Chapter 4

I slept late the next afternoon. I would have slept later, but Lisa woke me with hot coffee about 1:30. She was sitting across the room. She looked serious. Serious and sad.

"You going to pull me from the contest?" I asked sullenly.

She gave me a look I couldn't read. "I've thought about it. What do you think? Do you want to quit?"

I rolled over and sat up in bed. "I've thought about it, too." I reached out and took a sip of the coffee she had brought. "If it means anything, I don't like what I did last night. It wasn't very nice." I didn't elaborate.

"I would hope not." She held up her hands, stopping my response. "No, no one said anything about what went on. In fact, I was half way expecting their house to file a complaint against you. Instead, well, they sent you a "Thank You" card." She held out a large Hallmark covered with signatures.

"Apparently the twin terrors have been babbling and incoherent since their return last night. They had never lost a match in three years. It wasn't just what you did to them. They were devastated that they had lost. To a man. And a non-Greek, to boot. Some of their sisters took the opportunity to stage a coup and voted them out of office and then kicked them out of the house. For, and I quote "conduct unbecoming a sister." The news spread like wildfire through the other houses this morning." Lisa paused, looking down at her hands. "Several houses got together and took up a collection and gave it to me to give to you."

I waited.

"I sent it back," she said quietly. She looked up at me, meeting my eyes.

I nodded that she had done the right thing.

"Mind you, John, I don't like what I'm seeing happen to you. I worry I may have misjudged you. Sure, those two were real bitches and probably got what they deserved, but I didn't expect you to be the one to give it to them."

She got up and came over to sit on the side of the bed. She wasn't being sexy. "What's the matter, John? What's changed?"

What I couldn't say before Thanksgiving suddenly came pouring out in a torrent of frustration and tears.

"Lisa, do you know how hard it is? All these great girls, they're so nice to me, and it's not just that they go to bed with me. They act like they like me, and not just because of, well, you know...

"And then it's over and they go home with Steve or Mike or Allen. I see them on campus and they wave as they jog by or they'll run up and hug me, anxious to introduce me to Steve or Mike or Allen."

"That's what's wrong, Lisa. Everyone - every single one of them has someone. Someone to go home to, to think about, to care about, to make them feel special. Someone to make plans with, to love. Everyone but me." OK, I was feeling a little sorry for myself. OK, a lot sorry. It didn't make the pain or the loneliness I felt any less painful or lonely.

She nodded. "Rita warned me about this happening. She said you were special, and she wasn't referring to your condition." She leaned forward. "Isn't there anyone in your classes that interests you?"

I shook my head. "No. Besides," I grinned at her wryly, "when you've had the best, the rest just don't measure up."

"John!..." Her voice broke a little, choked up.

"I know, Lisa, I know. I was just kidding. Sorry. I talked with Rita, too. I know it wouldn't work between us, but I miss that friendship or whatever it was we had. I really thought you cared about me, and not just because I -- of my condition."

"I did — I do, John!" she blurted. Then, "I miss it, too," she admitted quietly. I almost didn't hear her.

We sat in silence, our first really awkward time since that first day by the pool. I got my books together and she walked me to the library. The clean up crew was due soon.

I hadn't progressed very far with Poetry in the library so I went home. I had the stereo playing on a Blues station. I hadn't listened to it much before, but suddenly it seemed to express the way I felt right then. It wasn't loud, but it was intense and I almost didn't hear the knock on the door. I wasn't expecting anyone. It was Sunday and I didn't get visitors except for Friday and Saturday.

I opened the door and got a firm push back into my room. I almost didn't recognize her but it was Claire from next door. Fresh from the shower, her hair was slicked back and she had wrapped a light robe around her. She looked strange.

"What the fuck are you?" Another push. Well, more like a good nudge, both hands bouncing off my chest. She was batting at me more than pushing, but I retreated just the same.

"Every fucking weekend..." Another nudge and she kicked the door shut behind her.

"... Sometimes two at a time." You got it. Another nudge.

"Last night was the last straw." Another nudge. I sat down on the bed.

"Oh. I'm really sorry about that. You said you were going to be gone this weekend. Abby, too. Otherwise... ," I tapered off.

"Well I was here, God damn it!" She was standing over me, glaring. "At first we thought you were a gigolo, but then we saw all the boyfriends hanging around outside. We found some of them crying in the hallway, by the way. I'd avoid any dark alleys over on Frat Row, if I were you.

"Anyway, week after week I'd hear your fucking bed pounding on the wall. Over and over, all fucking night long. And just when I'd get to sleep... What? What is it?"

I was waving my hand at her. She had a pretty good head of steam up and I didn't want to interrupt her but, well...

"Um, uh, Claire, uh, your, uh, robe, um, it's, uh, well, uh, it came open, kind of."

There was no 'kind of' about it. Claire was stark naked under her robe. Of course, that didn't strike me as odd until later. Much later.

Claire looked down and, to her credit, tried to blush. She knew, as I now did, that she had nothing to be ashamed of, unless, of course, she was a prude.

She wasn't and the robe puddled around her feet when she shrugged her shoulders. She put one knee on one side of me, then pulled up her other knee on the other side, straddling me. If I stayed sitting up like I was, I was going to get a face-full of pussy.

I expected her to push me down on the bed, but instead she grabbed the back of my head and jammed my nose into her crotch. She smelled wet. Musky. Aroused. Suddenly I understood that look in her eye. I was going to say something about it, but at the moment, my list of options included sucking or licking. Speaking would have to wait.

I licked. Then I sucked. I licked some more, then sucked.

By this time I had figured out what she wanted and had worked my shorts off and down to my ankles. Claire sank down slowly, giving me a reverse tour of the journey I usually made. When her pussy met the tip of my cock she groaned. She didn't stop sinking.

Claire was the first woman to take me whole in one sitting. She said it was because of the childbirth of Sam. It had been difficult. But after that, she didn't want to talk. She just needed to be fucked.

Apparently all the nocturnal weekend activity had been driving her and Abby crazy. At first they were mad, then they got the giggles. Then, last night during that noisy session with the twins, something had snapped with Claire and she found herself incredibly horny. For me. Nothing else would satisfy her, and according to her, she had tried most everything else, including two of the guys down the hall, a vegetable and six sets of batteries for a personal appliance she had.

She still had an itch. So we scratched it and scratched it until it went away. And so did she. She had a son. She didn't need the complications of a boyfriend.

Monday Abby showed up. She missed her soldier, so she used me for an evening. It wasn't really using. I let them. I wanted them to. I just didn't want to be alone anymore.

Tuesday was Julie from the fifth floor. Wednesday Nicole from first. Thursday Shayla stood timidly in the hall when I opened to her knock. I happened to catch Claire looking out her door at us and she shooed us in. I suspected then that Claire had set up a schedule for me for the nights when Lisa didn't need me. I was right.

I didn't spend another night alone. We were all needy in the night, and they came to my room for any number of unspoken reasons, but when they left my room, I was still alone. It passed the time, but it didn't help the ache inside.

"Hi! Lisa sent me."

I stood staring at this young girl in front of me. I had answered the door and there she was. Yet another girl at my door, though there seemed to be something a bit different about her. The winter wind had whipped her long blonde hair into a disorderly mess that she didn't seem to notice. Her horn-rimmed glasses, taped together across the nose-piece, sat crookedly on her face, which was devoid of any makeup. Her long insulated coat was buttoned wrong, having one extra button at the top and an extra hole at the bottom. Her mittens, clutching a thick stack of books to her chest, didn't match. One end of the woolen scarf was tucked in her coat, the other end had been caught by the wind and was now hanging down her back.

I checked the clock. It was 8:00 Friday, but 8:00 in the morning. I invited the girl in and stumbled to the bathroom. And Lisa had told me I had this weekend off, too. Some big deal Greek function or something. Even classes were suspended for a long week-end. I had been hoping to spend the time studying and memorizing to be able to at least get enough of a grasp of the now-hated Poetry class to pass. It was going to be a challenge.

I looked at myself in the mirror and groaned. I had horns in my hair where I had slept wrong, two day's growth on my face and, looking down I saw that I had worn boxers to bed. I didn't own a robe. I was wide open. At least she hadn't screamed. College girls were like that, I was finding out.

I cleaned up as best I could, shaved, showered and wrapped a thick towel around my waist. I dashed into the room, retrieved my pants, went back and finished dressing.

When I came out, the girl was sitting at my desk, reading and scribbling notes furiously in a dog-eared notebook. The bed was made, my clothes picked up off the floor and the curtains were open. It was a beautiful winter day. She had been busy, not that she was responsible for the sunshine.

I went over and sat beside her at the desk. I watched her reading.

"I'm John," I finally said.

She looked over at me, tipping her head to look over her glasses at me. "I know."

She went back to reading. When she finished the chapter, she closed the book. I sat there, baffled. What the Hell was going on?

"Coffee? Lisa said you take yours black." She fished a thermos out of a bag I hadn't noticed and poured me a cup of the life-giving fluid. Our fingers touched as she handed me the cup and she blushed, turning her head away from me as if burying her face in her far shoulder.

It was good coffee. "Thanks."

She just nodded and refilled the cup.

We sat in silence while I finished the second cup. She didn't join me. I declined any more.

"Do you have a name?"

She nodded.

Thank God! I was beginning to think maybe her parents had forgotten something.

"Are you going to tell me what it is, or should I just snap my fingers when I want your attention?"

I had never seen a person blush, hide behind their hands, smile sheepishly, laugh and cry all at the same time. It took the young girl a while to get a grip.

"E-E-Emily."

"Hi, Emily. I'm John." I held out my hand.

She stared at it, like it was a snake or something. I was beginning to wonder what Lisa had told her about me. Then slowly, as if hypnotized, she extended her own delicate hand and placed it in mine. She made it seem like an act of total surrender, a maiden giving up her virtue but somehow I got the impression it wasn't all that unwillingly. She actually shuddered as I squeezed her hand slightly. If I wasn't mistaken,... No, she couldn't have...

"Why did Lisa send you, Emily?" I didn't think she was a contestant in the contest. If she was, she was too dumb to tell time. That didn't seem likely.

"P-Poetry. Help."

The poor girl was frightened to death about something.

"It's a nice day. Do you want to take the books and go for a walk? We'll come back when we get cold. OK?"

She was already putting her coat on before I finished asking. I grabbed my Poetry textbook and followed her out the door.

We walked and talked for most of the day. Once out of my room, she loosened up considerably. We would sit and I would read her a passage. Then she would take me through it line by line and get me to see what the poet was trying to say. I'm not entirely stupid, and I eventually began to understand. Still, why couldn't they just say what they mean?

I began to see why when she read me some passages. The words flowed off her tongue and danced among the leaves blowing in the icy wind around us. I could feel the rhythms of the horse' hoofs, the pounding of the lovers' hearts and the heavy sorrow of death. She showed me that I had been reading with my head, not my heart.

When Emily was talking about poetry, she was a different person. There was a spark, an exuberance that lit up her face. Her green eyes began to seek out mine and eventually they didn't turn away when we met. She had that sweet smile of an innocent child.

We had lunched in a small cafe, lingering until they closed to get ready for the dinner crowd. The sun was still bright and it was a bit warmer so we wandered from one end of campus to the other, strolling along, shyly getting used to each other's presence.

On our way back through the Quad a Golden Retriever pulled away from its owner and went romping across the sodden grass, barking gleefully, chasing leaves, birds and other pleasures normally forbidden in these hallowed halls of education. In its random rush to avoid capture by the pursuing owner, it bounded toward the tree Emily and I were standing under. As it ran past, I grabbed the trailing leash.

The dog kept running, but as it was now tethered at one end by the leash in my hand, managed only to tangle Emily and I together, running around us two or three times. We were forced together. It was our first contact.

I remember we were laughing at the happy dog, wrapped up facing each other, and then we weren't laughing. I got lost in her eyes. They were the color of emeralds and they captivated me as they searched my own. I felt her grab my elbows for support, the poetry books crushed between us. My breath caught in my chest. I couldn't breathe. I could feel my heart pounding, racing, and I remember thinking that I hoped she couldn't hear it.

I don't remember giving the leash back to the owner, but I must have. Pets aren't allowed in the dorm.

When dinner time came around she was shivering, so I steered us to a small tavern I knew. It just seemed natural, and she went in without protest. After my last major hangover the day after Dad left I had kept my imbibing to a minimum. The dinners in this place were superb, however, and I could get a student discount. It was one of the few places I frequented outside of the University.

Emily started to tense up again when I ordered wine with dinner. Two glasses, one for me, one for her. She toyed with her glass for a long time, then, seeming to come to some kind of decision, began sipping it steadily along with her meal. I didn't notice any change in her behavior and we only had one glass apiece.

We had coffees after dinner. It almost felt like a real date. Emily started touching on things other than poetry. She was a freshman, had lived here in town with her Mom and two sisters for the last five years. We found we had several things in common, growing up without a Dad being one neither one of us mentioned. She had a fascination with the Internet and was thinking about making that her major. Poetry was her true love, but you couldn't eat it for dinner, she said.

I found myself closing my eyes and listening to the sound of her voice. When she wasn't stuttering from fear and torn with tension, she had a low melodious voice. I could see tall trees swaying in the soft breeze in my mind's eye as she talked. Cool, tall, strong, firmly grounded.

Emily took my hand as we left the tavern. It was pretty late. "We can go back now," she said.

Something had changed between us when we got back to the dorm. Emily was shy again, but not terrified like she had been earlier. She took off her glasses and placed them on the desk. Without them she was quite pretty, and I began to understand they were a part of her defenses. Which were falling.

I don't know what she expected me to do. I think I was supposed to jump on her and violate her or something, but that wasn't my way.

She had just put her glasses on the desk.

"Well, it's late. I'd better be getting you home. I don't have a car, but I'll walk you."

"Oh! No!..." She stopped herself. Then, resolved, "I want to stay. A-All n-night."

Brazen hussy! If it weren't for the delicious blush creeping up her neck to the tips of her tiny ears, I just might have thought she meant it or that she wanted to, you know, test the mattress or something despicable like that.

"Emily?"

She turned away from me, but didn't flinch when I touched her shoulders. She was trembling.

"I'll take you home," I said quietly.

She shook her head, determined. "No. I have to stay."

Real romantic. Not 'I need you, ' or 'I love you.' I sensed there was something else going on here.

"Even if nothing happens?"

That got her attention. She looked up at me, horrified.

"Don't I... ? Don't you want... ? Aren't I pretty enough?"

God save me from insecure women. I turned her to me and she buried her face in my chest. It felt nice.

"You want to tell me what's going on?"

She shook her head. I could smell her hair. My temperature went up a couple of degrees. My defenses, never strong, melted slowly.

"You really want to stay?"

She nodded. I could smell her hair again. I was weakening fast.

"OK, but on my terms, agreed? You do what I tell you. Everything, or I take you home. OK?"