The age is getting lower and lower these days when boys are worshipped as athletes and given special treatment. It's down to seventh grade in basketball. Middle schools are trying to recruit the top players away from their neighborhoods, even supplying bogus addresses so they can play for them. These guys don't have much academic pressure either. They get all the help they need, including alteration of grades to keep them eligible.
What do they learn from all this? That they are special; that the rules don't apply to them; that almost any kind of behavior they engage in will be tolerated. The result for those who don't make it as professional athletes is disastrous. They never learn to control their impulsive behavior, they are not equipped to do anything and suffer the rest of their lives as a result.
What you may not realize is that there are some girls in a similar situation. We're not necessarily intelligent. We don't excel at athletics. We just have the one personal characteristic most valued by our society - we look good.
I am a prime example. I started to notice it in grade school. Guys would offer to provide all kinds of services for me just for the favor of my time. They would carry my books, do my homework, offer to beat each other up, though how that was supposed to be of value to me I never knew.
As I moved into middle school and high school, I was more revered than our star power forward. I was prom queen not only for the junior and senior proms, but the write-in vote picked me senior prom queen when I was a sophomore, though the principal disallowed it.
In high school I got even better service. Guys did my homework, wrote my papers, wrote my book reports, chauffeured me wherever I demanded to go, bought me things because I wanted them and granted any other whim that came into my mind. There was even this one nerd named Bill, I mockingly took to calling him Little Willie in a sing song voice just to let him know his place. Despite the fact that he was a couple of years younger, he would prep me for tests. He didn't just go over the material with me. He analyzed it, came up with the most likely questions to be asked on the test and wrote the answers most likely to be successful for the style of the teacher. And how did I reward him for these services? I let him provide them. He got to spend time in my presence. He thought he might be entitled to more than that. He asked me out to a movie. I could have been cruel. I could have told him I was so far out of his league that no matter what he did the rest of his life he would never catch up. But I was kind. I just told him he was too immature and that when he grew up he could consider asking me again.
The majority of these services were provided by nerds, but the elite were not immune to my charms. The quarterback and the star forward had their pick of girls, except me. With most of the other girls, not only did they have a reasonable expectation that sex would be provided, they could name the particular sex act in which they were interested and the girls would comply. But my status was so high that they had no expectation that I would do anything for or with them. I would become involved with them in serious kissing, but it was the rare occasion on which I "forgot" and allowed them to touch my breast - on the outside of my clothing, of course.
Those rules were necessary to maintain my status in high school, but in college, I did have some competition, not serious competition, but competition nonetheless. It wasn't just the competition. I wanted to enjoy sexual experiences myself, and I was eighteen, which meant I was legal. So I became freer with, of course, the college elite. I dated the wealthy, the top athletes and the children of famous people. Even as a freshman. I was so knock out, drop dead gorgeous that I was readily welcomed into these circles.
I was also a lot smarter than your average jock. I knew I could not completely succeed on the work of others. I knew, for example, that I couldn't get anybody to take my college boards for me and would, therefore, need to actually understand much of the work other people did for me in high school. I knew I would need to understand much of the material in order to succeed in a good college. And it was important for me to get into a good college because the elite there would be better than the elite at a lesser school. This was important to my overall life plan.
I could have made it on my own. My family had money. I guess that's not making it on my own and making it on my own was what I wanted to do. I could absolutely have been a model. But I understand that's a lot of work and, from what I had learned when I was young, I could achieve the same or greater level of wealth by marrying well. I wouldn't marry just for money. But surely there would be wealthy, successful guys out there worthy of being loved. In the meantime, whatever temporary profession I chose, I would have lots of useful contacts to help me generate business.
Best of all, I didn't have to make a choice now. I could pursue other interests, particularly sexual interests, without interfering with my overall plan. I didn't even have to be especially promiscuous to get the range of experience I desired because, secret's out guys - girls talk. I knew who was hung, who had special talents, who I could go to if I wanted to try out some kinky experiment. Not only do girls talk, they especially wanted to talk to me to curry favor. I was the hottest woman on campus and my stature grew steadily until, by my sophomore year, I was an undisputed phenomenon.
As we approached Thanksgiving break in my junior year I began to notice unusual things happening. A couple of the girls who had been climbing the social register were unaccountably absent from some key events and parties. On a Tuesday I saw one of them heading in my general direction. I felt it my responsibility to investigate what was happening to one of my retinue.
"Hi, Jennifer. I haven't seen you around lately. What's keeping you so busy?"
"Hi, Ashley. You know, just taking care of school, enjoying life." There was something different about her. We were all happy with the lifestyle we were leading, but she seemed to have a level of contentment I had not seen before. She had a man.
"Who is he?"
"Your new guy. You haven't been sifting through the prospects lately but you seem, I don't know, peaceful, happy. Who is he?"
She blushed. "Nobody you know. A friend introduced us."
"A blind date? Wow. You must really trust her."
"So tell me about him. Jock? Connected? Classy? What?"
I had never seen her so reticent. "Just a sweet guy."
"He must be some kind of stud to keep you away from the action. He must be hung like a horse."
She blushed again and turned her head slightly away. I had never seen this girl blush at anything before and she had done it twice in one short conversation. "He's a very special guy."
"Very? So what is he, nine inches, ten?" No response. "A foot? My goodness." I waved my hand back and forth in front of my face as if to cool off a sudden flush."
"That's personal. I don't think I should be talking about it."
"Oh my god, he's even bigger. I want a crack at that." If she wasn't about to marry the guy, our code dictated that she give me that opportunity.
"I, I really didn't measure. Anyway, that has nothing to do with it."
"Right. Only guys with little dicks say size has nothing to do with it."
"He doesn't say anything about it. He is just the most unbelievable lover I've ever had." I could see regret in her face that I had pushed her to talk about it. I would have to push to get more.
"My God, how big is he? Can you even take it all?"
"I don't know for sure. Maybe around five inches." She looked down, avoiding my eyes.
I was shocked. I had no idea what to say. A guy would have to have an awful lot of money to get me to have anything to do with his five-inch dick. "So what does he do that makes it so fantastic." I said it with real curiosity, not derision.
"He knows things," she said softly.
"I really don't want to talk about it. We're not exclusive so, if you really want to know, I'll introduce you to him."
"Is he at least a hunk?" I almost winced as I heard it come out of my mouth. She was taken with this guy and I was trying to find out if there was any justification whatsoever.
"He looks nice enough, though probably not what you would call a hunk."
This was like pulling teeth. I was asking open-ended questions and she was giving me clipped responses. "So who introduced you to this," don't use derisive words, "special guy?"
"No fucking way." It just slipped out. Candy was the other girl who had been AWOL. Jennifer was offering no unsolicited information so I had to press on. "So what is it that's so special about this guy?"
"He's sweet and sincere. He treats me with respect, not at all like a sex object. And he has such a quiet self confidence it's hard not to be captivated by him."
"Do I hear love?"
"Not exactly. I thought I felt that way at first, but he's helped me to know myself better and I love being with him but I'm not in love with him. He helped me realize I'll find the right guy. I just have to be patient."
"But you keep fucking him anyway?"
"And I have no plans to stop. He's too good. We do other stuff too."
"So how did Candy know him?"
"She started seeing him first. She's not in love with him either, but she won't give him up voluntarily."
"Wow. Wow. So how has this incredible guy managed to keep himself so well hidden for so long?"
She giggled and looked down again. "He's a freshman."
"Holy shit!" It was unthinkable that I, or any of us, would go out with a freshman. Not that a twenty year old girl can't go out with an eighteen year old guy, but he was a freshman, completely without status. However it was intriguing as well. I could spin it as doing a favor for a friend and make myself look courageous, supremely confident. "I must meet this interesting man." Would "boy" have been more appropriate?
"I'll see what I can do."
I haven't gone into any detail about my looks because, frankly, I don't want to sound like a narcissist. I'm five foot eight, and I have blond hair. I know it's become fashionable to shave off pubic hair, but I don't do it because I want to leave no doubt that I'm a natural blond for those who are lucky enough to see me naked. Suffice it to say that if you were out on the date with the most beautiful woman you had ever met and I walked by, your eyes would follow me until I disappeared from sight, even if you are a woman.
I spoke with Jennifer on the phone and negotiated a coffee shop study date. I could easily spin a study date but a movie or dinner or, god forbid dancing, would be a serious breach of protocol requiring flagrant misrepresentation.
You don't get your way almost all the time without being pushy. "Come on Jen, tell me something. Give me something to look forward to." I call her Jennifer to emphasize my status over her. I called her Jen to make her feel I was closer to her; to make her want to please me.
"Okay. He's a great kisser."
I arrived in the coffee shop in the Student Union ten minutes late. I would not appear anxious and I thought it better form to see her rather than have her see me and bring him to my table.
And there she was. I saw her from the side but didn't get a very good view of him. As I got closer I was surprised by his look and his looks. He wasn't bad looking but I never would have noticed him in a crowd. He was kind of thin. What was striking was his clothing. He looked like he was wearing clothes his mother picked out for him for college. This was probably because he was wearing clothes his mother picked out for him for college. No, he didn't have on a cheap white dress shirt appropriate for a pocket protector. But if you put him in a lineup, ten out of ten girls would have identified him as the nerd.
"Hi, Jennifer. Been waiting long?"
"No. Just an appropriate amount of time. Jeff, this is Ashley."
He stood to shake my hand. I think they used to do that in black-and-white movies. "Nice to meet you, Ashley. Jen has been saying some nice things about you."
"She's been saying some nice things about you too." I shook his hand. I guess that's what you're supposed to do. It wasn't the limp handshake I had been expecting, but neither was it the kind I experienced from the guys in my crowd, the kind that said, "I'm better than you."
I have to admit he had a nice smile. It was warm and friendly as if he really was happy to meet me. But it wasn't the kind that said he had been set up with a hot one. He showed no awe of me, which was very surprising, because almost everyone else did, including the women.
"I can't stay long," said Jennifer. "I have a study group and I need the help."
"I told you I could help you with that," he said.
"I know. But I can't rely on you for everything. I need to establish some independence, even if it is in a group."
He seemed to find that amusing.
I went to the counter and got a cup of black coffee. When I returned to the table Jennifer was gathering up her stuff and begging off to go to her study group. We were alone.
"Jennifer said you're just a freshman. How can you help with her courses?"
"I know some stuff. I read a lot."
"Maybe you should be taking junior courses." My tone made my insincerity obvious.
He hesitated, as if reluctant to speak. "I am."
"How can you be taking advanced courses as a freshman?"
"I placed out of some stuff on the entrance evaluation exams."
"Ah, just some stuff. Nothing important. Jen says you were homecoming queen last year. Does that take a lot of time away from your studies?"
"Nah. I'm pretty smart. I can keep up with the stuff pretty easily."
"You're fortunate. Some people here have to work very hard to do well."
"Thanks." When was he going to mention my breathtaking beauty? I had never been on any kind of date where the guy didn't almost wax poetic over it unless he was tripping over his tongue. What was wrong with this guy?
"If I'm talking too much just tell me. I know you expected to get some studying done."
"Yeah. Maybe we should get a little done." I was inclined to think about him, to speculate on what interested him, how smart he was to skip those courses and, yeah, I'll admit it, what it was that made him so special in the sack. I didn't know if he was looking at me, but history indicates he would be stealing glances so I dug into my work.
I glanced at him a few times and smiled if he looked up at the same time. He was just reading. He took no notes. In fact, he didn't seem to even have a notebook or pen. Maybe that was in the missing pocket protector.
Two of my subjects went very smoothly. The third was a problem. I still didn't get why we were doing it. I could sort of keep up with how to do it, but I never understood why, and that muddied up my understanding of each thing I learned. I threw down my pencil in disgust.
He looked up. "Problem?"
"I just don't understand this damn accounting. I never got why we always do two entries. That makes it tough to know what entry goes where, because I don't know why I'm doing it."
He reached into his pocket. "I'm sorry. I seem not to have brought enough money with me. Could you loan me a buck?"
He had the most annoying ability to change the subject. "Are you good for it?"
"You can track me down if I don't pay up."
I handed him a dollar.
"What's your financial situation now that you've loaned me a dollar?"
"Are you any better off? Worse off? The same?"
"I'm out a buck."
"Let's look at the entries. You have one dollar less in cash, but you also have a one dollar entry in your Loans Outstanding account. So one asset was credited because it was decreased - cash. But the other asset, Loans Outstanding, was debited by the same amount. There hasn't been any change in your financial situation except to the extent that cash may be a better quality asset than a loan. If all you did was a single entry for the reduction in cash, you would have no way to know it didn't affect your financial position at all and you wouldn't have any record that I owed you the money.
"With other types of transactions you may be making two entries that allow you to keep track of profit and loss at the same time you maintain your assets. The whole idea of the thing is that, in some way, the fact that assets equal liabilities plus owners' equity allows you a complete picture of your profit and loss at the same time you know all your assets and what you owe. Do you know any algebra?"
"Yes. I remember some."
"Remember that if you do the exact same thing to both sides of an equation, you don't change its validity?"
"6 = 3y. If you divide each side of the equation by three you get six over three is two equals three over three, that's one, times y. So the new equation is 2 = y. You did the exact same thing to both sides so you don't change the nature of the relationship. That's kind of what you're doing with double-entry accounting."
"Shit. Why didn't they just say that?"
"It sure is easier to know what to do when you understand why you're doing it."
He nodded. He didn't talk a lot.
"Why couldn't they just say that?"
"Understanding things is easier if you can see them in a context you already understand. They don't have you one on one so they can't tell if the metaphor worked for you. I have the advantage of trying out as many metaphors as I need to get the idea across."
"You're a smart guy."
"I was given some gifts. Everybody gets gifts. You got intelligence, personality, a nice smile."
It was a compliment, not an homage. I liked it. It reeked of sincerity. "Thanks." This guy was different. He treated me with respect. He related to me as a person. To him I was not the hottest woman he could ever imagine seeing. I was someone he could sit and talk to quietly, someone he could just spend silent time with while we were working separately, someone he just liked to be with. It made me feel really good. Sure, it was nice being worshipped. But this, I don't know, I think it made me a little happier to be me. What a strange effect he was having on me.
It was starting to get late and we agreed that it was time to get going. He offered to walk me home and I accepted.
My apartment was less than a mile from the Student Union, but that provided more than enough time for me to have second thoughts. I was walking openly through the campus with a nerdy freshman. This could not go anywhere good. Sure I had that good feeling briefly. But grief was more likely to follow. If I was going to derive something from this whole experience, I wanted to get in and get out quickly.
When we got to my door, I took charge. "Kiss me. Jennifer says you're great so let me see what is so special about your kissing."
"I don't think so. With that attitude, no kiss would satisfy you. You seemed nice back there but this shows a really, unflattering side of you. I hope you're in a better mood later." He turned and walked away.
I was really pissed and confused. Nobody had ever walked away from me like that. The confusion prevented me from saying anything as he left. If I had spoken, it would have been nasty and I'm sure I would never have seen him again. Did I want that? I hate the word, but why had I been such a bitch? Did I care what he thought? Why was I being so wishy washy? I knew what I wanted from life and I knew how to get it. This was giving me a headache. I had to get to sleep.
I can't tell you why, but the kissing incident continued to nag at me. Looking back, I think it was that I didn't like being characterized as not nice. That's really what he had accused me of. I hadn't thought of myself that way, but I did understand how he could. The next afternoon I called Jennifer.
"Did he say anything about me, about what happened?"
"First, he would never say anything about what happened between you. He would consider that your business. He doesn't tell tales. Second, even if he slipped, I would never repeat it. I respect him too much to do that. He did make a general comment about you and that I can repeat. He said you were complicated."
"I sure don't know how to take that." Although it was better than other things he could have said.
"Can you tell me some stuff about him?"
"It depends on what you want to know."
"He seems pretty smart. No, he seems very smart. He talked about some courses he skipped. And he seems to know about a lot of things. He helped me with my accounting. He says he helps you with your courses. How smart is this guy?"
"Well, Ashley, he's probably the smartest guy you'll ever meet. He placed out of two years of French and Spanish. That's all the tests cover. But they evaluated his skills and placed him in graduate level courses in both. He was put in the advanced courses in math, chemistry and physics. He's here on a National Merit Scholarship. If I didn't know him I would think he was just an urban legend."
"Damn. You know he wasn't even taking notes when we studied. What's up with that?"
"He has a photographic memory. But he doesn't just know the facts. He understands them."
"How did you find all this out?"
"Mostly from him. It was like pulling fucking teeth. If I were half that smart, I'd be bragging all over the place. He doesn't even want to talk about it."
"Yeah, I noticed he is really good at changing the subject."
"So, are you going to see him again?"
"I don't know. I haven't decided. Something about him disturbs me. Maybe it's that he takes me so far out of my comfort zone. Is he going to call me?"
"I don't know."
"Shit. I can't believe I might have to call him. Give me his number in case I decide to. And you can't tell anyone about this."
"If you don't want me to, I won't."
I have been in the position to ask a guy to take me to some event where nobody who was invited was an acceptable date for me. But I had never just invited a guy out on a date. What if he said no? Was that possible? If I had a nickel for every time I had said no, I would never have to work. He didn't completely blow me off. Was this what guys felt every time they had to call a girl for a date? It sucked.
"Hi, Jeff. I don't know if you remember me."
"Now, Ashley. You're being disingenuous."
All right, I read. I know what disingenuous means. But who the fuck uses it in actual conversation? It is a word meant only to be used on the printed page. "Well." That could have meant anything. I didn't know. Let him figure it out.
"I had a nice time studying with you the other night."
Yes! I was getting a second chance. "Me too. I was wondering if you were doing anything tonight."
"Well, I do have plans, but perhaps you'd like to come along. I'm going to see the wrestling team."
"Sure." What? Is there a more boring, nerdier sport? I wonder if we have a badminton team.
"Great. I'll stop by at six thirty and we can walk together to the rec center."
I've been driven on dates in a Rolls Royce. I've been driven in a Lamborghini. Tonight I was walking to the rec center with a freshman nerd. How low could I sink? "I'll be waiting." This was really starting to weird me out. At least he hadn't said no.
Fortunately he didn't try to hold my hand on the walk over. I have no idea what I would have done.
Wrestling may still be a nerdy sport for guys, but for the girls, it is heavenly. All different weight classes and sizes, but these were sparsely dressed, exquisitely muscled, grunting, sweating specimens of testosterone laden masculinity. I could have enjoyed watching this at home on a DVD. It was downright arousing. Did this guy discover some new kind of visual aphrodisiac?
Had he been someone I would normally go out with, I would have taken him straight home and he would have gotten as lucky as it was possible to get. As it was, after the match ended we went to Bob's Big Boy for something to eat. Not exactly my usual fare. But he was probably on a limited budget and I knew how to be gracious.
I was still fired up when we got to my door. What the hell. I would show nerd boy what kissing was all about. He was about to have the ride of his life. I put my arms around him and moved my lips toward his. He was surprisingly strong given that he had no visually apparent muscle. A brief kiss. Nibble his lower lip with my lips. A tentative tongue across his lips. A little suction. Our tongues touched; they dueled back and forth. He ran his tongue along my teeth. Oh my. This was so good it took my breath away. We teased. We devoured. We consumed. It was the greatest kiss of my life. I felt like I was floating on air, protected by his strong arms. It seemed to go on forever. Then I became aware of a small group of girls across the street. They were applauding our kiss.
What had happened here? I had intended to show him what an incredible kiss was like. Maybe I did. But he had certainly shown me as well. I unlocked my door and dragged him in behind me. I headed straight for my bedroom with him in tow. I pushed him down on my bed and opened a few buttons on my blouse. I lowered myself on top of him and we went back to that scrumptious kissing.
I don't know how long we did that but it occurred to me at some point that he hadn't tried anything further. I undid the rest of the buttons and removed my blouse. I unhooked my bra and tossed it off. Then I lifted his crew neck shirt which had the logo "InTime" from a consulting company he used to work for, pulled it over his head and tossed it away. He ran his hands lightly over my back. He drew them down my arms, up my sides, across my shoulders, around my neck, over my cheeks, then back down. When he reached my waist he moved his hands to my stomach and up to the bottom of my ribcage to just below my breasts. Then he slid them around to my sides and up to my armpits. Couldn't he find my damn breasts?
I couldn't take any more. I grabbed his hands and moved them to what he had been avoiding. His touch was light. He moved his fingers in random patterns avoiding my nipples like he had been avoiding my breasts. I wanted to punch him. I wanted to fuck him.
He rolled us so that he was on top, putting most of his weight on his knees and elbows. He kept threatening to touch my nipples and withdrawing. Finally, when I was sure I could take no more, he touched them, still lightly. This didn't arouse them. They were beyond further arousal. I moaned. I could feel the sensations travel from my nipples throughout my body. I don't care if it's not possible, that's how it felt.
He took one of my nipples in his mouth. I didn't care which one. Neither did he. He switched. He sucked and released. He tapped with his tongue. He blew on it. My God.
Then his fingers were back. He was pinching them with more force but they were ready for the assault. I was sodden at this point. I thought he might have to cut my jeans and panties off me with surgical scissors. He ran his nails lightly around my breasts. The sensation was not as intense as the previous ones, but was exquisite nonetheless.
Suddenly he began pressing his fingers into opposite sides of my breasts as if to squash them. I had felt this kind of assault before from inept neophytes who evidently thought you had to tenderize breasts like a tough steak. After all he had done, what the fuck was he doing this for? I guess the mind is the most important sexual organ because all the wonderful groundwork he had laid was ruined by his ham-fisted manhandling of my breasts.
"Stop that. What are you doing? Get off me. I don't want to do this anymore."
He stopped with, "Stop that," and got up with a confused, hurt puppy-dog look on his face. "I'm sorry. I, I, I'm just sorry." He gathered up his shirt and quickly left.
In all he had done, I had thought he was a genius. I guess it just turned out that he was so timid he was afraid to get to it. It had seemed like a carefully crafted campaign of slow arousal but it had turned out to be just a fortunate accident until the end.
I was so angry. Jennifer had portrayed him as an artist but he was more like a pre-schooler with finger paints. I didn't even pause to change clothes or put on anything I had discarded. I grabbed the phone to vent my rage on her. If she was pulling some kind of practical joke on me I would make her pay dearly.
"How the hell could you tell me he's so special? He latched onto my tits like he was riding a bucking bronco he was afraid would throw him. He had the subtlety of a sledgehammer. If you're trying to pull something on me you'll be so sorry."
"I don't understand. Calm down and tell me what happened."
I related the events to her in somewhat more colorful language than I related them to you. When I got to the end, she had to wait until I finished lambasting his performance.
"Do you really want to know what happened or do you want to be angry?"
"Hey, I'm willing to listen if you think there's a snowball's chance in hell you can make this sound right."
"Tell me, did you notice the sensations when he was mauling you, did you notice what it felt like."
I thought about it. "How could there be sensations? He was squeezing them."
"Look, everybody's different. It, well, you're obviously aware that there are lots of nerves in your nipples, right?"
"Well the signals from your nerves go to your brain to be interpreted. How do they get there?"
I didn't answer.
"They don't magically jump through the air. They are transmitted through a network of nerve pathways that eventually lead to the brain. And where do you think the network is that leads from your nipples?"
She couldn't see me slowly shaking my head. "I don't know."
"Along the milk duct and through the center of your breasts. There are nerves in there that can be stimulated. But if you're not aroused, the signal they will carry if you're squeezed is pressure, discomfort or even pain. When you're aroused, the sensation is pleasurable. At least it is for me. If you didn't stop to recognize what you were experiencing, you may have missed it."
"How do you know all this? You're an English major?"
"He explained it to me."
"How the hell does he know all this? Is he some kind of fucking doctor?"
"He read it in a book. He reads lots of things in books. Do you think he could get you that worked up by accident? Girl, you had a panic attack."
"I don't know. I didn't, I just remembered how it was like with those inexperienced guys. I don't think I took the time to think about what I was feeling physically. Oh, fuck. He's never going to talk to me again. What the hell am I going to say to him? How can I even talk to him? I'm so embarrassed." I had really let my guard down with her in the rush of emotions. "I don't get what's going on with him. Sometimes he seems to know exactly what he's doing and other times he seems almost lost. You know he took me to Bob's Big Boy."
"Did you ask for the wine list?"
"Very funny. Is there something wrong with him or am I going crazy?"
"You've noticed. He's really good at anything he can read about and he's really good with things he's experienced. Like he gets an amazing psychological read on people most of the time, when their behavior matches something he's learned from a book. But some things he's completely clueless. He's like an idiot savant. The first time I met him he connected with me right away. He was warm, he treated me with respect, he just accepted me for who I was. So I tried to let him know I was interested. I did the touching, his hand, his arm, his chest. I threw back my head to laugh when he said something funny. I did the hair toss. I ran through the whole arsenal. So he walks me back to my place, tells me it was nice meeting me and puts out his hand to shake. I've given him every green light I know and he's trying to shake hands."
"Yes. That's what I was feeling. I don't know what's coming next. I don't know if he's going to say something so insightful it will change the rest of my life or something so clueless I can't figure how he makes it across the street by himself."
"Don't you love it? Ashley, it's so cool to see him learning from these situations he's never been in and hasn't read about. I know I'm talking like he's a lab experiment but in a few years, when he's learned all this social stuff, he's going to be almost irresistible."
"He'll still be a nerd. But I guess it's possible. I think I'm going to have to see that to believe it. For now, though, I think I want another chance with him. What do I do? What do I say?"
"Tell him the truth. Tell him how much you liked it up until then and how it brought up bad memories. He's pretty understanding."
"Thanks. Maybe I will."
Could I? Should I do it right away? I had thrown him out like he was trying to rape me. Why did I care? He was just another guy, a freshman and not particularly well off either. I could do much better. Of course, it wasn't like I was marrying the guy. And up until the time I freaked, it was by far the best sexual experience of my life. And the way he kissed. Wow.
While I was trying to decide whether or not to call him, I had a small epiphany. Aside from kissing him and the fact that my hands must have been somewhere, I had not touched him the whole time he was working on me. That was a surprising enough recognition, but I realized something more important. It was not because I didn't care whether he enjoyed himself, I was so overwhelmed by the sensations he was giving me I completely forgot to touch him. That tipped the scales. I had to call him to try again.
"Jeff, this is Ashley. I wanted to say I'm sorry for how I acted."
He didn't say anything. I assumed he thought there should be more.
There was. "I've been with some pretty inexperienced, clumsy guys. They kind of handled my,... , breasts like they were stress balls. It was painful and uncomfortable and I sort of flashed back to those experiences without trying to understand what you were doing or what I was actually feeling. I overreacted. I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry it made you feel uncomfortable. I could have explained if you had asked."
"I'm not saying it was your responsibility to ask. When you feel a visceral response to something, you just react. You don't stop to analyze it. I'm just saying I did it for a reason. I'm sorry it made you feel bad."
"Do you always talk like that? Sometimes you sound like a dictionary."
"You're actually hearing me trying not to do that. I really work on, well, trying to say things in a way most people can understand. Sometimes the perfect word jumps into my mind and out of my mouth."
"I'm not complaining. It's just surprising to hear sometimes. Anyway, I wanted to know if we could give this another try. I promise not to go crazy again."
He had a soothing voice. He was either well practiced or sincere. "It wasn't crazy. It was just an understandable reaction given your experience. Enough said. The incident is forgotten. So what did you have in mind?"
"Study. Thursday. My place."
"I've got something Thursday. What about the weekend?"
I had not been turned down, but I had been postponed. I was not used to being postponed. People changed their schedules to accommodate me. This was new territory.
Friday and Saturday nights were prime dating and party nights at school. As much as I wanted to experience him, I had to maintain my standing in my social circle. "What about Sunday night?"
"It's a date."
As Sunday approached, I had a sense of anticipation which I tried hard to suppress. This was just another date, and not a top quality date at that. But the knot in my insides didn't agree.
I don't know what he did, but I found myself studying Sunday afternoon. I'm not sure why. I think I just wanted to be sure I wouldn't have more work to do when he left. I guess I misjudged because I had little to do when he arrived.
I had to explain. "I guess I've been doing my work and I'm caught up. When we set this up I thought I would have much more to do. But you can do your work. I'll find something to read. It's just nice to be here together."
"That's nice of you to say. I like spending time with you too. As far as my work, I'm pretty much up to date myself."
"I thought you had so much to do, all those advanced classes and stuff."
"Yeah, well, I keep up. I put in the time. In fact, most of the time you don't see me I'm studying."
I suspected the truth was that the work was easy for him. Nonetheless, I accepted the reality he wanted me to believe. "Well, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. You need to have some fun."
"Well, Jill, you're going to have to show Jack how to break out of his drudgery."
"Okay. Let me put on some music and we'll dance." I found the campus station on the radio and started moving to the beat. He didn't. "What's the problem, Jack?"
"I kind of don't know how to dance like that. I took ballroom dancing lessons but I never learned this."
He was proving the nerd stereotype. Ballroom? I took his hand. "Come on, just move to the beat. You can feel the beat, can't you? You must be able to do that for your ballroom dancing." I showed him how to move. "Just feel the music." He did surprisingly well. I had expected him to be awkward, but he didn't move like your average nerd. Maybe it was the ballroom lessons.
Something slow came on. He seemed to have a good idea how to get me to move with him and I loved being held against him. When the song ended I turned off the radio. "There's something else I would like to do. I really, incredibly loved it when we were kissing. It was by far the best I've ever had. Do you think you could work some more of your magic?"
He laughed. "It was very nice. I liked it too. But I think you have the wrong impression about what happened."
"What do you mean?"
"You thought I was really good, didn't you?"
"You better believe it."
"Not entirely true. I'm competent. There really isn't a lot of variation as to what you can do. It wasn't skill, it was mostly you."
"What are you talking about? It was both of us kissing and I gotta tell you, I've had a lot of experience and you were very good."