Chapter 3: All Nighter

Monday, she went to a drug store and bought another tube of jelly. She’d worried about some glitch -- Evanston was blue-stocking if it wasn’t blue-nose -- but there was no problem at all. The clerk rang it up as if all the coeds bought their contraception from that store. Maybe they did. Maybe she looked like a married woman -- there were plenty of married women younger than she, as Mama was always reminding her. More likely, the clerk didn’t even notice the purpose; all that interested him was the price.

That night, she planned out some foreplay. Men tended to be goal-oriented. They got to the main event too quickly. She figured out a game that they would both enjoy.

Monday and Tuesday, she kept up her schedule of doing the prep for the day-after-next. Wednesday morning, she skipped her shower. When she got back from classes, she showered, shaved under her arms, deodorized, and packed a shopping bag with clean clothes suitable for classes, but not actually ragged. Then she set her alarm and went to bed to read her text on the Economic History of the United States. This course required twice the reading but half the thinking of either of the other MWF classes. She read the book until it was time to prepare for her date.

She inserted her diaphragm, dressed in a clean bra and her sexiest panties, put on new pantyhose, and the best dress that she had never worn to church. She put her brush, her cosmetics, and an unopened pack of cigarettes in the shopping bag. She wrote “don’t worry” on a piece of notebook paper and left it on her pillow. Her roommates might not notice that she wasn’t in her room, but they wouldn’t do anything about it if they checked and saw that note. Then she fidgeted for ten minutes until they paged her from downstairs.

The meal was delicious, as meals he treated her to always were. The conversation was pleasant, too. He asked about her day, and she used two more of the descriptions she’d thought out for her courses. The economic-history course had arrived at the 1890s, and he could understand what they were learning. He invited her to his apartment, which was convenient. He wasn’t sure what she’d have said if he’d simply taken her home.

When they were in the apartment, he took her coat. That was a start. When they’d enjoyed their first kiss, she modeled the dress for him.

“Like this dress?”

“It’s lovely. I already said so.”

“Well, if you want it, it’ll cost you another kiss.” He willingly paid the price. His tongue was in her mouth while his penis pressed against her stomach. “Okay. You can take it off.” He took it off and laid it across a chair. The air was, if not actually cold, on the cool side to be standing still in a slip. Well, it was his turn, anyway.

“Now, you’re definitely overdressed,” she told him. “I’m willing to pay the same price.” And she gave him a fine kiss, with her tongue, for once, exploring his mouth. Then she removed his tie before buying his shirt and undershirt in the same way. She lay each article of clothing on the sofa.

“I think it’s my turn,” he said. Well, that was fair, and his kiss was more than fair. When he grabbed her ass to pull her closer, she grabbed his. It was a nice, firm, ass. He lay her slip over her dress.

“The shoes are separate kisses.” She’d even be willing to pay him separate kisses for each sock, while he’d get her pantyhose for one. He kissed her sweetly and erotically. Now, they’d established that a kiss involved hands on asses. Then he knelt to remove her right tennie.

Instead of coming up for another kiss, though, he grabbed her ass and kissed her delta. It was through pantyhose and panties, it was on the delta rather than on the cleft. Still, she could feel herself flowing from the kiss and its evocation of the Saturday kiss.

“My turn, now,” she reminded him when she was standing in her pantyhose. He rose, kissing her breast as he passed it. The kiss was long and enthusiastic. Then she knelt to untie his shoe. She thought for one second of returning his kiss while she was down there, but it was way early. They had three more kisses with her bobbing up and down each time before he was barefoot.

Then, he kissed her. If he was anxious to end this game, he wasn’t showing it. After a kiss that she’d have regarded as very fair pay for the pantyhose, he kissed down her neck. When he touched the clasp of her bra, she could guess where the kisses were heading. But that wasn’t her schedule. She pushed his hands down to the waist of her pantyhose. She had to pull her panties up while he pushed her pantyhose over her hips. When he knelt again to get the pantyhose off, he saw him staring at her delta. He rose rather than kissing it again. He kept looking on his way up. He was harder than ever against her stomach for the next kiss.

She started on his pants during that kiss, but with no great success. When she could see what she was doing, she opened the pants and lowered them to his ankles. Little Bill was peeking out through his shorts. She had to chuckle.

“Bill liked his view,” she noted, “and Little Bill wanted to have a view, too.” He adjusted his clothes while she lay the pants on the sofa. She modeled the underwear for him. “Like these panties? The sexiest pair I own. They don’t make sexy bras with D cups.” Actually, they did, but she needed the support that this kind gave.

He disagreed. “Bras with D cups are already sexy. Come here.” She did, and they kissed before he gestured her to turn her back. He kissed the side of her throat before unsnapping the bra. He returned to that kiss while his hands smoothed over her breasts. Both hands reached the nipples simultaneously “Mmm.”

“Mmm,” she agreed. They cuddled as much as they could while his hands were busy. But this, fun as it had been, was starting to get both chilly and inappropriate for the living room.

“But I’m getting cold.” she said and headed for the bedroom. He followed her. “Can I get in?” she asked. “Under the covers?”

“Certainly.” But the game wasn’t finished.

“Let’s do the last stage on credit, and we can pay when we’re warmer.” She removed his shorts, and then raised her arms to demonstrate his access to her panties. He pushed them partway down, but she was getting cold. She finished the job and dashed for bed. He soon joined her. She was chilly; the sheets were still cold, and his skin next to hers cooled her further. But she knew this would pass, with two of them producing heat in this enclosed space. And his kiss was warm. She made sure that they were tucked in and accepted the tribute of his mouth. His kisses strayed from her mouth to one of her breasts.

“Oh, yes,” she said when he reached her nipple. She stroked his back and then his nice, furry, chest. “Furry,” she said. He chuckled. His hand, which had been stroking her right breast, slid down to her delta.

“Furry,” he said. Well, yes, she was furry there. Then his caresses passed the joke stage. He parted her cleft and began stroking her clit. She needn’t have worried about this male; he was quite determined on foreplay. He was quite good at it, too. She sank down to let the lips on her nipple and the finger on her clit take her where she wanted to go.

She flew, and he kept stimulating her until her flight was quite over. Then, he let her alone while he tossed and turned beside her.

“Carolyn, lovely Carolyn, say yes.” He was showing her a wrapped contraceptive. Well, fine. But they were greasy, and she wasn’t going to get her fingers greasy. Besides, she wanted another minute’s rest.

“Put it on.”

“You’re saying yes?” What was it? The man needed the magic word, or something. Well, her diaphragm was protecting her. Let him have his magic word.

“Yes,” she said.

He applied the contraceptive. When he moved above her, she readjusted the covers. She put a hand on his chest to stop him until she was ready. Then she guided him inside her. He stopped at the entrance, and then drove hard until his penis was buried in her. Up until then, his behavior -- as opposed to this speech -- had been reliably smooth.

“Are you all right?” he asked without moving. Not really -- she was turned on enough to want his motion, not his conversation.

“Move.” And, with that encouragement, he did move, and move well. She found herself moving in rhythm with him. When she was close, he stopped again. He kissed her breast and began rubbing her clit. When he resumed his strokes, they were even more exciting. She hugged him with her legs and let her body take over. It drove her up at him more strongly than he was driving down into her. She grabbed his shoulders as --

She flew! He stroked though her contractions, and then throbbed within her contractions. All this felt wonderful.

“God!” he exclaimed when his throbbing began. “Love you,” he said when he’d gone to lie beside her. That was nice to hear.

“Oh yes. You were great...” And he had been great. She could get addicted to his style of expecting her to climax before they began to screw. But something early on was bugging her.

“Why wouldn’t I be all right?” she asked.

“Huh.”

“You asked if I were all right,” she reminded him.

“Well ... Sometimes...” There was a long pause. Either he was thinking up an elaborate lie, or he was trying to find a way of admitting to an embarrassing truth. “Sometimes, her first time hurts a girl.” It was an embarrassing truth. God! Did she act like a scared virgin?

“First time?” Of course. She’d turned him down earlier. So, she must have turned down every man before him. “You know, you’re a good lover, even a thoughtful lover, but you’re awfully egotistical.”

“Why?” Because ego goes with a penis like ham goes with eggs. But she should say it little more gently. She had, after all, enjoyed the penis.

“Because a woman says no to you doesn’t necessarily, in absolutely all cases, without any possible exceptions, mean that she says no to every man.”

“Well, I didn’t say that it did.” Certainly not. He had, though, assumed it. “After all, when you told me that you wouldn’t date me if I was the last man on earth, I didn’t say that this meant that you would never date anybody ... Unless, of course, I did turn into the last man on earth. Anyway...”

“Anyway?”

“Anyway,” he continued, “it wasn’t just saying no. You were perfectly happy to make out with me, naked, on a bed -- in my bedroom in my apartment. It isn’t as if I coaxed you that far. I don’t mean that you were loose, or anything.” She wasn’t loose, which implied that she could be persuaded to do any man’s will. She was a decisive woman who decisively wanted sexual pleasure. The problem was that her choice to provide that pleasure was an egotistical male chauvinist. “I just mean that you seemed happy with making out with me, and quite opposed to the next step. I figured that it wasn’t about me; then I figured that it was about you.” Well, it was about her, and -- being about her -- it was none of his God-damned business. “So, maybe, you’d done all the rest before but not gone all the way.” Not ‘gone all the way?’ Was Bill born a decade ahead of her, or a century? Well, he should learn about boundaries, and he wasn’t the person to understand gentle hints.

“Still, it’s a quite personal matter. It’s not something you should ever ask a woman.”

“I asked if you were all right. When you said you were, I went on. I didn’t ask if you were a virgin. Indeed, if you hadn’t been so insistent, I wouldn’t know now ... Well, I’d know about your state now, but not your state then.”

“Still, your assumption was egotistical.” Which was the end of it, as far as she was concerned, but not as far as he was concerned.

“And speaking of word choices and my ego...” He started.

“Yes? Were we speaking of word choices?” They had sure-as-hell been speaking about his ego. But it wasn’t his word choice that was wrong; it was the whole idea of asking.

“There are some parts of them that men don’t enjoy having described as little.” That was a puzzle.

“Little? Oh, Little Bill. I didn’t say that he was a little penis; I said he was Little Bill. You’re what? Six feet?”

“Almost exactly.”

“If he’d been even one foot long, we’d never have done this. So, however big he is of his kind, he’s still little for a Bill.”

“I wasn’t happy,” as if his happiness was very important.

“For that matter,” she continued, “if you had a son, he’d still be Little Bill if he topped you by a head.” At which point, he beat a retreat.

“Keep my place warm, will you?” He went out the door and into the bathroom. She could here pipe noises. Had this been their first argument. She could she could imagine the conversation if she asked him.

Her: “Was that our first argument?”
Bill: “Our first? Hardly.”
Her: “Our first as a couple.”
Bill: “Oh. Are we a couple?”

It wouldn’t be worth it.

He came back and snuggled against her.

“Chilly,” she complained. Touching him felt chilly, but it also felt sexy. She curled against his skin.

“Can’t see why you feel that way. I feel nice and warm.” He was joking this time. When he curled his arm around her, she hugged it to her breastbone. It was partly to hug him when most of him was in back of her; it was partly to keep the chill away from her sensitive nipples. She really should get up, but this after-sex cuddling was too nice.

“I don’t want to bring up an unpleasant subject,” he said, “but when do you need to get back?” Fair question, if a little premature. Anyway, they’d have to set at least one alarm clock.

“Should be by 7:30. The dining hall stops serving at eight, but the selection gets bad earlier than that.” She did not want oatmeal for breakfast.

“Should we start now?” Which was a weird question. “Dining hall? Didn’t you get enough to eat?” Which was even weirder. Dinner had been great, but she hadn’t even skipped breakfast after Thanksgiving dinner.

“I eat three times a day...” Then she finally saw what he was talking about. “Or wasn’t I invited to spend the night?”

“Well, I’m totally willing to have you spend the night -- willing? I’m delighted. I just hadn’t thought it possible.” Which was all right. He hadn’t mentioned it -- neither of them had mentioned it. But she hadn’t done her before-bed stuff, and she was dying for her last cigarette of the day.

“Since you brought it up,” she asked, “what do we need to do in the morning? I’d like to shower. Can I use yours? I brought a travel alarm. I can set it so that I’m out of the shower by the time you usually wake up. I don’t want to be in the way.”

“You’re distracting, but not disrupting.” Cute! “My alarm is still set for fifteen minutes before my regular time. Do you require more than that much time for a shower?” He was being practical, now. She could do it in that time.

“Nah! that’s great. I need longer to put on my face, but I can do that while you’re dressing. Can you drive me to the residence hall before 7:30?”

“Sure. Won’t they ask questions?”

“Never do,” she assured him. “They may guess, but you’ll drop me by the door. No public good-bye kisses before breakfast. Not that I haven’t seen a few.” Still, she thought those had been boasting -- either on the girl’s part or on the boy’s. Bill, thank the Lord, was unlikely to brag to their fellow church members that she had been his conquest. What he said at lunch-time to his fellow-executives was another question, but they didn’t know her. As if reminded by the mention of kisses, he kissed the back of her neck. It was still an erotic charge. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Anyway, I still have to prepare for the night. I’ll be back.” She walked to the door and opened it. Her shopping bag was against the far wall. She got out her nightie, her brush, her cosmetic bag, and her pack of cigarettes. Bill didn’t seem to smoke. Should she go out? Should she put on the fancy stuff she’d worn here or tomorrow’s clothes -- without showering first. She could put her underwear back on and the classroom outer clothes. But Bill had followed her out.

“Look, do you mind if I smoke here? I can go outdoors, if you’d prefer.”

“Why, Miss Nolan! Seeing you like this I’d take you for a total innocent, and now I learn that you’re an addict to the vicious weed.” His voice was laughing, and -- considering that ‘like this’ was totally naked and recently screwed -- she wasn’t going to take him seriously. “Do you mind smoking out here in the living room?” A reasonable request. She got her nightgown on and opened her pack. He brought her an ashtray and a book of matches from the kitchen.

He picked up his pants from the sofa and took them into his room. He came back wearing a robe and went to work on the rest of his clothes. When he’d taken them away, he started hanging up her dress and slip in the living-room closet. He put one strap of the bra around the hook of the hanger holding her slip. Then, he walked over to where she was sitting.

“Would you let me brush your hair?” He asked.

“Let?” It wasn’t a game; it was a job.

“You have beautiful hair, and I’d love to brush it out. You can tell me if I’m doing it wrong.”

“Go ahead,” she said. He stood behind her and took up the brush. He brushed the back, caught in a snarl, and started over at the bottom. He pulled up a chair and sat behind her. He brushed the bottom of the hair for minutes, and then started up higher on every stroke. She wasn’t sure he was accomplishing anything, but it felt like a caress. Then, slowly, his brush strokes covered more and more of her hair. He never pulled as hard as she did, but -- when he stood again -- the brush was covering the hair on the back of her head with every stroke. “Mmm,” she said and pulled against the brush.

“Mmm. Your hair is gorgeous. And so pleasant to feel, too.” He brushed the back until she’d finished the cigarette. She’d always heard about a hundred strokes a night but never had the patience. Maybe she could get him to do the hundred strokes. Not tonight, though. She took the brush from him and finished the sides which he’d barely touched. She set the brush down and took her cosmetic bag into the bathroom. There she used the facilities and removed all her makeup. She found him lying in bed with the lamp on.

“Close the door?” she asked. It seemed a weird way to treat the empty apartment.

“Please yourself.” He rolled from the far side of the bed to the side nearest the door. After closing the door, she walked around the foot of the bed while he turned over on the door side. “I kept your place warm,” he said, facing her way. And, he seemed to have done so. When she slipped in, the covers didn’t chill her. After they had shared a kiss, she turned and backed into his lap.

He cupped her right breast with one hand and moved her hair off her neck with the other. His kiss on her neck was much longer than his kiss to her lips had been, and equally arousing. They simply cuddled, and she started to drift off. It was earlier than her usual bedtime, but she had a sleep debt that she was planning to clear up over her holiday at home. Then he kissed her neck again. She was quite aware of his penis pressed against her ass, and it seemed to be getting firmer. He kissed her again, the shoulder this time, and his fingers started stroking her nipple. Were they going to sleep, or were they going to get serious again?