Blame

His last phone call was my breaking point. I needed someone to comfort me as the thoughts of suicide I'd entertained scared me. I picked up the phone and Richard's voice told me I'd made a good decision.

"Hello," I answered sullenly.

"Hi. What's going on Alice? Why haven't you returned my calls?"

Sorry. I've... I've...not been feeling well."

"You don't sound good. I'm coming over. Is that okay?"

"Yes. Thanks."

When he arrived half an hour later he took one look and stepped to me. "Okay, either you got home a few minutes ago, or you haven't slept a wink. What's going on?"

I couldn't tell him. I burst into tears and cried my eyes out. He stood and held me close and didn't ask another question. When I finally stepped away from him, I wiped the tears from my face.

"I did something stupid. I can't tell you what it was, but it scared me like nothing else ever has. I'm to blame. I should have known better."

He walked to the sofa and sat down. "Come here and sit. You don't need to explain anything to me if you don't want to."

I don't remember what I was thinking, if I were thinking at all. But when I got to the sofa I sat down in his lap, snuggled against him and closed my eyes. I remembered his placing his arms around me and holding me for a long time. He never said a word, just held me. It was the first time I'd ever asked him to comfort me that way. When I thought about it afterward, I would never have trusted another man to do it.

A month passed and I couldn't look most men in the eye. I was wary and untrusting if a man looked at me for more than a split second. Richard had made an effort to spend time with me while I studied. He knew something was wrong and either walked me to my dorm, or drove me, depending on circumstances.

I'd told my roommate about what had happened and she had suggested I call a hotline to talk with a counselor, which I did. It was after several of these conversations that I knew I wasn't to blame for what had happened that night. I had every right to expect to be respected and listened to. That helped and slowly I began to relax around men in my classes again. But, I figured I was damaged goods by now.

From the day Richard had first held me, without words having been spoken between us, our relationship had changed. For all the years I'd know him, I'd given him a few pecks on the cheek to show my appreciation for small things he did for me. After that day, I wanted him to touch me and his smile seemed broader when he looked at me. His eyes expressed a tenderness I'd never noticed before. I may have felt like damaged goods, but he never seemed to notice.

It was almost two months after my near rape that I reached for his hand as we walked to class together. He'd taken it with a smile and not uttered a word until we stopped outside my classroom. He looked down at our hands, then looked into my eyes.

"It seems kind of natural doesn't it?"

I nodded, smiled, and walked into the classroom my heart soaring. I don't remember taking notes or what the lecture was about. I'd offered and he had accepted. It hadn't been that easy for me. I knew that it was seldom clear between a man and a woman when something was fully understood. That time, it seemed to me it had been. From that point forward our relationship morphed into more than friendship. I blamed him for being so understanding, so trusting.

Days later, our first kiss arrived as we were making a meal together at his apartment. It kind of just happened as we turned away from what we were doing at the countertop, then toward each other. He was quicker, and took me by both arms to prevent us from bumping into each other. When our eyes met, time seemed to slow, the world went hazy, and I closed my eyes without thinking. The kiss was tentative at first, barely a brush of our lips. Then he pulled me to him and our lips met firmly, and held. When we parted, I felt like a balloon that had been fully inflated with helium, ready to float away. I felt lightheaded and leaned against him.

"You okay?" he whispered.

"Yes, I'm fine. More than fine. Richard what's happening between us?"

He looked at me and started to say something when the smoke alarm went off with a loud, grating screech that drowned out his voice. I turned and pulled the pan of French toast off the stove burner before it was completely scorched, hot smoke going to the ceiling. I used the dish towel to drive the smoke away while he opened a window. When the shrieking stopped, I turned to see him smiling.

"That was one smokin' hot kiss you gave me," he grinned.

I wanted to blame him for kissing me. But, I was the one who didn't back off when he had offered it. We finished cooking our meal and sat down to eat. We didn't talk about the kiss, there was no need. I had asked an obvious, but stupid question. I knew what was happening between us and was looking for confirmation he felt the same way. Our second firm kiss came later that night, and I felt like that balloon again, only this time I floated away into the clouds.

That night, after Richard dropped me off at the dorm, I prepared for bed after talking with my roommate for a few minutes. Once in bed, I saw Richard's face wearing a smile of satisfaction. The smile the smoke alarm had wiped from his face earlier, but it hadn't escaped my notice.

I'd been kissed so many times before, but that kiss, and the one that followed when he dropped me off had gone off the scale. Yes, he had been my fantasy man for years, but I'd never given serious thought that we would do it someday for real. As I thought about it, it seemed incredibly naïve of me. You dream of a man doing things to you and yet don't believe for some reason it couldn't come to pass? It wasn't like I'd put him on a pedestal, beyond reach. It was more like I'd put him on a deep shelf, so far back that it was too much effort to reach back and get him.

I blamed myself. Richard was safe and dependable as a friend. What had I been willing to risk with him? I could have sex with another man, other men, and keep this one wonderful relationship intact. He was my safety net, my life preserver when things went haywire, and I screwed up. I remember being frightened at the thought that if I messed this up, he wouldn't be a friend anymore. He might not be anything other than someone in my past like all the rest.

Then came the night I couldn't blame either one of us for. I could blame our hormones, our trust in one another, the man in the moon, or the way a wave crashed upon the shore somewhere in the world. We kissed, caressed, and after a while merged into one organism. I wrapped my legs around him, he went deep inside me where our bodies slipped with friction that brought only pleasure. It was that night that my body revealed its ability to achieve an orgasm. A level of pleasure I'd never experienced before. I smiled as the memory warmed me. Our first kiss had been extraordinary, but our love making that night made it pale by comparison.

Blame, there was no blame unless you needed an excuse to explain how a man and woman were meant to be. Human biology dictates certain things and we had found the need to follow its dictates. For the first time I'd felt no guilt, no thoughts afterward that I had sinned in some horrible way. Love has a way of providing another perspective, and I fully embraced it that night. I knew as we lay together there would never be another man in my life.

My fantasy man had become my flesh and blood man. Sure, fantasy was better in some ways, but I could always find another man to fantasize about. There's always someone more attractive, someone that seems somehow better, in a specific way. But, when someone holds you and accepts you knowing your quirks and faults it's time to accept reality. It's time to leave blame behind.

I opened the window and leaned out. "Richard, could you come upstairs and help me with something as soon as you're done?"

He looked up with a smile. "Sure, what do you need?"

"You."