needed.
To her surprise, she was comfortable here. It was a place she’d slept at so many nights and had her hand in designing it.
“Not much has changed. Keeping the place in order.” She looked around.
“I’ve tried.” Vernon shrugged.
He reached out to take her to the couch. Their hands touched and sparked. He felt her soft but strong hands, warm and gentle.
She felt his thick fingers on a rough hand grab hers.
The charcuterie board was laid out beautifully, meats in rows and a mound of almonds and crackers of varieties—square, round, seasoned, salted—a small knife sticking upward into the cheese. The jams were in bowls at the corners of the board.
Before sitting before the arrangement, she noted his abilities.
“You can lay these out so well that I feel bad starting to eat. It’s like ruining a painting.”
He grinned. He didn’t know what to say.
She sat on the couch politely, knees together, ankles crossed.
Vernon noticed her bare knees and a lot of her thighs. He loved and missed them. He had been left alone many nights, remembering them.
Noticing her pause, Vernon encouraged, “Dig in, please. The jams you like there. Your spicy cherry. I also bought a jalapeño and lime chili jam that may—”
“My spicy cherry?”
He gave her a deadpan look. “It’s what you really like. Remember that time I didn’t buy it?”
“I was having a bad day and have apologized. Thank you very much.” She pointed her finger toward the ceiling and tsked her tongue. “Yeah, and by the way, spicy cherry is your favorite too.”
He shrugged, having been caught by a lovely woman.
The two ate and enjoyed themselves. The conversation went smoothly too, talking about life in general between bites and quietly savoring the finger foods. Then Barb had an accident.
She bit into a cracker smeared with too much jam.
“Oh, no! I got some on my shirt.” She first licked her finger to scoop off the lump. “I need to get this shirt under warm water before it stains.”
Vernon stood. “I’ll get the cleaner from the laundry room.”
He met Barb in the hallway bathroom. He gasped, not expecting what he saw. She was only in her bra and pants.
“Here’s this,” he muttered, holding out the squirt bottle.
She continued to scrub her blouse under the warm water from the faucet.
“I’ll just …” He slid from the doorway and stood against the wall.
He never expected this when he left the grocery store with those groceries and a paper bag. Here, literally a few hours later, she was essentially topless in his apartment.
“Can you get me a hanger so I can let this dry?” Barb called.
He shuffled by the door—peeking at her topless—and went to his room. He grabbed a narrow wire hanger.
In the bathroom, having done all she could to avoid the stain, she realized she was in only her bra—half naked.
She thanked him for the hanger, slipped the blouse around it, and hung it from the shower curtain rod.
She had not made love or had sex in months. Her Lelo Dot had done her well. But a man. Vern, for that matter, a man she trusted, could satisfy although it may cause a dust-up and throw their relationship into craziness.
She then felt warm hands touch her hips and slide around to her smooth waist. Her hair was moved to the side and there was a kiss on the nape of her neck.
“Vern …” She could only whisper the name. She could say nothing else. Her head fell back in the sensation of his touch. Her body tingled—cold rushes across her back, then hot rushes surrounded her neck like a precious choker. Her knees wobbled, so she reached back. She would not let him go.
Vernon did not want to miss this chance. He pressed harder against her, touching her body—all the places he loved and had missed. When he pressed his hardness against her ass, he knew any defense she may have had, any concern, any questions, vanished.
She turned and kissed him.
In their whirlwind of passion in the bathroom, she shed her bra, so he could put his mouth on her breasts.
He paused for a moment, admiring her bell-shaped breasts—smaller and narrower at the top and fuller low. Each were set with rich rosy areolas and obvious nipples. Vernon, like a child getting dessert, he engorged himself on her flesh, kissing and sucking.
Barb willingly accepted the attention and pleasure. She wrapped her arms around his head, so he could not leave. Her knees were also weakened by the whole glorious situation.
“Good god, Vern. I am so glad you found… ah!” She yipped at his light nibble and then giggled at the foreplay.
Vernon nudged against her as he could not be satisfied. But she teetered back. She grabbed the shower rod, and it immediately collapsed. Vernon kept Barb from falling backward.
“This room isn’t safe.” Vernon grabbed Barb’s wrist and led her to his bedroom.
Any time before then, she would have resisted, concerned about the results. Now though, she shoved him onto the bed. He looked good to her flattened. His chest rising and falling in his quickened breathing.
She climbed on top of him to feed her breasts to the man. He consumed them, like a starving man. She strained her neck upward at the sensation of being wanted, of being satisfied, of being with—
“Vern, Vern, Vern …” The name rushed from her mouth as his fingers brushed down her stomach and out to her hips. He pulled her lower to rest on his hard dick. “Vern …” she squealed as he flipped her to her back.
She watched him shed his pants and the missed cock—the one she didn’t know she loved until she couldn’t have it.
It sprung upright as Vernon rolled down his jockeys. She sat up to reach for him. Vernon though grabbed her arm. He moved her onto all fours.
He set himself in place, rubbing his cock, along her drenched pussy.
Barb gritted her teeth in anguish over his delay. She was supposed to tease and elude.
“Vern, I need this.” She almost scolded him.
And he didn’t tease any longer.
With a hard, deep thrust, Barb’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened, and she gasped and coughed.
Vernon basked in the silky pussy. He arched his back as he bumped, over and over, against her great ass. He grabbed a hold of each cheek and spread them so he could better see his hips smack and bang her and his cock disappear into her.
Barb had the long-time missed explosion that Vernon brought her. It resonated as a gush of pleasure that shook her deeply. Then there was the shout of his name.
“Vern, Vern, Vern, Vern!” The name spilled from her between her lips.
Vernon, behind her, knew the sign of Barb’s orgasm. She would yell his name. The notion brought him to his peak all the sooner. The deep-seated tug inside of him became wild in what it pulled and wrestled.
“Oh, Barb! My… fuck!” He winced and released everything that was pent up inside of him.
A moment later, they were beside each other, flattened and tired and pleased.
Barb exhaled and put her hands behind her head.
Vernon rose up to his elbow. “I’m glad I bumped into you today.”
Barb smiled.
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