Hands-on Learning

The waitress placed a freshly refilled glass of water in front of Joey, her eyes flicking toward his mother before turning back to him with a polite smile. The look had betrayed her thoughts, if only for a moment. Joey wondered how he and his mother looked, a young slovenly man, holding hands with an incredibly beautiful and well put together woman who was old enough to be, well, his mother. It couldn't have been the first time where the disparity of age in a couple was so blatant, but if he were thinking objectively, his own mother, even if she wasn't related to him, was far out of his league.

The young woman had the air of someone who had dealt with every possible kind of customer, the rude, the oblivious, the flirty. What exactly was that look? Was she adding another category? Predatory? Perverted? It didn't really matter to Joey. Despite being painfully shy, the absurdity of the situation overwhelmed him, leaving no room for embarrassment.

Besides, the waitress was distractingly beautiful. Maybe Madison's kiss had given him extra courage, maybe it was the affection his mother was heaping on him, but for some reason Joey didn't feel like shying away from the waitress. Instead, he took an uncharacteristic moment to appreciate her.

Her black apron was cinched tightly, emphasizing the curve of her hips and the graceful line of her waist. Stray strands of dark hair, silky and lustrous, escaped from a loose knot and framed her warm cinnamon hued face, giving the hint of a painstakingly done style undone by a busy evening spent on her feet serving tables. Her eyes, a rich brown flecked with gold, held a quick, guarded spark that seemed to flicker with impatience, but her full lips, parted slightly as she spoke, hinted at a softness that contrasted with the cadence of her speech.

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" she asked briskly, clearly not appreciating Joey's gaze, ready to move on with her shift.

Her tone shook the momentary bravery out of him, allowing the anxiety he knew so well to swell up from his depths. But anxiety or not, Joey had to test his theory. He wanted something small, but something obvious. A new belief that Joey could be sure came from him, not from the waitress. His fingers drummed lightly against the table, a beat out of sync with the butterflies churning in his stomach.

"Yes, um, I just have a question," he began, hearing the tremor in his own voice but pressing forward, "I was just wondering... do you guys have a policy about men, you know, touching the waitresses here?"

For a beat, there was only the hum of conversation from the surrounding tables and the soft clink of cutlery. The waitress’s smile froze, then slowly faded, replaced by a look of sharp incredulity.

"Excuse me?"

"Joey, sweetheart," his mother cut in, "I don't really think that this is the time..."

Joey winced, knowing that he had started and now needed to see it to its conclusion, "You know, like... is there a rule or anything about that? A policy?"

The waitress' full lips pressed into a thin line, and her brows knitted together, a hint of rage in her eyes. This was obviously not the first time she had encountered an idiot like Joey, "The policy is don’t touch me, asshole. Or any of the staff. Ever. Unless you’re looking to be thrown out on your ass."

Joey swallowed hard. He had to press on. She had made it very clear what her feelings were. Now to see if he could change them. He pressed on.

"Um, actually," leaning forward slightly, keeping his tone deliberate and casual, Joey said, "It’s not unreasonable for you to want other men to keep their hands to themselves. You're not here for their sexual gratification. But it’s completely different for me. I'm allowed to touch you whenever and however I want."

Her mouth opened, a sharp retort ready on her tongue, her face turning red with rage. But only for a moment. The briefest moment. Then her expression faltered. Flickering with confusion, her eyes were a shadow of uncertainty. She blinked, her hand still gripping the edge of her tray. The indignation in her stance softened as her brows furrowed again, this time not in anger but in thought.

"Well..." she tilted her head, her voice losing its edge, "I suppose... in your case..."

Joey could feel his pulse thudding in his ears.

She nodded slowly, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, her brown eyes taking on a playful look, “I guess it's not like you're some kind of creep. You're, uh..."

"Joey," he cut in.

"Yeah, Joey," she said, grinning, "I'm Bianca. And if you want to touch, go ahead. I mean, these other guys better watch themselves, but I'm here for you Joey. Let me know if you need some sexual gratification."

"Uh, wait," Joey realized too late that his wording had been clumsy, "I didn't mean..."

"It's alright, Joey," Bianca stepped forward and placed one hand on his shoulder, "Whenever and however you want. Just let me know."

Joey felt a cold chill race down his spine. It was happening again. Just like with Madison. Just like Miss Matthews.

And just like his mother.

A soft gasp drew his attention across the table. His mother, who had been half-listening while idly stirring her wine with delicate, manicured fingers, now sat perfectly still. Her wide eyes flicked between him and the waitress, her cheeks flushed a deep pink. Her lips parted, and she exhaled a slow, trembling breath.

"Oh my God," she whispered, her voice thick with a peculiar mix of revelation and wonder, "I never thought about it that way..."

Joey turned fully toward her, his throat dry, a sense of horror growing in his stomach.

"Mom?"

Her eyes, brimming with a strange, hazy intensity, locked onto his.

"It’s so obvious, isn’t it?" she said breathlessly. "Other men… they have no right. But you… of course, it would be completely reasonable. I mean, why wouldn’t it be? I can't believe it never occurred to me before!"

Joey clenched his fists under the table, fighting the rising panic. He felt like he was trying to hold back a tidal wave with a paper-thin shield.

"Mom, wait..."

"Baby," her voice softened to a tender coo, her eyes shimmering with adoration, "It’s just so clear to me now. You’re exactly the kind of man who should be able to..." She bit her lip, a shy smile playing on her face, "If you'd like, we can cut dinner short and find someplace to redefine our relationship. Would you like that?"

Joey’s stomach turned. His theory was confirmed. He had just changed two women right before his eyes. Not in the way he had intended, but by the tightness in his jeans, a part of him was enjoying it. A part that was getting bigger and bigger.

But before he let things get too far out of hand, he had to see if he could reverse a change. And judging by the look in his mother's eyes, he hoped to God that he could.