Rhubarb sat nervously on the couch, trying to pay attention to the movie on the TV screen, but unable to take his mind off the presence of Rebecca, the lovely girl of his dreams, who sat silently next to him.  They had previously been out on two dates which, in Rhubarb's estimation had gone fairly well.  At least he hoped they were dates.  They certainly didn't know each other well enough to be friends; and since he was a guy and she was a girl, it stood to follow that when they went out somewhere and had dinner and came back to her apartment for a movie, it was a date.  And if Rhubarb were to try to kiss her tonight, she couldn't credibly say to him that she thought they were just friends.  Well, she might say that, but she couldn't say it and expect to be taken seriously.  Not that it would matter if she expected to be taken seriously------it would still be a rejection.  Rhubarb's pessimistic heart began to dwell on his history of failure with women, and his chronic inability to enter a relationship with anybody that he actually liked.
     Mercifully, Rhubarb was distracted from his self-loathing as Rebecca stood from the couch and walked across the room.
     "This room is way too bright." she said, turning off the lights.
     As Rebecca walked back to the couch, Rhubarb noticed her belly button, exposed right below her shirt.  God, she was attractive.  Yep, he absolutely had to kiss her tonight.
     Rebecca sat back down on the couch; and it seemed to Rhubarb that she had sat down considerably closer to him than she was before.  But that didn't necessarily mean anything.  He quickly banished the thought from his head.  He wondered when the appropriate time to try to kiss her would be, and if he would know it when it happened.  After their most recent date, she gave him a hug goodbye-----definitely a progression of physical intimacy happening there.  But still, he was not about to try to kiss her if she didn't give him any signals.  Though he couldn't remember exactly what they said about that in Women's Studies, he knew it wasn't legal.

Two Hours Later

     As the credits began to roll and Rebecca rose to rewind the tape, Rhubarb angrily wished he was like other heterosexual males that knew when to make a move on a girl.  Late in the movie, Rebecca had gone to her bedroom and returned with a blanket.  She had sat on the couch right next to Rhubarb, actually touching him, "So we can both use the blanket," she had said.
     Was that when he was supposed to kiss her?  Rhubarb quickly struck the thought from his mind.  A girl sitting next to him on the couch under a blanket did not necessarily amount to a girl asking him to make out with her.  He needed a much stronger sign than that-----he wasn't about to become some sexual assault artist just because he misread some girl's cues.  
     Rhubarb remembered back to the last time he had tried to make a move on a girl by putting his arm around her when they were in his bedroom watching a movie.  She had actually laughed outright-----laughed uncontrollably for an extended period of time at his meek attempt to initiate something.  It was a truly remarkable rejection, comparable only to some ten-or-so other cruel rebuffs that he had experienced.  Again, Rebecca graciously interrupted Rhubarb's frustrated thoughts:
     "You missed your last bus didn't you?" she asked.  Rhubarb checked his watch.
     "Sure enough.  Looks like it's cab-time."
     "No, that's silly," said Rebecca, "Just stay here.  I'll set my alarm so you can get up in time for work."
     "All right," said Rhubarb, "If you want to just hand me some extra blankets, I'll set up shop on the couch."  
     Rebecca laughed.  "Rhubarb, I don't have any extra blankets-----you can just sleep in my room."  
     "Ok."  In his mind, Rhubarb panicked.  Any other male would have exulted at this obvious opportunity for nookie, but Rhubarb knew he was doomed for a night of failure and a lifetime of regret, socially inept fuck-up that he was.

Ten Minutes Later

     Rhubarb lay nervously in Rebecca's bed, waiting for her to return from the bathroom.  Before she left the room, she had asked him what he usually wore to bed.  "Just my boxers," was his truthful reply.  So she had told him to do what he usually did, and now Rhubarb was nearly naked in the bed of the girl of his dreams.
     Rebecca emerged from the bathroom and crawled into bed next to Rhubarb.  She was wearing shiny pink silk pajamas that begged to be touched. 
     "Goodnight," she said as she turned off the light.  Rhubarb rolled onto his back and willed himself not to play with his sudden erection.  Why couldn't she just make a verbal request for him to make out with her?  What would be the problem with that???
     For the next seven hours, Rhubarb lay wide awake and miserably horny as Rebecca slept next to him.  He made no effort to so much as touch her, and hated himself intensely for it.  Forty years later, he would marvel that he was ever able to sustain an erection for such a length of time.

Epilogue

     After that night, Rebecca never spoke to Rhubarb again, though it took him a couple years to really understand why.  To this day, Rhubarb still takes time to masturbate feverishly to the make-out that might have been.  And yes, he is still an absolute flop with women.