Inamorato by Bill Tope

Inamorato by Bill Tope

David Rendle was an enigma. At six feet, two inches tall and a lanky 210 pounds, he cut a handsome figure. Some admiring ladies described his features as “chiseled” or “sculpted,” like a statue or something. He shook the thought away impatiently. Appearances meant little to nothing to him. David had just turned twenty-five and had never had a lover. He had never been in a relationship. He had never even been on a date. Throughout high school and college, he had eschewed date nights, football games and fraternity soirées and the like. Nor had he hungered for companionship; he felt balanced and self-assured all by himself.

His reluctance to socialize did not go unnoticed in high school. “David,” said Clay, a fellow runner on the cross-country team, during practice one day. “Maddie is dying to go out with you.” Maddie was a well-traveled cheerleader.

“Thanks,” he said, glancing at his companion. “I’m not really interested.”

“Huh!” said the other young man. “She puts out, man. Get some of that, go for it.” He laughed raucously. When David said nothing, Clay sneered. “What are you, a faggot?”

Abruptly, David stopped running, and turned to his friend, who flinched before David, who was six inches taller and twice as strong. “No,” he said slowly and deliberately, staring down the other boy. “I’m not.” Then he turned suddenly and continued on his way.

David also had to live with comparisons between himself and his brother Gary, who was four years older. Gary never tired of telling his younger brother when he “scored” and “made out” and “went all the way.” David was only just embarking upon the age when boys dated, so Gary was out of the house and in the Army before the contrast between the brothers could become an issue.

The only one to come to David’s defense was his mother. At 17, he overheard her one day confronting her husband. She declared that she was “happy he’s not out fooling around. Boy that smart is going to college. Last thing he needs if to make some young girl pregnant. He can play after he gets his education,” she said.

“I don’t know,” David’s father said gravely. “He might be a sissy. And I couldn’t live with that.”

“You leave my boy alone,” she warned, “or I’ll take you out!”

“Rendle’s a loner,” some of David’s classmates remarked among themselves. Others muttered peevishly, “He’s queer…or something.” But the something was never really defined by anyone. He had been hit on his entire life by dint of his affability and good looks, by heterosexuals and homosexuals alike, but to no avail. David always politely declined and, seeing as how he was a large young man, no one made an issue of it. David was an excellent student and became valedictorian of his high school, class of ’61.

He had a few acquaintances, people of either sex with whom he sometimes discussed the novels he’d read or the films he’d seen or current events. But no one had ever broken through the concrete-like carapace that shielded and isolated David Rendle, sexually, from the rest of the universe.

& & &

Today David sat for an interview in the Personnel Office of Dwight Ellis School District in Baltimore. David was being considered for a position as a junior high school history teacher. His interrogator was Mr. Everett Henson, the Superintendent of Schools. He was an elderly man with a fading hairline and spectacles with thick, Coke-bottle-like lenses.

“Mr. Rendle — David, if I may?” — David nodded.  Henson smiled. “It shows here that you earned your Master’s Degree in Education, with a focus on world History.”

David nodded again. “Yes, that’s right.”

“The position we have open is for an American history teacher,” said Henson.

“I’ve 20 semester hours credit in American History, Mr. Henson,” said David. “American history was one of my three minors,” he explained.

The interview continued for twenty minutes, until Henson, duly impressed with David’s grade point average and other academic achievements, smiled, said “I’ll let you talk to Miss House next.”

Julie House, the Chairman of the History Department, was petite, cute and unmarried. And aggressive. She saw David Rendle from afar and set her sights on him. At 33, she told herself, if she were to have a family, she’d need to latch onto an eligible man. And in David she saw just the probable procreator she was looking for. Miss House conducted David’s second interview for the position of jr. high teacher of American history. She was the only female departmental chair other than for home economics. She was a go-getter and had two Master’s Degrees.

“Cal State is a good school,” she sat flatly, staring brazenly at David, undressing him with her eyes. “I bet he’s got a big dick,” she thought smugly, her eyes growing a little wider with anticipation. She blushed a bright red and David wondered what that was all about. He was seated in a chair that was purposefully six inches shorter than that of Miss House. David’s head bobbled up and down in agreement.

“You didn’t participate in many outside, non-academic activities,” she murmured with a little pout.

“I was…. pretty involved with my studies,” he explained.

“What did you do for fun?” she asked, arching meticulously plucked brows.

“I did run cross country, during my junior year of high school,” admitted David, wondering where this was going.

Good, thought Julie. That meant he had endurance. Sometimes, she reflected, she could go all night. Hopefully, he would be able to keep up. That or she’d get rid of his ass, she thought. She reached a decision.

“Welcome aboard,” she declared, reaching out and shaking David’s hand to excess.

& & &

Things went well from the very first. With his keen intelligence, exquisite manners and good looks, David was popular with students, his fellow teachers and the administration. No one even began to expect that David, apparent stud that he was, had never even been kissed. Hadn’t even held anyone’s hand.

Being asexual, as his shrink had said, was not a death sentence, it was just another way of life. He had to do something about Miss House, though, thought David. She was on a never-ending campaign to do…whatever. After endless entreaties and almost blatant threats, David had consented to a date with Miss House — his first ever. Did she ask him to have a cup of coffee at the diner across from the school? A slice at the local pizzeria? She did not. She made him promise to show up at her house for a home-cooked meal. Yikes! he thought. Could she possibly be more obvious? Rumor at school had it that Miss House’s biological clock was ticking down to eternity and she sorely wanted to have a child. David shook his head dazedly as he stood at her door and knocked.

“Come in, David,” invited Miss House, flashing an attractive smile. Miss House was nice-looking, thought David blankly, following her over the threshold. He just couldn’t account for her untoward interest in him. “Lemme take your coat,” she said, grabbing his jacket and shoving it into a closet. “What are you drinking, David?” she asked too brightly.

“Grape fizzy,” he replied wistfully.

“Huh?”

“Uh…beer,” he said, smiling.

A moment later, David was holding a large, out-sized bottle of malt liquor, 8% alcohol, he noted on the container. “Thanks, Miss House,” he said.

“Julie,” she insisted, smiling that bright, persistent smile again.

David smiled weakly.

“David,” she said in a concerned voice. He looked up. “Don’t you like me?”

He was at a loss for words. Everyone, to him, was pretty much the same. Such terms as “lust after” were frankly alien to him. He shrugged helplessly, murmured, “Sure, I like you, Miss House.”

Julie scowled, then twisted her lips wryly. “May I ask you a question?” she asked. David looked into her clear blue eyes. “Does your dick work?” she asked, cutting to the chase. He blinked in bewilderment. “I mean,” she went on, cursing herself for her clumsiness, “it’s no secret that I want to get pregnant. With a husband, if possible, but if not, then that’s okay too. I inveigled you to come here tonight, David, because I wanted your pecker, inside of me, fertilizing my ovum. Get the picture, David? I mean,” she continued, “if you have zero interest, then I can feed the pot roast to the cat and you can scram.”

At last, David found his voice. “I… Miss House…Julie, I’ve never been intimate with a woman before.” There, he’d said it.

“Then you’re homosexual?” she conjectured dismally.

“No. I mean, I don’t know, I’ve never done anything, with anyone.”

“Huh!” she said. “I’ll be goddamned.”

“Mr. Drudge propositioned me in the teacher’s lounge last week and I was just not into that, either.”

“That sonofabitch,” she hissed. “Everyone knew I had dibs.”

She looked into his eyes. “What do you want, David. Do you want to pour the meat to me, or do you want to be a sissy with Melvin? What do you want?” She repeated. They stared at each other for a moment, then broke out laughing. After that, with the tension broken, they enjoyed dinner and then talked far into the night, about all sorts of things, with no pressure.

Mr. Dungie, the music teacher, approached David in the teacher’s lounge the next morning and said, “Hey, David, that Julie House has a nice little ass, huh?” David didn’t know what to say. “Hey, c’mon, kid, she wants it. Might as well come from you, ‘eh?”  and he elbowed David in the ribs.

“I don’t understand,” protested David uncomfortably.

“Julie wants to get pregnant,” said Dungie patiently, as if speaking to a slow child. “She wants to have a baby. She wants to be a mommy!”  and he cackled uproariously. David excused himself to get more coffee, then sat down in another spot. Dungie turned to another teacher and growled, “Rendle is queer-bait for Melvin, I guess.”

David had never considered himself father material before and really didn’t know what to think. Others had made insinuations, as if David and Miss House should naturally gravitate towards one another, like two magnets. In an assembly one time, he overheard some eighth graders chanting, “Julie and David, sitting in a tree; K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

Miss House was certainly attractive, at least on the surface, thought David, but he had frankly never been sexually attracted to another person. For the thousandth time he wondered, what’s the matter with me? However, in answer to the indelicate question posed by Miss House, he was functional, a testament to the handful of times he’d experimented with auto-erotica.

& & &

Because he was bored, and because his previous date with Miss House had deflated the “faggot” deprecations cast his way by that worm Dungie, David agreed to another home-cooked meal with Miss House. “Listen, David,” she said over fried chicken, all business now. “I inherited some money from my grandfather and I’ll give you all of it; I’ll pay you $50,000 to get me pregnant. What do you say?” David thought pragmatically back to the onerous repayment schedule on his student loans. On a beginning teacher’s salary, he couldn’t even afford to own a car. “Do we have a deal?”

David nodded curtly. “Deal,” he declared, and they shook on it. He felt like he was buying a used car.

& & &

Miss House’s Presumptive Fertilization Schedule (PFS) was a demanding one. She explained to David that she would be most likely to get pregnant on the date of her ovulation, but that she could, “with luck, get knocked up anytime.” The lady had a way with words, he thought.

Therefore, except on those days when she was menstruating, she insisted that David drop by her home each evening in order to “service her.” And although he wasn’t romantically turned on by Julie, he was able to function sexually, with a little manual ministration by Julie herself, who seemed to feel no compunction about it, one way or the other. She was used to it, she said.

David actually began to look forward to their sessions together. Although still, he had no romantic attraction to Julie, he found he genuinely liked her. She had a dry, self-effacing wit, and was able to reduce doubtful situations to their essence.

“David,” remarked Julie one night as she mounted him, “I think you’re actually beginning to enjoy having sex with me.” She angled her face peevishly at him.

“Well,” he admitted, “the sexual climax is satisfying,”

“It’s okay to say you like to come,” she said with a grin, sliding her hips up and down. “And you’re getting off a lot later, too — not that I’m complaining,” she added with a sudden little gasp.

& & &

One day, Julie asked David if she could accompany him to visit his psychiatrist some time. He was hesitant at first, but when she explained that she only wanted to understand asexuality better, he relented and got his doctor’s approval.

David’s psychiatrist, Dr. Tryst, had been reluctant to indulge David at first, but then felt that if his patient trusted this woman, then perhaps it would be good for him to have a meaningful relationship, whatever its nature. He had been concerned with David’s lack of social contacts. Besides, Tryst figured, it was young Rendle’s $26 an hour; he could spend it as he saw fit.

Julie was gracious as always and very polite to the doctor. As he and David discussed David and Julie’s relationship, such as it was, Tryst’s brows shot toward his diminishing hairline, but he made no comment. And Julie, the doctor noted, seemed embarrassed not at all by the financial basis of her and David’s understanding.

At last Julie spoke. “Doctor, may I ask a question?” He nodded. “How prevalent is asexuality in the American population?”

“According to Dr. Kinsey,” replied Tryst, “asexuality, which he designated as “X,” was, among men, representative of about 1.5% of the adult population.”

“Does Kinsey indicate a cure?” she asked next.

Tryst folded his arms across his chest. “Dr. Kinsey only did a rather primitive survey,” he answered. “He didn’t pontificate remedies, nostrums, or cures. Besides, asexuality, in my own opinion, is not a dysfunctional condition that merits a remedy. It is a sexual orientation, just as are heterosexuality, homosexuality, and so forth. A great deal more study needs to be done on asexuality,” he asserted. “Asexuals can live perfectly normal lives today.”

“I see,” answered Julie, nodding thoughtfully.

& & &

Seven months later, having so far met with no success, as defined by Julie as impregnation, David let himself into her home — he now had his own key — and met Julie coming out of the shower. Wait a minute, he thought, there was something different about her. The tiniest bulge at her belly, He stared. For only the second time since he’d known her, Julie blushed.

“Surprise,” she cried with a grin, “we’re pregnant!” She excitedly rushed into his arms and they embraced.

“Then this means,” he began.

“The project,” she said, “has reached a successful conclusion. I’ll give you a check when I transfer funds tomorrow. Is that okay?” She looked carefully at her erstwhile lover. He only nodded. “I guess you’re relieved now, huh?” she asked. He looked down into her clear blue eyes. “You won’t have to come over here every night now. You’re free again, to do whatever it is you do.”

David forgot for the moment what it was that he used to do. He had grown accustomed to the routine. Prior to the project with Julie — he had finally convinced himself to call her by her given name, rather than the cumbersome “Miss House” — he had occupied his time with lesson plans and grading papers, and prior to being hired, with reading and studying and attending classes. He still ran five miles per day. But, he recalled ruefully, he had been almost profoundly, painfully lonely. Did he really want to go back to that? he wondered.

The first night following the conclusion of the project, David sat at the table in the kitchen of his tiny apartment, wondering what to do next. Probably should eat, he thought. Julie usually fixed supper for them, to “fuel up” for the main event, she’d jokingly say. Tomorrow he would receive his money; he could buy a car. Somehow, it didn’t seem important anymore. His mind raced. He thought about the child.

“No strings,” she told him. “I’ll house, clothe, feed, raise, and love the baby and your responsibility ends at the point where I become pregnant.” She stared boldly at him, as if waiting for him to object. But, he didn’t. About that he felt vaguely guilty. He’d taken up the issue with Dr. Tryst and he’d told David that such a “contract,” written or not, was probably not binding, except perhaps on David’s own conscience.

How did he really feel about deleting himself permanently from the life of his own flesh and blood? He could probably never prove the child was his, if it came to that. All that they could match were blood types, and that was usually inconclusive, his doctor had told him. Would he, could he, come to love the little boy or girl birthed by Julie? He yet had no feelings of romantic attachment to Julie, but he genuinely liked her. She was good company, and he adored her outrageous sense of humor. Moreover, he was used to her and to their life together, such as it was. How did she feel? he wondered.

12 Months Later

David jogged along down the street which fronted Julie’s house, the same way that he did every morning. He was hoping to catch another glimpse of his daughter, whom Julie had named Mary. Most days, when he didn’t spy them, he’d then retrace his steps around the block several times, hoping to see them. It was winter, too cold to have a baby out in the chill winds. In front of Julie’s place, he paused and stared at the house, past the plumes of his frozen breath. Through the curtains he could discern some activity, some life.

Julie had taken an extended break from teaching, beginning during her last month of pregnancy. She was set to return after the holidays. Prior to Julie taking her leave, she and David, in their rare encounters at school, had remained cordial, but pretended that nothing was amiss. She seemed to take particular care not to run into him. He clandestinely observed her gradually expanding middle. There were rumors as to the father of her child, but no one knew for sure — almost no one. David approached the house. She hadn’t told him that he could never visit. Nor had she invited him to come by. Drawing a great breath, he let it out and rapped sharply on the door. He heard a bustle of activity from within and then the door swept open with a little whoosh of warm air. Julie stood there, a little heavier, a little more tired-looking, but seemingly radiant. She blinked in surprise. And then a smile played upon her lips.

“David,” she said, opening the screen door. “Come in.” He padded across the threshold and stood there with his stocking cap clutched in his hands. “What can I do for you?” she asked, a little cooly.

Thoughts rampaged through his mind, but in the end, he decided to just be honest. “I wanted to see my…your…our little girl,” he managed at last.

Julie seemed to thaw at once. “Okay,” she said softly, and led him into a spare bedroom, which had been converted into a nursery. He stood before Mary’s crib and peered down into her clear blue eyes.

“She’s got your eyes,” he marveled.

“Your nose,” she replied, generously.

“Can I…” he asked, “touch her?”

Julie smiled. “Of course, you can hold her.” And she picked Mary up from the crib, wrapped her in the baby blanket and carefully handed her to her father.

David couldn’t help himself; he wept. He had wondered if he could ever feel love and here it was, in his arms. Julie too began crying. Suddenly the baby wept as well. “Well, we’re a weepy lot,” David said, and they both laughed. After a moment, Mary calmed down and David stood there, wrapped around the child he had helped create. Finally, Julie took the baby from David and gently slipped her back into her crib.

“I’m glad you came by, David,” she said kindly.

“Me, too. So, you’re coming back to Ellis after Christmas break, huh?” he asked, working up the courage to put the question of marriage to her. This was a discussion that he frankly never thought he would have. Julie was speaking; he listened.

“No, I’ve decided to retire from teaching,” she was saying.

“Retire?” he asked, surprised. “For good?”

“No, only until Mary starts school,” she explained. “I want to devote all my time to her; you understand?”

David’s mind raced. “But, what will you live on?” Julie had spent all her inheritance on David’s fee, he recalled ruefully.

“Everett has asked me to marry him, David.” Everett Henson was Superintendent of Schools, the man who had given David his first teaching job. David was about to blurt out that he wanted to marry Julie, and raise a family, but Julie went on, “And I told him yes.”

The look on David’s face was ghastly and almost as if reading his mind, Julie said, “I’m sorry, David, if you had plans too, but I didn’t think there was a future between you and me. I mean, you didn’t come by or show an interest in Mary or me, and you never asked me to spend a life with you. Everett did,” she said simply.

David stood there, forlorn. “I waited a long time to get pregnant, David,” Julie said.

“I waited a long time to have any kind of a relationship,” he replied sadly.

“Maybe you can wait for me,” said Julie totally out of the blue.

“But I thought you and Everett were…”

“Everett is nearly 75 years old and has a bad heart, and has been married four times before. Nothing lasts forever,” she murmured, then permitted herself a tiny smile. And David suddenly felt like smiling too.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Bill Tope 2023