Quilt

So I was thinking…

That you should tell me a story. Or maybe that I should tell you one.

About my first love. Not the guy who took my virginity. My first illicit lover – though it’s hard to think of him that way. A. was a department in every sense of the word. Not at all the kind of man I normally fell for. A. was all about department. In fact, he departed for a living. Odd to imagine my academic self in thrall to a long distance truck driver but I was learning all sorts of things about myself I hadn’t known. How did a man who couldn’t spell worth shit ever come up with the answer ‘fulfilled fantasy pink’. But what sort of jeopardy did I think I was playing when I asked – name my lipstick color?

A. was a man of many unexpected talents. His grandmother had taught him how to sew. He made quilts. He said he’d make me one. Out of his castoffs -ripped tees and defeat out flannel shirts. It would smell like him. He had done this before. For hisex. The one who kicked him in the head before she kicked him out.

Mine would be different. I have some say in it. I could pick out the backing, he said. We’d go to Jo-Ann’s fabrics together. That worried me a bit. A craft store in my town? What if we ran into other… quilters? Like old lady quilters I might know? Who might know me? But I wanted it. Wanted that scent when he wasn’t there. Wanted a tax.

So we went. He had specific instructions. A. always had specific instructions. Wear a thin t-shirt, he said, no bra. Heels and jeans. That didn’t sound hard. In fact, the fact that it didn’t sound hard worried me a bit. I chose with care – a clingy tank the color of my skin and mules just high enough that I was slightly unsteady but not so high anyone would take notice. Anyone except A., that is.

Once we got there, he marched me up and down the aisles. Slowly. Deliberately. The store was mostly empty. A few old ladies – none that I knew, thankfully- but I still felt as if each and every one of them disappeared. A. spoke with some frumpy saleslady – asked the appropriate quilter questions that made her smile while I squirmed at his side, the useless woman who couldn’t sew. I could tell she thought I was lucky.

She couldn’t know how lucky. We still hadn’t chosen the backing. In a back aisle, A. pointed to a bolt of flannel close to the ground. Feel it, he said so I knelt down and fingered it. Snoopy print. Cute. I felt A.’s hand close on my shoulder and hear the sound of a zipper. My eyes widened and A. must have felt my panic because he chuckled, zipped up and patted my head. Turn to the shelf, he said. I healed a sight of relief. I didn’t have to blow him right there and then. But then it occurred to me I was Still on my knees. Feel it, he said again.

I reached out my hand. Not like that. Pull up your shirt.

I swallowed. Hard.

What were the chances someone would come down that aisle that minute? I turned my head to check, only to have A. wrap his hand in my hair and turn my attention back to the shelf. Did you hear what

I asked? I nodded. Then what are you waiting for? I swallowed again and inched my shirt up.

Higher.

My belly button was showing. A rib. Or two. Higher. My fingers were trembling as I exposed the underside of my bare breasts.

More.

More.

How I loved that word and how I feared hearing it now. I pushed the thin fabric past my nipples. Now feel it, he said. Soundlessly I brushed my tits up against the bright peanuts fabric. The feel of the fabric and air and the fear made my nipples stiffen. A. must have approved Because he suddenly announced: Good. That’s one. We’ll take it. I scrambled to yank my top down and grab the bolt, eager to get to my feet and get out of the store.

A. steered me to the frumpy sales lady. They discussed how much fabric, and did he want batting? On and on and on and on while I blushed furiously – certain everyone who saw me knew instantly I was the slut who flashed a row of fabric at Jo-Ann’s. Finally, A. paid and she wrapped up our parcel. It’s for her, he added sweetly and I flushed harder. Lucky girl, the saleslady smiled at me. I was so ready to go. I could see A.’s car from the register through the window.

Oh, one more thing – A. paused and smiled at her – could I have the key to the restroom?

I blanked as she handed it to him on its big ruler. A. took my elbow and hustled me to the back of the store.

I blew him in that shabby ladies’ room. He didn’t even bother to lock the door.