Soft Body

3: What Are Boundaries?

 If I had known how sexy Tucker DiAngelo was, I would have looked about fifty times better than I actually did. I would've gotten my hair cut, eyebrows done, and lost about fifty pounds...or maybe not have scarfed down a chili cheese dog on the way to the interview that I definitely did not need. The man was that fine.

Instead, my hair was fried to hell, my eyebrows were bushy, and my shirt was too tight. I had forgotten to buy a new one over the weekend, instead choosing to binge watch RuPaul's Drag Race while occasionally checking in on Liz, who had spent the weekend with the good doctor. I also downed multiple glasses of wine, Olivia Pope style, trying to ignore the anxiety I felt over the job interview and the lameness I felt for not going on any dates in the last few months.

Luckily for me, I guess, when I told Liz that I had forgotten to buy myself a new shirt, she came to my rescue.

"Here," she said, throwing a black button down at me, "I bought it for when I have tits."

I held the shirt up. It was around four sizes too big for her. Immediately I wondered how big she planned on making her breasts. I looked down at my own, gigantic boobs. I had gone to three different lingerie stores to get sized and every single one of them said with great enthusiasm that my boobs were 40 DD, which explained why the 32 B bras that I still had from the seventh grade were barely covering my nipples.

Without a choice, I took the shirt. In a surprise to no one, it gapped at the bosom. Heavily. I tried double sided tape and regular tape to no avail. My boobs kept gapping the shirt. I reminded myself to tell Liz that 40 DD is too big, but then with fake boobs, they probably wouldn't jiggle the way mine did and she probably wouldn't get sore every time she did something active.

Thinking about how conventionally attractive Liz would look with big, new boobs and her already slim body made me want to cancel my interview and wallow in self-pity. This happened all the time. Something so small and insignificant like tits would get me into a mood. It made me want to crawl into bed, under all the covers and blankets, with popcorn and Netflix, trying to talk myself out of the fact that I believed that everyone else had an easier life than me.

"Grow the fuck up," I said to myself aloud. I needed this job. I needed to grow the fuck up. And if everyone was going to get a show, then everyone was going to get a show.

God, this interview was going to be humiliating.

*****

I noticed Jackie's eyes widen as I approached the desk to check in for my interview with Tucker. Titties for everyone, I guess. I put on a brave face. No time for panic. I was being a grown up.

Then I saw Tucker and proceeded to internally freak the fuck out.

The millisecond it took him to walk from behind the front desk felt like a whole hour. Tucker moved gracefully, fast and light, like all the bulging muscle on his six foot frame were nothing.

God, he was so smooth. I wanted to be under him immediately. Without thinking, I stood to greet him like he was the President, or something. I stuck my hand out to him. Why was I so awkward?

"Tucker," he said. I smiled. He shook my hand, giving me a nice and firm handshake. It was strangely comforting, like he saw me as someone who mattered, unlike Jackie, who had made the handshake seem like a mere formality. I care about weird things like that.

"Ruby," I replied. I could feel my hormones pumping through my body. I could taste them when I swallowed. And I could definitely feel it between my legs.

"That's a beautiful name," he said. I caught him wince slightly after he said it.

"Er, anyway," he continued, "what do you like to do outside of school?" I assume Jackie had told him that I even went to school, since I had only just met him.

"Well, thank you for the name thing," I said. It came out disjointed and weird. WHY WAS I SO AWKWARD?! It was bothering the shit out of me. I was never this awkward with the randos I met online. I was so smooth, the queen of bullshit. They were so easy. Then again, all they wanted was sex, and I didn't know what Tucker wanted.

Just kidding. I totally knew what Tucker wanted. A new employee, despite the fact that a boss-employee relationship is not the only type of relationship I wanted from him.

"Outside of school, I like to dance, go out with my friends, you know," I said, instantly forgetting that it is completely unprofessional to imply to your sexy as fuck potential boss that you like to party, "but nothing too crazy."

Phew. Tracks covered.

"Yeah," he said, leaning back, with his hands behind his head, "I really like nights at home now." He paused. Damn this man could wear a bald head well.

He went on with a laugh, "Just because I'm so old."

I laughed, "Oh?"

I didn't think he looked that old. His body was still taut and muscular and he didn't seem stuffy at all. I wondered if he was a man child but quickly dismissed the thought. There was a quiet confidence that radiated from him, from his posture to his bright blue eyes. It was even more attractive than the muscles. It felt natural being with him. I wanted to be close to him. I wanted him to be close to me.

"Sure am! Did you ever dance competitively? Just wondering," Tucker said. I contemplated lying to him, telling him that I was an excellent hip hop and contemporary dancer, mostly because no one would believe that I was a ballerina.

"Oh, me? No. I always wanted to but my parents thought that me quitting soccer and ice skating and cheerleading was a sign that they shouldn't let me try anything else but it totally wasn't even my fault that I didn't keep skating and cheering. And I kept with basketball and softball into high school so they had nothing to worry about! So now I just dance some Latin stuff. Not Latin ballroom. Latin street."

Word vomit. I recognized it from dates with people I actually liked. I was trying to be cute by talking, and talking, and talking. I knew this was a question probing being a responsible adult, not really about what I could do with my body. Plus, did I really think he knew the difference between Latin ballroom and the Latin dances of the people?

Tucker nodded, "Yeah, parents can be like that sometimes. I know I always wanted to golf, but that never happened. I've got a few other talents, though... and I'm always willing to learn."

If my skin was light enough to show blushing, it would have. Scientists say that when you blush, your stomach also blushes, and I could feel my stomach blushing. I felt like it was time to go back into pageant answer mode. It was my safe zone, where no blushing would happen. I looked up at Tucker, who seemed almost pleased with himself.

"Me too," I shot back quickly, "anything that needs to be learned, I can learn quickly."

He raised an eyebrow. Down to business.