Now that Knut is so much in the news, people ask how we met. I was just a freshman at State, spending most of my first semester studying. I didn’t want to let my parents down for they were spending a lot of money on my education. My favorite place was an out of the way corner of the English Library. The place could get kind of steamy, for the heat seemed to be on no matter what the weather. Actually, I didn’t mind the old radiator. It reminded me of home. I found the gurgles and sputters comforting. Sometimes, though, the sound reminded me I needed to pee. Like on that night. Returning from the bathroom, I see someone is there.

“Excuse me,” I go, “but you’re like sitting on my chair.”

The guy glances up at me. “Your chair?” All innocent.

I nod.

“Okay,” he goes. “You got me. I am sitting on your chair.”

I nod again, thinking he’ll get up and go away, but he doesn’t.

He goes, “I like sitting on your chair.”

“Yes, but...”

“Yes, my butt is on your chair.”

This guy is so annoying. I’m about to give up and gather my books and stuff and move somewhere else, when he goes, “You could sit on my lap if you want. I know I would like that.”

Yeah, right, I think, but then I recognize him. “You’re like one of the football players, aren’t you?”

“I’m not like one of the football players. I am one of the football players. Knut Jansen.” He holds out his hand. A big hand. Even seated I can tell he’s a big guy. Really big.

I go, “Okay,” but I make no move to take his hand. “Knut. Why are you here?”

“To study.”

“But you don’t have any books.”

“To study you.”

“Oh.” I meant to say, “Oh sure,” but the words got stuck in my throat. And he’s staring at me. Intense but more than that. His eyes are both serious and playful. But he can’t really be serious. A football star, he could have his pick of just about anybody. Probably has picked his way through half the student body. The girl half.

He goes, “I’d like to get to know you better.”

“You would?” Maybe I sounded more interested than I meant to. Okay, maybe I was a little interested. I mean, I’m not anything special. Cute more than pretty. Certainly not beautiful. Not drop dead gorgeous.

He goes, “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Something about you. I want to know everything about you.”

“Everything?” I try to make it sound sarcastic, but I don’t think it comes out that way.

He nods solemnly.

“You don’t just want to ... to like fuck me or something?” I tried to make “fuck” sound off-hand, grown-up, but it probably sounds quivery. I feel quivery.

He goes, “Yes.”

“Yes? What? Does that mean you just want to ... fuck me?” This time the “fuck” is super quivery. I’ll just keep my mouth shut, I vow.

“I do want to fuck you, but not only that. Don’t you want to fuck me?”

“I don’t know.” After a pause I go, “Maybe, but I’m not ready for that. I like hardly know you.”

“I like how honest you are,” he goes. He picks up my books. “Come with me.” I find myself following him. Completely helpless. Sure this is the hugest mistake.

We’re out the doors and down the steps and crossing the quad, me following Knut, trying to keep up, not having any idea where we’re going, halfway across, when the sky erupts. Hard rain. Stinging bullets of wet. Instantly I’m drenched. Knut stops so fast I slam into him. Brick wall. He turns. Picks me up. Like I weighed nothing—not that I’m heavy. Barely over a hundred pounds, but still ... He carries me. Across the quad. Down some street. Rain pounding down. Lightning. Thunder. I just let myself be carried. I just let myself be kissed. I kiss back. I’ve never been kissed like this. Gentle. Insistent. Voracious too. Kissing in the rain. Soft swallowing kisses. Hard swallowing kisses. Devouring kisses. Some part of me remembers his nickname. Knut the Brute. But there’s nothing brutal about this kiss. Or maybe there is, but I want it. Oh God I want it. His kiss. His hands. His body. Him. I hold and kiss, and all the while he’s carrying me. I don’t ever want to get there, wherever it is we’re going. I just want this kiss to go on and on. In the rain.