Chapter 21

(The remainder of this story is gratefully dedicated to several people who have gently encouraged me to continue writing, despite my having boxed myself into a very tight corner. Without their kindness I might easily have despairingly abandoned the tale – so I happily acknowledge Adam, arthvr, Red13, AmigaClone and Pepere, among others. Thanks for reaching out, and for your patience and support, guys – I do appreciate it. I can only apologize that you’ve had to wait so long for the continuation.)

Saturday morning was a late start for us; for some unfathomable reason, we missed breakfast in the residence cafeteria.

It was one of those things that just happens; we woke up in good time, dashed to the bathroom to relieve the pressure in our bladders and eliminate the morning breath, came back to the bedroom, decided we had enough time for a quickie before they stopped serving, fooled around a little, cuddled, and ... dozed off.

In my defense, I wasn’t used to having an overnight visitor in my dorm room. Set mealtimes can be the enemy of spontaneity – when we were back home, we could go down to the kitchen anytime we got hungry. Not here. My bad.

Once we woke up for the second time, our bellies growling with hunger and the cafeteria undoubtedly closed for at least three hours, the only possible course of action was to resist further temptation, clean up, get fully dressed and head out in search of nourishment.

I led the way towards Fenway Park, soon selecting one of the little family-owned eateries that cater for the Red Sox crowds but earn their daily bread with a more normal menu of short-order pancakes, syrup, scrambled eggs and bacon.

(I had considered heading over to Quincy Market, where I’d heard there were some amazing food trucks, but I didn’t know what time they set up, and we badly needed a refueling stop right NOW. I contemplated going over there for dinner, though after dark it would probably be a little too cold to be sitting outside eating. Maybe later in the year, after I reconnoitered the place on my own – no way was I risking jeopardizing my male credibility by dragging Jess on a wild goose chase which would leave us still hungry at the end... )

While we were devouring our calorie-laden (and therefore delicious) breakfast, another text came in from Libby, saying they were headed out for a spa day and would have their phones off for a few hours.

My girlfriend grinned mischievously, “Damn! If I would have known that was on offer, you’d absolutely have been on your own this weekend!”

I was reasonably sure she was joking, but rather than appear to be a totally unfeeling boyfriend, suggested, “How about I pamper you a little instead? I don’t have the right stuff to offer manicures or pedicures, but maybe a full body massage?”

A little bit of teasing side-eye, “I suppose you’ll be wanting me naked for that?”

“Always! It’s how I like you best.”

One disadvantage to sitting next to each other in the booth was she could elbow me in the ribs without needing to reach across the table. Not that it was a hard dig, just enough to remind me she’s more than just a hot body, and there’s a whole lot more to our relationship than mere great sex.

I fed her the last piece of bacon from my plate in an effort to make up for my evident faux pas in telling it how it was – I did and do prefer her naked, though I love her for her intelligence, warmth and personality just as much as for her hot sexy body.

(Would I be with her if she didn’t have a hot sexy body which she’d so enthusiastically and generously shared with me when I crashed that first sex party? I plead the Fifth Amendment on THAT question, but, let me assure you, it was the inner Jess that made me want to see her again and again and make her my girlfriend.)

That loving gesture earned me a huge smile, “Mike, you are SUCH a romantic! Most guys would have stolen mine!”

I shrugged, “It’s how I am. I love you, therefore I want you to have the very best. I’d have given you all my bacon if you wanted!”

She totally glowed. That HAD to be the widest smile I’d ever seen on her face.

Looking back on that moment, I’m probably reading more into it than is justified. I didn’t exactly have an epiphany at the time, but the spark of love and total devotion in her eyes was unmistakable enough for me to notice.

With the benefit of hindsight and introspection, I’ve got more of a handle on why she glowed that bright.

I was a little startled at the intensity of her delight in my fairly trivial and natural action. I didn’t think any more of it than holding a door for her, or any one of the dozens of ‘being a gentleman’ habits that Mom and Dad had instilled in me from an early age, years before they lost their way on parenting me.

I guess the biggest takeaway for me was reinforcing the lesson that no girl ever gets tired of being told how important she is to you, of you demonstrating with the smallest gesture that your words of love are backed by deeds.

I resolved to tell my girls they mean the world to me more often.

That was my immediate thought.

It was only later I did some analysis, and here is what I came up with.

Maybe I shouldn’t have been too surprised at her reaction – the college boys they had been with before me had mostly treated them as lumps of meat with three fuckable holes. I had no doubt those assholes were absolutely the type who would feel entitled to grab the bacon off their girl’s plate simply because they were the guy and that’s what guys did. The ‘bros before hoes’ mentality.

Jess’s first time – well, times – while working at that summer camp, she hadn’t known any better because nobody had ever prepared her for being with boys. Okay, so it was entirely predictable that the eighteen-year-old high school graduate would fall for a three-years-older college boy “dreamboat” who’d take her cherry and use her as a sexual stopgap for another two weeks, until suddenly dumping her when his actual girlfriend returned from a family vacation in Europe. Not a cliché at all, just a fact of life. Like the male seniors and juniors at college prowling the frosh activities in search of fresh meat to fuck. A wide-eyed coed can tempt the most jaded appetite ... and I couldn’t blame the asshole for selecting Jess as his unwitting prey – he did have great taste.

That summer camp of physical intimacy after a lifetime of sexual ignorance had ignited a flame in Jess that wouldn’t die. She’d never been allowed to date – now older boys WANTED to be with her. She’d quickly gotten used to regular sex, even if with most of them it had been all about them getting their rocks off, not caring less whether she enjoyed it or not, but she’d never had a boyfriend who actually cared about her until I came along, even if we had fucked recreationally several times before we ever went on a date.