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Stiffie
by Margaret A. Robinson

Ben has never seen so many people his age in pajamas.  

The Hug Master, Ed, has them hold hands in a circle around a big bed made of gym mats on the community center dance floor. Ed asks why they’ve come.  One guy says, Nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon.  Laughter.  Another says, I decided to blow forty bucks.  More laughter.  A really hot girl says, I’m tired of getting wasted and hooking up, just so I can put my arms around someone.  Nobody laughs.  The first guy speaks straight to the hot girl.  And have somebody put their arms around me.

Ed says, I know you have worries, but this isn’t an orgy.  The point of a Hug Fest is to enjoy touch without getting sexual.  Arousal is normal, but you don’t have to act on it.  You can just – let it be.  More nervous laughter.

During hook-ups, Ben worried about being too drunk to get it up until he learned exactly how much beer he needed to have sex with a stranger.  Hug Fests don’t allow drugs or alcohol.  Now, like Ed said, his worry is the opposite.

Ben takes a deep breath and lets it out.  The girl standing next to him catches his gaze.  She has dark curly hair, is about his height, and looks strong.  Scary, she says.

Yeah.

She shakes loose her shoulders.  Jamie, she says, extending her hand.

Ben takes it.  Her palm is warm, dry, and calloused.  Your hand does work.

I lay tile.  She sighs.  I chose this, but now it feels like a seventh grade dance.

He laughs.  I’m Ben.  I’m a videographer .  A guy I know said it was great.

Everyone’s approaching the mats.  Jamie and Ben walk over together.  Ed says, Start with spoon fashion.  Lie on your side and put an arm around the person next to you.  Talk.  Shift around.  Get comfortable.  Then close your eyes, relax, and don’t do a thing. 

When Ben looks at Jamie, her eyes engage his.  Hers are hazel eyes like his mother’s.   He’s relieved to have found a partner so easily.   They sit on the mats.  He says, Okay if you’re behind and me in front?

She looks a little disappointed, like she was hoping he’d hold her.  Why?

You know.  I’m not sure I can do this without getting a hard-on.

She laughs.  A stiffie.

What?

That’s what my brothers called it.  Sure, I’ll be behind for this round.

They curl on their right sides, her knees behind his.  You okay? she asks.

Fine.  You?  His butt is in her lap.  Her chest feels soft against his back.

Gotta move my arms.  One hand rests on his neck.  The other slides around his waist.  Ben’s body responds.  How’s that?

That’s good.  He thinks about ice cubes.  His left hand grasps her left hand and holds it, in the vicinity of his pajama cord.  He likes knowing her fingers can’t wander.

Everyone comfy? asks Ed.  Now close your eyes.  Ben closes, opens, closes.

Ed speaks softly.  Put yourself in a calm place.  Maybe a beach, or next to a pool.  Anywhere safe.  Ben picks his childhood room, with the oak at the window.  As a soft blanket drop over them, he hears the low sound of Tibetan music.

This is nice, Jamie says sleepily.
 

Yeah.  He thinks --It’s like we already did it, and now we get the best part. His stiffie is gone.  If they stay partnered, he thinks maybe--later--he’ll ask Jamie out.

Margaret A. Robinson has received a total of eighteen rejections from "Missouri Review," "Slipstream," and "West Branch."  She has had two rejections from "Crazyhorse" and one from "Nimrod."  Robinson expects a fifth rejection from "Runes" any day now.   She lives in Pennsylvania and receives messages here.