Chapter 3

Martin unlocked his front door and escorted Irene inside. “You don’t remember anything from your previous visit here?”

“Only waking up in your bed.”

“Come in and I’ll show you around ... again. Let me take your coat.”

She slipped her low boots off and stepped in stocking feet into his foyer. “This is really cute,” she said.

“It’s rather modest but it suits me ... one story, two bedrooms and one bath ... Here is the guestroom. This is the quilt, back from the cleaners. They were able to salvage it.”

“Tell me how much and I’ll reimburse you,” she said.

“Forget it. Bathroom’s over here.” He gestured toward his sofa. “Step into my parlor and make yourself comfortable.”

She approached his wall of artifacts. “Is this the blowgun you mentioned?”

“Yes it is.”

“The one I was teasing you with?”

“The very same.”

“God, I must’ve been out of control. It’s an eerie sensation hearing about your behavior when you can’t remember it.”

Martin took down the blowgun. He removed a dart from a plaited grass basket and slipped it into the end of the tube. Lifting it to his lips he blew the projectile into a dartboard hanging on a side wall. Irene raised her eyebrows and nodded. “Very good,” she said.

“Want to try?”

She shook her head. “I’ll pass.”

Martin replaced the blowgun on its rack and pulled the dart from the board.

Irene picked up another artifact -- a pale, wooden rod several inches long and twice as thick as a man’s thumb. “What’s this?”

“That’s a lip plug. There’s a tribe in the rain forest in which the men wear nothing -- nothing at all, except for a little cone to cover the penis. They make a slit in their lower lips and this dangles from it. One of those men would feel as naked without his lip plug as you or I would feel without pants.”

“Unbelievable.” She pointed to a certificate in a frame. “What’s this?”

“This is a patent I was issued for a wormicide. I identified the active ingredient a vine the tribe’s shaman used to produce a brew he used to treat intestinal worms. That’s a common illness in the tropics.”

“Has your patent been made into a marketable product yet?” she asked.

“No -- but if it ever is, I get the royalties. This was my first patent and was part of the reason I was offered tenure at UNC.”

Irene regarded framed certificates. “These are your other patents.”

“Yes they are.”

“And photos of you in the jungle.”

“I was quite a bit younger. Like I said, after my wife and daughter died, so did my interest in traveling.”

She approached his collection of spirits. “Is this the stuff that got me into so much trouble that night?”

“Yes, indeed -- especially the cane liquor. If you’re Peruvian, maybe you’d be interested in the pisco.

“What’s your favorite?” she asked.

He picked up a bottle of cachaça. “This -- Brazil’s national liquor, distilled from sugar cane.”

“Like rum?”

“Rum is fermented from molasses. This is from cane juice. It’s a bit similar but lighter and more brash than rum.”

“I’d love to try some.”

“If I make us a couple of drinks, will you behave yourself?”

“I’ll be a good girl.”

He stepped into his kitchen and returned with glasses containing lime slices and sugar and filled with cracked ice. He topped them with cane liquor and handed one to her. “This is a caipirinha, Brazil’s national cocktail.

Irene sipped it. “Oh, this is tasty.”

“Shall we?” He gestured to the sofa. “Is any of it coming back to you?”

“Snatches of images,” she replied. “It’s like I’m trying to make out something in a deep fog.”

“I made one of those for you that night. I thought maybe the taste would trigger some recollections.”

“Like a madeleine for Proust?” she asked. “I’m afraid not.”

“You finished it and then refilled your glass with cachaça -- to the brim. It was like pouring yourself a triple. You drank it all. I think that was the move that put you down for the count.”

“I’m drinking up your supply.”

“It’s okay. The cachaça I can get locally. I didn’t offer you any of the rare stuff.”

She sipped her drink. “Have you ever blacked out?”

“I can’t say I have. Of course by definition if you’re blacked out you can’t remember.”

“It is a spooky sensation, Martin. I mean, I must’ve been conscious to do what you said I did. It’s all a gap except for a glimpse here and there.”

“It’s not what we experience,” he remarked. “It’s what we remember...”

“It is quite a collection you have,” she remarked. Martin glanced at her and she smiled.

“Quite...” He felt something against his ankle. Looking down he saw that Irene had worked her toe up under the hem of his trouser leg and was stroking his shin. He looked her in the eye.

“I was having trouble figuring out if you were interested or not,” she said.

“I told you I’m not interested in a relationship,” he replied.

“Neither am I.”

“Then, what are you interested in? A one-night stand?”

“I was thinking along the lines of something a bit more regular.”

“You do know that Dean Barnes takes a dim view of intramural romances.”

She sipped her drink. “That’s not a problem, Martin. Romance has nothing to do with it.”

“In other words, you want us to be friends with benefits.”

“A clever euphemism. Ground rules would be no strings, just for fun ... no attachments ... no jealousy ... we can both see other people if we want ... call it quits whenever we want. Are you interested?”

“I’m listening. Why make this offer to me?”

“Well,” she replied, “you’re eligible. You’re interesting ... you’ve done some neat things ... seen some cool sights ... you’re good at what you do. You’re not bad looking...”

“You do know how to flatter a guy,” he remarked.

“ ... you’re a bit old for me, but I think your salt-and-pepper hair makes you look distinguished. You are somewhat of an S.O.B, Martin; but I believe that’s a facade on your part the same way the school marm act is on mine. Besides -- I figure that Christmas party business kind of broke the ice between us.”

“Broke it? Smashed it into smithereens.”

“You’ve seen me at my worst. If you turn me down I won’t be any more humiliated than I was hearing about my behavior that night. There’s also something Geoff said about you.”

“What did Geoff say about me?” he asked.

“I asked him how you were as a thesis advisor. He said you were a good guy. Then he said you were a bit like a confection that’s gone stale -- hard and crusty on the outside but sweet and a little tender on the inside. I had thought you were a confirmed bachelor. When you told me you were a widower, and that someone stood by you for thirteen plus years...”

“Seventeen years,” he said. “We were married seventeen years.”

“ ... seventeen years -- I thought you must be an okay guy. You’ve shown me some of that sweetness and tenderness tonight. Would it hurt to show a bit of tenderness on campus?”

He smiled. “Irene -- you look like a totally different woman with your hair down. You look soft and approachable. Would it hurt to show a bit of that on campus?”

“I suppose not.”

“I’ll make a deal. You show some femininity and I’ll show some tenderness.”

“I have a long skirt that’s slit to here.” She pointed to halfway up her thigh. “Would that do?”

“Baby steps. We’re taking baby steps.”

She laughed. “You’re putting me at ease, Martin.”

“Is this your modus operandi? You start a new position and go looking for a ... friend?”

“Not at all. This is a first for me. I’ve a fresh start here and I decided to try it and see how it worked.”

“Because in the past nothing else has worked?”

“No comment.” She sipped her drink.

“We’re talking what? Weekends?”

“As our schedules and workloads permit. As for the second-level considerations -- I’m on the pill and clean of STDs ... no herpes or HPV ... no AIDS. I’m not into the kinky stuff so you need not worry about needles, hot wax or the whips coming out.” As he watched her, Martin thought her eyes were beginning to fill. She glanced away, blinked a couple of times and bit her lip; then she turned to him, dry-eyed. “Once in a while,” she added with a slight quiver in her voice, “I’d like to fall asleep with a warm body beside me. Is that so wrong?”

“I haven’t forgotten how good that feels.”

“So, what do you say?”

Martin drained his glass and set it down. He regarded her for a long moment, reflecting on what she had suggested. “I don’t know what it is about you,” he finally said, “that always seems to make me go against my better judgment.” He patted his thigh. Irene stood and sat on his lap, and he placed his hand on her knee.

“Well, Martin -- against my better judgment, I’m actually starting to like you.”

“And, I’m starting to like you. I should warn you -- I don’t have any condoms.”

“I told you -- I’m on the pill and clean of diseases. Unless you need one...”

“I don’t. I just wanted to be up front.”

“I prefer it without, anyway,” she replied, “and I really hate the smell of latex.”

“Then, let’s try it once and see how we feel afterward.”

“Fair enough.” She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. “I’m beginning to relax.” She drained her glass and set it on the side table. “This helped, too.”

“You seemed pretty cool-headed the whole evening.”

“I did enjoy stringing you along,” she replied. “Your expression when you came back from the coat check was priceless.”

“How long have you been hatching this plan?”

“It all gelled after our project meeting yesterday afternoon. I waited ‘til now to make up my mind.” Martin kissed her lips. “That was nice. There are two more things.”

“Which are?”

“You already know all you need to know about me. If anything else comes up, I’ll volunteer it. Otherwise, if you ask, information will NOT be forthcoming.”

“Understood. What’s the other thing?”

“The first time I hear you say ‘I love you’ I’m outta here.”

“Got it. No use of the L-word.”

“I hate to interrupt a delicate moment,” she said, “but I did take the precaution of packing an overnight bag.”

“You did, did you?”

“It’s in my trunk. I’ll go get it.”

“It’s cold out,” he replied. “I’ll get it.”

“A gentleman,” she remarked.

She accompanied him to the door. From the doorway she unlocked her trunk with her key fob. Martin dashed to the car and retrieved a small soft-sided suitcase. “I’ll set it in the bedroom,” he said.

“Put it in the bathroom,” she replied. “I’d like to freshen up a bit. Go ahead and use the bathroom first.”

Martin sat on his sofa and watched Irene disappear into the bathroom. After a while she returned to the sofa, now wearing a short, sheer nightgown. It was styled with a satin bodice and black gauze skirting that was open in the front. The hem came a short distance down from her hips. Underneath he could see high-cut, black briefs and she still wore her sheer black stockings.

He stood and approached her. “You look sensational.” Irene began gathering her hair into a ponytail. “I like how your hair looks down.”

“Okay ... I’ll want to tie it back before going to sleep.”

He returned to the sofa and she again sat on his lap. Martin resumed caressing her knee, exploring the shape of her kneecap and the tendons in the back of her leg; then he ran his hand along her thigh. He kissed her again, and this time he felt her tongue against his. He let hers into his mouth and then drew back, caressing it with his lips. Then, he planted a soft, quick kiss on her lips.

“Mmm ... That was really nice,” she said.

“I’m not a rank novice at this,” he replied as he smoothed his hand along her thigh, past the elastic lace holding up her hose and onto her bare skin. “You have nice legs, Irene. You look great all over. You must take care of yourself. Do you work out?”

She shook her head. “I play tennis, twice a week. I belong to a women’s faculty league. I guess that’s a good aerobic workout. Do you play?”

“Not much any more.”

“Maybe we should play sometime.”

“I doubt I could score a point off of you, and you don’t look like the sort of girl who’d let me win a set.”

“I might let you win a point or two.”

Martin ran his finger along her arm. “You look terrific in this gown. Not all women could wear this. It takes a certain...”

“Flat-chestedness?” she interjected.

“I was going to say it takes a certain figure.” He traced the outline of the bodice. “I like the look of yours.”

“That’s right -- you said you saw them already. I have to take your word for that, ‘cuz I don’t remember.” Irene loosened the knot of his necktie and slipped it from under his collar. She began unbuttoning his shirt.

“I said I glimpsed them. I didn’t make a detailed survey of them.”

“Make your survey,” she said as she slid the shoulder straps down her arms and lowered her bodice.

Martin regarded her A-cup sized breasts with deeply-pigmented areolas the size of casino chips. “They are gorgeous, Irene.” He caressed her breasts with the backs of his fingers, running them across her areolas. Her nipples began to firm and protrude.

“That feels nice,” she said. “You wouldn’t rather I had more of a bust?”

“My wife was less endowed than you -- but that didn’t stop her from being a tigress in bed. A woman’s breasts are like a man’s dick -- size doesn’t matter. It’s how they’re put to use.”

“You have a nice touch, Martin,” she said softly.

“Shall we retire to my chamber?”

Irene pulled up her bodice and adjusted the shoulder straps. Holding her hand Martin led her into his bedroom. “You have seen this room, I believe.”

“I have, but I didn’t make a detailed survey of it,” she replied. She stood, facing him, finished unbuttoning his shirt and slipped it off his shoulders.

“Then, make your survey.” He unbuckled his belt, undid his trousers and slipped them off so he stood before her in his briefs. “Those stockings look great on you,” he said. “Do you want to leave them on or take them off?”

“It’s up to you. I’ll want to take them off before falling asleep.”

“Let’s leave them on for now,” he replied.

They stood, facing each other. Martin caressed Irene’s luxurious black hair. He leaned toward her and kissed her lips. They kissed again and she ran her fingers through his graying hair. She placed her hand against his briefs and smiled. “Mmm ... that feels nice,” she said, nodding in approval.

Martin turned down the covers. He put one arm behind her shoulders and the other under her knees and scooped her up. “Whoa,” she exclaimed. “I wasn’t expecting that. I kind of liked it.”

Martin set her on the bed and climbed in beside her. They lay facing each other. He caressed her breasts through the satin bodice of her gown, her erect nipples making distinct lumps under the satin. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, eased her onto her back and kissed her lips as he continued fondling her breasts through the fabric of her gown.

“I like it gentle, Martin,” she said. Irene’s breathing slowed. “This feels really good. I like how you’re holding me, I like how you’re kissing me, I like how you’re touching me and I especially like how you look at my face.”

He nuzzled her neck. “We can do this for a while if you’d like.”

“I’d like...” Martin reached up and gently slipped her glasses from her face and set them on the nightstand. “I forgot I had those on...”