Training Tristan Ch. 01

*******

A couple of weeks went by. Tristan mostly avoided me, which was understandable. He was quite popular, both with the customers and with the other employees. I overheard a lot of banter, much of it sexual. Once or twice I thought he got out of line, but it was if he didn't realize he was making someone uncomfortable. Remembering some of my training from the service, I started a list that I kept at the back of one of the inventory clipboards. Just a few dates, names, and what exactly was said. If it ever came down to a sexual harassment case or even just grounds for dismissal, it helped to have details.

But other than that, I was content to ignore his presence, which I usually found distasteful.

One day in mid-January, I showed up before we opened, and two of the newer waitresses (whose names I hadn't learned yet) were looking at a phone and giggling conspiratorially.

"It's him, I swear," one of them said in a hushed tone.

"No way! Look it up. What was the guy's name?"

I rolled my eyes and put my apron on, preparing to take stock of the freezer before the day began.

"Oh my God, it is him!" the second one squealed. Just as I passed by them, one of them pushed the phone up to my face. "Look!" she demanded, beaming.

It was a news article from years earlier. Tristan had achieved his fifteen minutes of fame after getting caught in a relationship with his physics professor during his freshman year of college. He had just turned eighteen. She was... more than twice his age.

Pulling the phone back, she swiped down the page. "He sent pictures of them in bed to some of his friends, and word got out. Oh my God, she got fired over it!"

I rolled my eyes and went on my way. This fellow got worse and worse the more I learned about him.

A few minutes later, I had to get some papers from the office. The girls were still wasting their time ogling the phone. This time, however, they were looking up at me, trying not to get caught staring. I was ready to give them a sharp "encouragement" to actually... you know... work while they were on the clock, but then they shoved the phone at me again.

"That's the professor he got caught with," she said triumphantly. "Apparently they had been going at it for weeks."

I sighed and took the phone. Maybe they would leave me alone after...

O God, what the hell? She looked like a forty-five-year-old version of me. I only hoped I would look that good in my forties. Same facial structure, same hair, same skin color. I clenched my jaw and pretended not to react. Handing the phone back to its owner, I asked, "So what?"

"She's like... your twin, or something," one of them insisted.

"What if he's got a type? He'd probably be so into you!" the other one added giddily.

"Oh, so all black women look the same to you?" I asked with a feigned tone of having been insulted, knowing how uncomfortable it would make them. They were right about the resemblance, but I'd rather put this issue to rest before it spread.

"N-n-n-no! Not at all!" the shorter one said.

"Or are you saying it should only matter to a guy what a woman looks like?"

"That's not... We..." the taller one tried to explain, but kept looking from my face to the face on the screen, confused at how I didn't see the similarities.

"Get back to work," I said with evident disgust. "And don't go wasting people's time with this bullshit." They hurried off and I went back to the freezer. Yeah, he has a type, I told myself. Any vagina that will give him the time of day. I let myself get too worked up and accidentally threw a bag of frozen chicken too roughly onto a shelf. It broke open and the contents scattered. I grimaced as I picked everything up, putting it in a pot and carrying it to the kitchen. Guess I'd be telling the servers to promote our chicken dishes today...

*******

"And, aw, man! You should have heard her scream. She was like, 'Harder, baby, harder!' I was like, Holy shit, she's going to cum again! It was so awesome. And afterwards, she was all cool about it, like, 'No need to make this something it's not. I'll see you around.'" Tristan was in the break room bragging to our maintenance guy, George, who was hanging on his every word. I couldn't help but overhear them while I was prepping veggies just around the corner. Macy was a few feet farther down the counter, humming to herself as she mixed some sauces. I hoped she wasn't able to hear them. She seemed her usual pleasant self, anyways.

"Who was this chica, man? She looking for some more action?" George asked.

"I don't know. She was so into it, though. Loud and dirty, you know?"

"What did she look like?" George pressed.

"She was so hot, man. Perfect body, nice, round tits, perfect brown hair..."

"Who was she, man? She from around here?" George obviously wanted a face to go with the story.

"Yeah! She used to... I mean... nah. She's no one around here." Was Tristan uncomfortable naming names? That didn't seem right. Either way, I was about to go tell them to shut their filthy mouths. Nobody wanted to hear them talk like that.

"Did you get a picture, man? Like at the bar, or... or after you fucked her?"

"No, dude. Nothing like that," Tristan said quickly. "Hey, I think my break's over. I gotta run."

I heard him stand up and push his chair back in. He walked quickly past me and seemed headed for the back door when Macy spoke up.

"Hey Tristan, can you come here for a minute?" Her voice was sweet and friendly, as always.

Tristan turned slowly around and walked over to Macy's station.

"I'm mixing some new sauces and I need an honest take on some of them. Do you mind?"

He looked anxiously my direction. I was looking at Macy, trying to determine her game. If it was me, I would have made the sauces unbearably spicy, just to punish his disrespectful tongue.

Macy served him one spoonful after another, all variations on the same two or three themes. He tried to pick his favorite and explain why, but Tristan didn't have quite the language for flavors. But neither did most of our guests, so I saw why Macy asked him to help.

Just as she was letting another spoonful cool off, she casually asked, "So Tristan, do you watch a lot of porn?"

I had been focused on my cutting board, but when Macy threw that question out there, I didn't bother hiding my reaction. Eyes wide, I turned and stared at the two of them.

"Wh-wh-what?" he asked, glancing around and trying to smile. There was no one else in earshot.

"Porn. I'm guessing you've watched a lot of it. Am I right?"

Tristan tried to walk backwards out of the conversation. "Look... Macy... I don't know what you..."

"It's just that I couldn't help but hear your conversation with George just now," Macy went on, as if this was a perfectly normal topic for them to discuss. "Here, taste," she said, giving him another spoonful. He tried it reluctantly and she waited for a response.

"I don't like the cilantro," he said cautiously. Macy turned to look at me and raised a triumphant eyebrow.

"And it sounds to me that you think porn sex is realistic," Macy continued, stirring another bowl and sprinkling an unlabeled spice into the mix. Tristan continued to stand silently next to her, too stunned to reply.

"But what I'm worried you don't realize is that sex in porn is like pro wrestling. It's fake, it's staged, and it really doesn't resemble the real thing at all."

"Macy, I'm not sure if we should..." he tried to interrupt.

"Hush," she said sternly. "You made us listen to your little story of conquest just now, so you can at least hear me out. Or maybe you'd rather Mona go add another incident to her list."

"Her... list?" he choked out, glancing from Macy to me and back again.

"Yes. Her list of your behaviors that could be considered sexual harassment. She didn't know that I know about it, I think." I had to hand it to Macy. She was way smarter and way stronger than most people gave her credit for.

"Trust me, Tristan, you don't want the sexual equivalent of pro wrestling. You want the real thing," she said soothingly. "Now open up." Tristan opened his mouth and took another taste. He winced and shook his head as a reflex.

"Bitter," he said. Macy nodded and dumped out the bowl. She started a fresh mix. Taking a sip of water, Tristan finally replied, "I think I'm doing just fine, not that it's any of your business."

"Well, you're not, from what I just heard," Macy said firmly. "That poor girl got no pleasure from you."

"I beg to differ," Tristan said with a smirk, his confidence returning. "She was quite satisfied. Twice."

Macy sighed and shook her head. "Mona?"

"Aw, hell. Leave me out of this, Macy," I pleaded.

"Mona," she said, ignoring my request. "What does it mean when a girl sounds like a porn star during sex?"

I paused from chopping and put my hands on the counter. "If she's not a porn star?" I asked.
"Yep."

"It means she's bored as hell and wants the whole thing to end quickly."

Macy smiled. "Exactly. She's not into it and doesn't know what else to do, so she's thinking, 'Maybe this will speed him up.' Do you really think she would have ended it there if she had really enjoyed it so much?"

"Bullshit," Tristan said, a little less convincingly than he had intended. I went back to my chopping, still listening intently and trying not to be too obvious when I looked up to watch them.

"You don't want porn sex, Tristan, not really," Macy said gently.

Shaking his head, Tristan said, "It feels pretty awesome to me, and like I said, it's none of your business anyway." He tried to walk away, but Macy grabbed his elbow. She looked down at the burner and stopped stirring.

"You only say that because you don't know better," she stated softly, not looking up. "If you knew what it was like to really care about the person you were with, you wouldn't be able to go back to what you're doing now."

Tristan pulled his elbow free, but before he walked away, Macy looked at him and said, "What you do really is none of my business, I guess. But for the sake of the girls you're hurting, I think I have a responsibility to say something." Tristan bit his lip and looked away. "I've experienced both. I was with a guy for years who tried to make our sex life just like a porn video. It was hell. When he left and I found someone who cared more about me than about his orgasms, it was a whole different world. Sex with him is great – for both of us. Open up." She pushed a spoon at his mouth, and Tristan took it reluctantly. His eyes instantly brightened.

"That's..." he began.

"That's what happens when you don't settle for what you have and keep trying for something better," Macy said, throwing the spoon in the sink and jotting down a few notes. She pinned the paper to the wall and said, "Mona, try a thin layer of this on top of the breaded shrimp, let me know what you think." Tristan and I watched her walk away, removing her apron and heading towards the sink to wash up. Tristan looked at me, then quickly turned and walked away. I chuckled and kept chopping.

*******

Back in the desert it was hot and dry. It was night, but night was not cool here. The last patrol called in. Dead. Most of them dead. The next group went out. Not my group. We would be next. The end was coming. One group after another went out; no one came back. Bodies came back, but nothing more. My heart raced. We would be next, next to die.

I tried to object, to speak some sense into the situation, but my voice didn't work. Didn't they know this was utter madness? Stop it! Stop it all! I could hear the rumble, the explosion. The call would come soon: all dead. Rollo, Pritchard, Dewey, McConnell, Flip... all dead.

He finds me sitting on my bed. I feel his weight as he sits next to me. Close. Those eyes! He's young, he's sexy. He feels the same desperation I do. We're next.

"You?" I croak into the shadows, frightened for so many reasons. "You're here?"

He puts his hand on my cheek. His hand is so smooth, so much smoother than mine. I lean in and feel safe for a moment. When I look back in those steel-gray eyes, he says softly, "Ours is not to question why. Ours is but to do and die."

I'm on my back. When did we lose our clothes? How did this bunk get so soft? His mouth is all over me. My breasts move up instinctively, trying to force more contact. Then his face is in front of mine. I'm lost again in those eyes. And ohhh, GOD! He's entering me. Slowly, with measured strokes inside me, he's rebelling against our death sentence. We will die, yes, but first we will live. I push against him, wanting this, thankful to have a moment with his body... with this bridge to another soul...

My heart is racing...

So close. I need this...

I need it so much...

His pale skin is reflecting the moonlight... like something angelic...

So steady, so gentle, so firm...

I grip him, wrapping my arms tight around his solid chest. It won't be long now. They're calling for us. I'm so close... Push harder, baby, push harder! I'm almost there! Alarms sounding. Crashing. Don't stop! Engines roaring.

Dammit!

I looked at the clock. It was barely 5a.m. Stupid garbage truck. So loud and always so damn early in the morning! I had worked a closing shift, so I had only been in bed a few hours. I needed more sleep, but there was no way in hell I was getting back to sleep in this state. My pillow was wet from my sweat. I flexed my thighs. Wetness down there, too. Stupid fucking dream.

It had been almost three months since I had gotten laid. Rollo was practically engaged to his little pixie. Good for him, but now I was without a 'sparring partner.' Not that it would have mattered at 5a.m., horny and in bed.

With a sigh, I slid my hand under the waistband of my boxers. I closed my eyes and tried to bring back the moment that had been disrupted. I tried to recall the feeling of that smooth motion in and out. The full-body contact of naked flesh writhing together. The look in those eyes. The perfect body.

And then it hit me. It was Tristan.

Fuck! Nothing could have derailed my O-train more quickly than that. I closed my eyes and growled in frustration. What I wouldn't have done for a cigarette in that moment.

Why did the idea of Tristan repulse me so much? He was quite a fine specimen of manhood, at least the parts that I had seen. It wouldn't be the first time I had slept with a guy just because he was hot. Why not Tristan?

Because he's an asshole. Because you're older now than when you were twenty and just starting to explore sex. Because you have reason to believe he's a selfish and incompetent lover.

I got out of bed. No point in lying there trying to fall back asleep. I poured some milk and pulled out my guitar. I was in the mood for some Clapton...

My fingers were soon working along familiar paths, familiar enough that my mind could wander. I needed some release. I would prefer something longer-term, and I was starting to think about settling down. But that wasn't something you decided until you'd found someone you wanted to settle down with. For now, I was living the life I had, not another life I wanted. And I was (mostly) content.

In the meantime, what were my options for sex with minimal complications? Rollo was out. Steve was... not my type. And we worked too closely together. There weren't any other single guys at work who didn't creep me out. And I really didn't get out enough to have a broader circle of friends. That would have to change.

A thumping on the floor disrupted my thoughts. I guess I hadn't been paying attention to my guitar playing. It wasn't yet six in the morning and I was waking up my downstairs neighbor. Whoops. I put down the guitar, finished my second glass of milk, and instinctively looked for a cigarette. God, this horniness was going to be the end of me.

I pulled off my tank top and replaced it with a sports bra. It was bitterly cold outside, I was sure, but four or five miles would warm me up... and work off some of that edge.

*******

Valentine's Day was always busy at Jackal's. It was one of the few times Macy, Steve, and I all worked a full night at the same time. Every table was full from 5 until 11, and every server was scheduled to work at least a few hours.

There was a lot of chatter around the kitchen that week about Valentine's plans. Most of us either did something the night before or the night after. Servers who worked the early shift usually had a date lined up for later. Tristan had an early shift and was suspiciously quiet and reserved. When Moira asked about his plans, he said he had a date later, but he didn't seem eager to talk more about it. Then again, he had been pretty quiet in the kitchen ever since Macy's little conversation with him a few weeks ago. There was something slightly encouraging in that. Perhaps what he really needed was a guiding hand. Maybe there was hope for him to become a decent human being after all.

Anyway, being around all the romance didn't bother me much. Not as much as it did some people. Like I said, I'm mostly content with the life I have. That doesn't mean I don't hope for something more – my own version of a settled married life – but I'm not putting life on hold, waiting for things to change.

The evening ended without a hitch. By closing time, we were all too exhausted to even chatter while we shut down the kitchen. I was the first one to finish, and I waved to Steve and Macy as I headed out the back door. Pausing to make sure the door shut behind me, I pulled my coat a little tighter around my chest and started walking to my car.

"Hey... Mona," a soft voice startled me.

I spun around to see Tristan leaning against the wall. The light over the back door illuminated only half his body, giving him a sinister look.

"Dammit, Tristan, what the hell are you doing sneaking around here?" I wasn't too worried about rape or anything. I could take care of myself against most guys. But I just didn't like being startled.

"I... I wanted to ask you something," he said with a measure of uncertainty in his voice.

"Aren't you supposed to be on a date or something?" I asked gruffly. Now I was just annoyed. "Or did you already get what you wanted from her?"

"Hm? No... it was fine. We had a late dinner, that was all," he said, shuffling towards me cautiously.

"If you're even considering trying to talk me into..."

"No... it's not like that," he said. This didn't sound like the Tristan I was used to. "It's that... I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. The girl tonight was... she was great. And it probably wouldn't have taken much to... you know. But I didn't want to. I mean, she was hot and all... I mean, really hot. But... I think Macy... she might have been right. Girls don't stick around. It's like once we hook up, they're done. And... I know that's like a dream life for a guy – to just keep hooking up with a series of hot chicks – but I'm not happy. I feel like there's something wrong with me that keeps them from wanting more than sex."

He paused, never making eye contact. He opened his mouth to say more but then stopped himself.

"And this concerns me... how?" I asked. I'm not anyone's therapist.

He sighed, digging his hands deeper into his coat pockets. "You were honest with me, right from the start. You saw right through me and you called me out on my BS. It's like all the show and charm and facade make no impression on you."

"Oh, it makes an impression alright," I said, nodding. Then shaking my head I added, "But not the impression you're wanting to make."