Friends With Benefits

The fact that Fletch and I had an anti-Valentine’s Day celebration to plan out didn’t help me with the fact that everyone in school when Valentine’s Day crazy. It was sickening watching all of these other girls get asked out while I remained alone, without even an invite. Sure, I had promised Fletch I would hang out with him to prevent him from going off the melodramatic deep-end or something, but it still would be nice to be asked and at least have a chance to say no or something. Will grew closer and closer to Shanna McGillis as they got closer to the day of the dance and I was afraid this would be the Kelly Montauk situation in eighth grade all over again.

Imagine my surprise when, on Valentine’s Day, will showed up to my locker at school with a bouquet of yellow roses for me. I squealed in delight, never having gotten that type of gift from anyone before. I was never the girl who got flowers or balloons or giant stuffed animals delivered to her on her birthday or Valentine’s Day and I rather envied the girls at school who got a full ten minutes of class time taken out of the day so they could receive and then coo over their present.

“What’s this for?” I asked Will.

“For being Ailee,” Will grinned. “And for putting up with Fletch tonight. I know he can be a little bitch when it comes to Valentine’s Day, so it’ll be nice knowing we don’t have to put him on suicide watch or whatever because he didn’t get a Valentine’s Day card. Anyway, thanks for taking him off my hands tonight. It’s hard trying to keep up with your date and text your best friend not to shoot up the Hallmark Card Store or something every year.”

“No problem,” I grinned at Will. I safely ensconced the flowers in my locker then practically ran to tell Sara the good news.

“What are you so happy about?” she asked as I settled into the desk across from hers.

“Will got me flowers,” I grinned.

“He did?” Sara said shocked.

“Uh-huh,” I smiled. “A bit bouquet of yellow roses. Honestly, I think yellow is better than red… I mean, they’re definitely unique…”

“Lenny, yellow flowers mean friendship,” Sara interrupted.

“What?” I frowned.

“Yellow roses. They mean admiration, a deep appreciation and friendship,” Sara said. “It’s the type of bouquet a guy gets for his mom or his sister. My parents got me a bouquet of them at my clarinet recital in sixth grade. They mean completely platonic feelings for someone. That’s probably why he picked them…”

“But…” I protested.

“He was just trying to be nice, Lenny. He didn’t mean anything by it,” Sara said. “I’m sure, least of all, he wanted you to be upset.”

“Ir’s the first time I’ve ever gotten flowers from anyone and you have to go and ruin it,” I pouted.

“I wasn’t trying to ruin anything. I just didn’t want you to get your hopes up and then get crushed,” Sara shrugged.

“Too late for that,” I grimaced.

Sara shot me a sympathetic look, which was interrupted when one of the front office student workers came in with a huge display of balloons and candy Eric had sent for her, along with a stuffed teddy bear hold a heart that said “You’re My Honey.” I nearly gagged upon seeing that. As much as I tried, my efforts to ignore the giant display behind Sara’s desk for the rest of the period failed miserably and only worked to make me feel even worse. I sprinted out of class as fast as I could to avoid looking at Sara’s gifts any further.

“What’s this I hear about Will getting you flowers?” Fletch asked me, concerning me right outside my homeroom. Before I could answer, he caught sight of Sara horribly failing at trying to ease her way out of the classroom door with all of her gifts. “Did Eric screw up or something?”

“What holiday is it?” I asked.

“The day that shall not be named,” Fletch said darkly.

“Exactly,” I snorted.

“Is that why Will got you flowers?” Fletch asked again.

“Yes, a dozen yellow friendship roses,” I sighed. “Apparently all my complaining about being alone on Valentine’s Day made him decide to do something nice for me, to cheer me up. I don’t know. It might have been nice to get flowers from someone who was actually interested in me. Not pity flowers.”

“He got you pity flowers?” Fletch snorted.

“Jealous?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Fletch said with a sarcastic roll of his eyes. “I’ve just been dying for Will to give me pity flowers for years. I’m absolute crushed. I think I’ll go eat my weight in candy hearts now.”

“I hate candy hearts. Too chalky,” I grimaced.

“Good. My mom bought me a bag of them for our party tonight, so now I can eat them all,” Fletch grinned. I rolled my eyes and then pulled him along with me until math class.

Fletch and I relied on each other for the rest of the day to complain and make fun of the various floral displays and displays of affection we witnessed throughout the halls at school that day. It was a major relief when the final bell rang and I knew I wouldn’t have to be subjected to any more frilly or flowery confessions of love for the rest of the day. I was glad it was a Friday, so I wouldn’t have to hear in subsequent days how the beaus of fellow classmates had enchanted and wooed them.

I went home, changed, and grabbed the snacks and select movies I had promised to bring over to Fletch’s place. My parents were going out for their own romantic night on the town and were comforted by the fact that I would be over at Fletch’s house with his parents and sister to keep us company. I didn’t bother to tell my parents that Kristy had been asked to the middle school dance by a nervous, acne clad fellow member of her advanced placement math class and the Murphys were going along to chaperon the dance with this in mind. It would just be Fletch and I at home, though Fletch said his parents “trusted us.” I wondered how on earth both sets of parents could be so gullible as Fletch’s car pulled into the driveway.

“I got pizza money from my folks,” Fletch explained to me as I slid into the front seat. “Kristy’s dance will be over a ten, so they should be back a little after that.”

“Ten o’clock? They let middle-schoolers stay out awful late these days,” I shook my head. “My curfew was nine-thirty until the middle of freshman year.”

“Don’t I know it,” Fletch agreed before driving off.

When we got to his house, I went about setting up the movies and snacks in the TV room while Fletch ordered the pizzas. Instead of hitting the movies right away, we opted to watch a season DVD of a TV show we both liked before the pizza and arrived and then paused to get the three boxes worth of the stuff Fletch ordered. I only ate about four slices but Fletch was easily able to take care of the rest. By the fifth episode, we were both sort of lethargic from all the food we had eaten, though our soda intake got us back into normal spirits by the beginning of the seventh. Somewhere after the change to the second season DVD, Fletch and I ended up what can only be described as cuddling on his couch.

It was amazing how quickly our anti-Valentine’s Day mope-fest had turned into what might count as a rather hot-and-heavy movie date. I wanted to say it was a combination of being lonely and hormonal teenagers, but I honestly no longer really knew why I always let myself go around Fletch and let him do things so personal and intimate to me. Simple caresses turned to wandering hands and, before I could register what was happening, both my hands and Fletch’s ventured lower and lower, darting from the face, cascading down the curves of each other’s torso, and then finally tugging at the waistbands of each other’s jeans.

I wasn’t even drunk this time and usually it took quite a bit of alcohol for me to allow Fletch to push things this far. Completely sober, I felt m y hands brush against the smooth, silky fabric of Fletch’s boxers and then, as he sucked a moan from my mouth, I slid my hands under the elastic and against the bare skin. I didn’t know what exactly I had grasped my hands around until I Fletch let out the most strained and yet immensely satisfied noise I had ever heard in my entire life. For a moment, I considering moving my hand away, until I felt Fletch’s hot breath against my neck.

“Oh, God Lenny,” he heaved. “Oh, please…” His fingers trailed lines down my own body and roughly began to tug at my pants. He slid his fingers closer and closer, tracing the “V” between my legs. I looked at him curiously, my hand still nervously moving over him, wondering how just a simple motion could make him pant and sputter like he had just run a marathon.

“Lenny,” Fletch whispered, his fingers inching closer and closer to my wet center.

And then, of course, Fletch’s parents had to pull up the driveway, throw open the door, and announce they were home. In an instant, Fletch and I couldn’t have pulled further apart. It took seconds for us to throw back on clothes and then plop down on opposite ends of the couch as if we hadn’t been fingering each other five seconds before. Kristy bounded up the steps first and burst into the room, causing me to blush. I could only cringe at what her reaction would have been if her parents had been quieter and five minutes earlier.

“How was the dance?” I asked her quietly.

“It was pretty cool,” Kristy shrugged. “You remember Susie Saunders and Megan Bartley? Well, they got into a huge fight over Bobby Thurston because Susie is supposed to be dating him, but she went to the bathroom and caught him and Megan slow dancing with him when Megan was supposed to be at the dance with Clint Hennesey. Clint was upset too because he didn’t know Megan only took him to make Bobby jealous and Clint ended up leaving with Marcia Madden, who’s a total idiot but much nicer than Susie and Megan. And the Bobby told Susie he was sorry and totally not interested in Megan, which made Megan throw an even bigger fit and they made her parents come pick her up.”

“Sounds like a lot of fun,” I nodded.

“And that wasn’t even the best part!” Kristy nodded. “After Megan left, Alex and I did the Chicken Dance and then Electric Slide and then he invited me over to his house this weekend to help him work on his Rube Goldberg Project!”

“Alex, huh?” I smiled. “Is he cute?”

“He’s smart and that’s more important,” Kristy shrugged.

“Ugh, the life of middle-school nerds,” Fletch snorted.

“You were the biggest nerd in middle school,” I pointed out.

“No, Chuck was,” I replied. “And you should be nice.”

“I don’t know if I want my baby sister hanging around some weird kid,” Fletch grimaced. “What exactly does this Rube Goldberg project do, anyway?”

“Nothing yet, but Alex wants it to eventually be able to crack an egg over a frying pan and then turn the oven on to fry the egg,” Kristy shrugged.

“Sounds dangerous,” Fletch huffed.

“Sounds adorable,” I countered. I turned to Kristy. “Glad you had a good time. The only dance I’ve ever been to, your brother was my date and he was a total bore the entire time, nearly broke my ankle when he stepped on my foot, and then puked on the vice principal.”

“You are lame, Fletcher,” Kristy nodded before prancing off to her room.

“She’s right. You are lame,” I told Fletch with a slight smirk. He rolled his eyes at me lazily.

“You wanna keep watching or do you want to go home?” Fletch asked.

“I could stay,” I shrugged.

“I’m warning you, my dad likes this show and if he finds out we’re watching it, he’ll come up here and offer up his own moment-by-moment commentary on everything,” Fletch pointed out.

“Are you saying you want me to leave?” I asked curiously.

“I’m saying maybe we could take a slight detour and get some ice cream before I drop you off at your house or something,” Fletch replied.

“Okay. That sounds fun,” I nodded.

After waving goodbye to Fletch’s parents, we hopped in his car and drove off for the local ice cream parlor. It was barely ten-thirty when we arrived and the school dance was probably just starting to get interesting. It wouldn’t be until midnight before the dance was over, but Will would most likely leave with his date around eleven to attend the all night-rager after party held at one of his football teammate’s houses. I tried not to think about how much thinner Shanna McGillis was then me or the fact that her boobs were two cup sizes bigger than mine or the fact that she probably looked super hot in a short red dress while I would just look awkward and perhaps slightly slutty.

“What are you thinking about?” Fletch asked me as we licked our cones.

“What makes you think I’m thinking about something?” I asked him.

“Because your face is all scrunched up like a pug dog and that usually means you’re thinking,” Fletch shrugged. I glared at him and then sighed.

“You’ll be mad,” I admitted.

“Well, now I definitely have to know,” Fletch said.

“I was wondering why I’m not as pretty as Shanna McGillis,” I shrugged.

“You mean you’re wondering why you don’t look as much like a disease infested prostitute as Shanna?” Fletch corrected. “I mean, come on. She’s not that good looking. She spends way too much on clothes for them to look as cheap as they do and her hair has been dyed so much she smells like chloroform. I was lab partners with her for a full year, Lenny. I did all the work and she flirted with the teacher. I’m pretty sure she did more than flirt with him considering she got straight A’s and never even cracked open the book.”

“I know,” I sighed, “but it’s still not fair that girls like that get Valentine’s Day gifts and I don’t.”

“I bought you ice cream,” Fletch pointed out.

“Come on, Fletch. You know what I mean,” I shrugged. “Aren’t you ever jealous that Will has girls falling all over him and not you? Doesn’t it make you mad sometimes that he doesn’t even have to ask for a date, that he always seems to have one?”

“Sometimes,” Fletch shrugged, “but then I realize Will doesn’t really care about many of those girls and most of them don’t really care about him either. And then I sort of feel sorry for him. I mean, he may have a new girl every week, but he doesn’t have someone he can actually connect with, someone he can share with, someone he actually wants to be around for more than a few months. And that’s sort of sad.”

“I guess it is,” I agreed, realizing Fletch had actually given me a lot to think about.

“Come on,” Fletch said as we both finished our ice cream cones, “I’ll take you home.”