Awkward, a Love Story Ch. 05

"I like to think I'd have left her alone in bed, but who knows is probably the right answer. Fortunately, thr prim one was home."

"David, excuse me for a second. You'll notice I just grabbed my phone. I'm just looking up the word, 'prim.' Would that girl like being seen as "stiffly formal and respectable"? Is that the right word?"

"Probably not, since an hour after I'd eased the drunk girl into her bed, the prim one was naked and blowing me."

"A lot of women seem to have sex with you very quickly. Is this a daily occurrence, weekly, monthly?"

"I'd have to give it some thought, but I think you've now heard of all such instances. Mostly I read books, mentor, write, and work my rolodex."

"So, you sat with this stranger and asked nicely, or did you just unzip? Or was she just slutty."

"You know I don't like that word, but no, she wasn't slutty, and no, I don't have a strong sense of what worked. I liked her. We bantered. And then we kissed."

"And then you asked for the blowjob?"

"Jeez. You're so directive. I don't recall everything. I recall her skin. It was just so clean."

"Clean?"

"Yeah, like she'd just gotten out of the shower."

"I imagine prim girls take showers after going to basketball games. There's all that Prell shampoo to use."

"You're in a weird mood."

"Curious why this incident comes up now, but go on."

"I do remember sitting next to the prim girl."

"The victim."

"Sheesh. She was in control. It was her room, her dorm. She was a young woman with a backbone. She had highlighters of three different colors lined up neatly alongside the organic chemistry textbook she'd been reading all evening. She was no victim. Backbone, alabaster skin, highlighters."

"Highlighters..."

"Thinking back to that evening, I'm absorbed by this woman. This alert, precise young woman, and I thought how marvelous she was. Bright eyed, not drunk, studying away. I thought she was just so precious. I had the sense that people truly loved her, that she'd been appreciated and cared for, and that she would return in the summer to a house filled with books and potpourri, but that she was--in the meantime--tending to business, her academic business. I marveled at her full lips, a mouth of confidence."

"She sounds great, if a little prim."

"Well, she was."

Pause.

"She also had such pale skin. I don't have a particular preference about skin or hair color, but I liked how well she took care of what she'd been given. All that flossing and makeup remover and lotion."

"How would you know that?"

"I make up a lot of stuff when I'm falling for someone, and I think she could tell, because she was clearly not a one-night stand kind of gal. She was serious but fun, and I think we both appreciated that this was a special connection."

"Okay."

"We kissed for a while. No skipping bases with this girl."

"Did she have a name?"

"She did."

Head nod.

"Remember how I told you that she was wearing a bra at the game? Well she wasn't wearing one when I dropped by at midnight. Of course, she was also in a nightgown, so a bra would be unusual."

"A nightgown?"

"It was midnight, so sure. She was about to hit the sack. I guess we did skip ahead by me seeing her in a nightgown, so we skipped a certain behavioral base, but it was a chaste nightgown. No Victoria Secret for her."

"Never? So she was kinda asexual?"

"Just not that night, at least in regards to her nightgown. I have no idea what she might have owned, but in the dorm with a roommate, in the winter, she was sporting some serious L.L. Bean flannel."

"And then she blew you?"

"I gave the wrong impression. We talked and bantered. She gave me a Diet Coke. We made love. It was sweet, sexual. It was great. Oral sex went both ways. I was polite but also transparent. I told her that I had never met anyone like her, that she was someone I would aspire to date, that she was someone I would aspire to be."

"You were enthusiastic."

"I saw skepticism while I talked, but I also saw appreciation, a sense in this young goddess that someone saw her as she was meant to be seen. I felt envy, certainly, as I contrasted my life with hers, or at least what I imagined about hers, but mostly I felt appreciation and fondness, even love, or at least the sort of love that one feels towards a great painting or short story or pop song."

Eye squint.

"Of course, I didn't chatter away while we were engaged in actual sex, or at least in the back and forth, frictional part of sex. I remember we took breaks, generally with me inside of her. Have I mentioned that I tend to take a lot longer to cum than most you guys?"

"I think you work it into each session, though you sometimes add that it could be seen as an inadequacy or an inhibition that could get in the way if the partner was getting sore or had other plans for the day."

"I don't think I've ever added that last part, but probably right. So, anyway, I would speak when I was inside her, but unmoving, when I could feel both of us throbbing. I think that intimacy, that wetness made the words more meaningful."

"So where was the transgression? There's always a transgression with you."

"One transgression happened at 3 am."

"Which was?"

"I woke up. To be fair, I'd set an alarm."

"You'd set an alarm?"

"After we'd had sex at midnight, I went down the hall to the bathroom and privately set my watch to wake me up at 3:00."

"Why?"

"I wanted the chance to grope her, to feel my Cinderella again before morning, before her roommate woke up, before the spell wore off."

"So the alarm went off."

"And I spent a solid 15 minutes feeling her body while she slept. She had a twin bed, so we were already folded together, but it was lovely tracing her body while she slept. That was transgressive, since we'd just met, and she hadn't really consented to the 3 am interlude."

"So, a Cinderella, Snow White hybrid?"

"And I'm the prince, I suppose, qthough that's not my point. Anyway, I lightly traced her ribs, and around her shoulders, and her pubic hair. It was just so nice. I could have done it all night."

"Did you?"

"She woke up. She spent a few minutes letting me continue to touch her, but soon enough, she was reaching for the dick."

"So poetic."

"Small bed, big dick. She may not have had much choice, though maybe it was because it was poking her chin."

"This is ridiculously off target, David. Clean it up, or the session's over."

"If you say so. I'll just add that I was poking her chin because I'd flipped over and was lightly tracing her labia with my tongue. Seeing how lightly I could do it without waking her up. Is labia okay to say?"

"We should stop."

"Anyway, we were so new to each other that we wanted to try different things, to see what fit, to see what worked. I remember fucking her doggy style, excuse the French, but I don't think we've found a better term."

"You know, David, doggy style is fine, though I should point out that many of my patients can go through an entire multi-year therapy without referring directly to blow jobs or any sort of intercourse, including doggy style. As I think about it, it's sorta the norm to just lump everything into the word 'sex,' and then talk about something else. Somehow, that's not the case with you."

"My issues are evolving. I do want to get into a few more specifics, and then we can talk more broadly. But let me know if you get uncomfortable."

Nod.

"So, I'm sliding back and forth, on my knees behind her. It's the middle of the night, and her head's in her pillow, and it just felt so primal. Her pale skin glinted in the darkness. Alabaster. She was trim and athletic, but everything was so round. Her butt was round. Her boobs were round. Her lips were plump. Everything was firm, solid and put together."

"Okay, move this along."

"That's my problem, I'm still stuck at that moment, or all of those moments. She was the one I've been thinking about all these years. The others have been distractions."

"Okay."

"Anyway, after a while, I start to cum from behind, but she pulls back. She asked me to lie down and relax, and she decides that she's going to go down on me again, but this time through to orgasm. It was delightful."

"If we can leave out the sex, maybe we could talk about what you think is your secret to all of this. How do you get these people to transgress?"

"Hmmm. How do you think I got her to let me stay in the room? What would be the hook? Why would a prim and proper Duke student let some stranger make the moves."

Silence.

"This was at Duke?"

Silence.

"David, you hadn't told me it was at Duke."

My psychiatrist's voice had gotten thin, sorta tinny. I think I saw a smile, as if she was amused by this information, but that may have been wishful thinking.

Silence. She seemed to be thinking.

"With that information," she said, looking me in the eye, "he might have deposited the drunk roommate on the bed and then asked the prim woman in the flannel nightgown if she's a lesbian. If she's the sort of lesbian who would prey on drunk, braless coeds. You might ask the prim one if she might molest her roommate, but you'd only ask because you feel a need to protect the young woman from the sort of predator-lesbians who flock to college campuses, where they're trained to be predators within the sorority system."

I nodded.

She looked at me impassively.

"Being a polite southerner, she might also have gone to her little dorm fridge and offered a Perrier."

We stared at each other.

"Why did you say Diet Coke? I wouldn't have offered someone a Diet Coke after midnight. Way too much caffeine."

"I got nervous and wanted to distract you with the Coke."

"You're such an asshole."

"Sorry."

"You told me this happened at Harvard."

"I said it happened at a rivalry game between elite schools. A friend got me a student ID that would get me into the Duke/Carolina game. Once in a lifetime chance."

"What happened to your beard?"

"I appreciate that you called it a beard. I hadn't shaved in two months. I was depressed. I shaved it the next day. Would you like more explanation?"

"I want so much less explanation. Get out."

"You need more info before you make a decision."

"What decision? There's no decision. Leave and never come back."

"I told you I'd come back. Here I am. You now have more info on a potential life partner than you'll ever have."

"Life partner? Are you crazy?"

"You're the psychiatrist. You tell me if I'm crazy."

"This isn't funny, David. I could lose my medical license. Plus, you've played me again, and this time's worse. Why now, anyway? Don't you have enough on your plate with the teenagers?"

"Low blow. The teens came along after we'd started therapy, remember? And now they're gone, as I explained."

"So why now?"

"Because your divorce was finalized. I wanted to wait until then."

"That's private information."

"It's not that private."

"This isn't funny."

"I've opened up my soul. I've focused on the negative stuff at the expense of almost all else."

"I'd have preferred a post card, preferably from another continent."

"There's only one other bit of info that you should hear before you make the decision."

"I've already made the decision. There's more?"

"Yes."

"What, Gemma and Sarah are both your kids, and you've been fucking them? Something like that? That should win you brownie points with someone who's about to be unemployable."

"Actually, neither is my biological child, and I never touched Sarah, who's my first cousin, once removed. I told Caroline I wouldn't, and I won't. I told you."

"Jesus, David, or whatever your real name is, you've said a lot of things. You've been calling her your child since day one, and now you're backtracking?"

"Well, I may have said that, because I see her that way. Without me and the false-positive pregnancy test, Caroline wouldn't have started screwing the military man, at least not that year. She wouldn't have gotten pregnant, at least that year, and she'd have been able to finish up her beauty queen year and maybe even won something bigger, like Miss California or her bachelors degree. I was trying to do the right thing, but it backfired, and I've felt guilty ever since. It's a wistful sort of guilt, since Sarah was born because of the error, which I guess makes it okay, but I've never felt proud of the sexual stuff."

"David, here's the thing."

"What?"

"I don't care."

Silence.

"Hmmm. Okay. I can see that."

Stony face.

I tried again.

"We may be different...."

"You think?..."

"We may be different, but with me, there are parallel emotions that don't neatly line up. Like, maybe I don't like the Military Man, but I appreciate that he has provided a stable home to people I love. I hate his politics, but he's good to the kids. He likely has some idea about Caroline's affair, yet he doesn't call her out. He's got a little Joseph in him, after all. Parallel but conflicting emotions."

"Just get out."

"I need to give you one more piece of info before I leave."

My psychiatrist looked out the window. She was rubbing her forehead. But I swear she also looked amused, maybe incredulous, maybe in shock.

I plunged ahead.

"Do you remember the next morning? Remember how you woke me up? I'm sure you do. I woke up to a really warm and terrific blow job. You were very quiet, of course, since your roommate was in the bed a few feet away, and you were under the covers, and I was still half asleep, but there's no mistaking a blow job. Nothing else feels quite like it."

She bowed her head.

"And you're going at it, and I don't know if your style has evolved or maybe I got special treatment, but, at least back then, you used an unusual amount of saliva, so it was especially wet, which meant a greater, well, noise. More sloshing around. The whole thing was intensely erotic, though surely you know that by now. Surely you know that about your eroticism?"

"David, stop this."

"So, you're under the covers, and my eyes open, and I detect a bit of movement. It was a few feet away, in the other bed. Do you remember how you'd lined up your beds? It was a sort of long, narrowish room, and you'd put your beds parallel to each other. Maybe half the beds overlapped, and there was a little walkway to get through. I'm sure you remember. Y'all slept at opposite ends, presumably for some privacy, so that your legs overlapped, but your heads were, what, ten feet apart? So you wouldn't exactly be breathing on each other, but you'd also have some room for a study area on the other side of the room."

"Jesus."

"So, I'm wakened by your blowjob. Incidentally, did I ever thank you for that? I should have. It was still dark, though it was beginning to get light. Dawn. Streaky light. Shadowy. Far earlier than I would ordinarily get up, but obviously I'd wake up for a blow job from the likes of you."

She looked out the window.

"Anyway, I remember tangling my fingers into your hair just as I realized that there was movement in the other bed. It was right in the middle of the bed, under the covers. It was obvious, immediately, that your comatose roommate was no longer comatose and was rubbing one out while listening to your blow job."

My psychiatrist's eyes were shut, and she was staring at the ceiling.

"I mean, it's possible to give a silent blowjob, but it's really difficult when you're also giving a wet, slobbery blowjob, which I do remember from that night. On the spectrum of blowjobs, yours are definitely on the wet side. Thouh maybe that's no longer the case. A divorce might make you less enthusiastic, for example, or maybe you have your own Picasso sex periods rather than an enduring sexual fingerprint. I'd be curious. You don't have to tell me."

"I'm sorry. Was that an actual question? For me?"

"Sorry, so there's a rhythmic sloshing. Rhythmic, because it didnt twke me a milli-second to shift from a deep sleep to the back and forth. I'd probably started fucking your mouth before I woke up."

"David, get out. Seriously. Out."

"I get carried away. I meant, with all due respect, that I'd presumably begun to respond to your ministrations before I'd fully regained consciousness. But we were discussing the wetness of your fellatio, and wet fellatio means noise. Kinda like the reality that even when you're blowing a guy under the covers, it's hard not to make a tell-tale head movement. There's some range, and speed, but the head bob is fairly characteristic. And obviously your roommate could tell what you were up to. And she could see a bearded man in your bed, which was also a giveaway, especially when she'd been making out with that same guy the night before. Unless she'd blacked out for that part of it. Do uou remember your roommate's name?"

"Does it matter?"

"So, the roommate was watching us with eyes half shut, but she's obviously looking, and obviously masturbating. It's a tell-tale movement even if you'd never before seen someone try to secretly masturbate under the covers, which I hadn't. In fact, I don't think I've seen it since. But I can't forget, and why would I? It was awesome."

She looked at her lap.

"So I had a decision. I could call a halt to the whole proceeding, and probably embarrass everyone concerned."

"But of course you didn't do that."

"Nope. Or I could have just cum quickly, but I didn't do that either."

"No, you didn't."

"So, as you'll likely recall, I lowered the sheets so that I could see more of your beautiful nakedness. You initially resisted the sheet pull down, but I worried about the heat and the oxygen, so I insisted."

"The oxygen? You were worried about my ability to get enough oxygen?"

"It seemed stuffy in there, and you could only breath through your nose since your mouth was, uhm, full...."

"Do you know how to shut up?"

"By pulling down the sheets, I got you some air, but I also got a great view of your back. You were so white then and so white now. I've always wondered how you stayed so completely WASPy."

"You know I'm Jewish, right?"

"Yes, I do. The WASPy thing was sort of a joke, to break the tension. WASPs being very white, or so I think, but maybe I'm wrong."

"I'm going to kill you."

"Before you do, let me wrap this up."

"I know what happened. I was there."

"So, I pull the sheet off your head and down to your waist. Just beautiful, as you must know. And you immediately twisted around to look at your roommate, to see if she's still asleep."

"And you, David Whatever Your Real Name Is, whispered that you'd be in charge of her, that you'd keep an eye out. You were reassuring. You whispered that it was still dark. You whispered that it was fine, that we'd be quiet, that she was still drunk."

"I understand how you might feel violated."

Silence.

"Anyway, I remember that you went back to blowing me. You were so effortful in being quiet, but there was still this rhythmic, liquid, sloshy sound that is very particular to excellent oral sex. Then I did something that felt fun at the time, and for which I have no real excuse, but as I was tugging at a nipple with my right hand, at your nipple, I need to tell you what I was doing with my left."

"What."

"I was motioning to Lily."

"You already knew my roommate's name, but you just asked me for it? What's your fucking problem? Why add another game?"

"Sorry about that."

"God.... You were motioning her to do what?"

"Doing my best to indicate that she should pull off her top, which she did."

Silence.

"She dropped her v necked shirt to the floor, but she stayed under the covers, so I had to motion for her to pull them down, which she did. And so while pulling at your nipples and feeling maybe the best blow job of my life, my eyes were roaming between your roommate's tits and the exquisiteness of your alabaster skin."