Eros

I wrote an earlier, unpublished, story that contains many of the occurrences described in this story. I thought a sweet story for Valentine's Day (but not the contest) might be a good idea and I stole the incidents for this short story. The original story may find its way to publication some day.

I've never had much luck with women, or men for that matter. Since elementary school, I hung around with a group of guys my age from my neighborhood. We played games with each other, choosing teams as necessary. I was always the last guy picked. I had difficulty understanding why at the time. I was a good at playing baseball as any of them and better than most. In general, I was a decent athlete, managing to make the starting team in organized sports such as high school football and golf. Just never with the kids on the block that I grew up with.

All of the kids in our gang had neat or funny nicknames, granted to them by the other guys. Names like Ace and Flipper because of their talent with cards or pinball. Not me. I was just Dwight. No matter what talent I had, my nickname remained Dwight. I guess they thought Dwight was funny enough.

I figured it out during my senior year in high school with the help of my calculus teacher, a woman with insights on everything.

It was my name. Somehow, I had missed that. My mother named me Dwight. My grandmother thought President Eisenhower was God's gift to the nation and the women in it. She planned to name her son Dwight in honor of the President but she had three daughters. The honor of naming their son Dwight was left to the daughters. The first one to have a son was destined to name him Dwight in honor of the President and to satisfy my grandmother. My mother drew the short straw. I was born just two weeks before the second boy in my generation birthed by one of the sisters. If my mother had just been two weeks later, my whole life might have been different.

To add insult to injury, my mother gave me a middle name, Jerome. To the kids I grew up with, Dwight Jerome was too funny for words. The only solace my names gave me was my mother's inability to say them together. When she was displeased with someone in the family, she resorted to full use of both their names. When she was angry at my dad, she would shout, "John Alan," to insure he knew he had made the short list of people she was at odds with. My brother became, "Andrew James."

However, my mother was unable to get, "Dwight Jerome," out without stumbling over the syllables and shouting something in gibberish that no one in the family recognized and no one responded to, especially me.

My calculus teacher's solution was so simple that I was amazed that it hadn't occurred to me. "Just use, 'DJ,'" she suggested. So, I entered university with the moniker "DJ." Few of the other students knew my actual name and I managed a decent student experience for the five years I was there.

However, while using "DJ" prevented further damage to my self esteem, it did little to repair the damage already done. During the twelve years of school before university, I always thought of myself as less than the other students. It caused me to be shy and reticent to engage with the other students, especially girls and then women. I found it difficult to engage in conversation with girls and the prettier they were the worse I got. It was no surprise that I graduated high school a virgin.

Using "DJ" in college kept the problem from getting worse, but I was still a basket case when I was one on one with a woman. The proliferation of Greek letter organizations on campus resolved the more physical problems that arose when I was with a woman. I never joined a fraternity, but I rarely missed one of their parties when I could attend.

I made a point to arrive late, after a significant portion of the drinking had occurred. By that time the coeds were already on their way to unadvised sexual activities and I didn't have to have a meaningful conversation with them to get to home plate. All I had to do was be available, show interest and manage to give them a handful of what I had to offer. The result was, I got laid about every other week when school was in session.

Move ahead a decade. I was thirty-three, single, living alone and working in information technology where loners and introspective individuals not only fit in but were in the majority. I had only been laid three times since graduation and each time, the woman was blind drunk.

Then I got the phone call. It was a Wednesday evening. Even though it was a local number, my phone informed me that it was probably a "Scam Call." I'd had three beers and was feeling pretty playful. I figured I'd just play with the caller in the safety of my own living room until he hung up in frustration. It was something I'd done in the past and it gave me a feeling of control missing in the rest of my life.

The woman was selling life insurance. She had a sweet voice and I couldn't pull her chain in good conscience. I listened to her spiel and responded with feigned interest just to continue to hear her voice. After a while, she began to make sense. I should have a life insurance policy not tied to my employment and, even though I had no descendents at the moment, it wasn't guaranteed to always be that way and to buy a policy now, when I was young, was a sound financial decision that would grow with time.

I agreed to let her come to my home Friday evening to lay out the program and present the paperwork for me to sign.

I spent the next two days in amazement of what I had done. I was going to meet, one on one, with a woman in a private setting where neither of us had been drinking. My instinct told me that it was an incredibly stupid idea that would only end badly. Worse, it was in my own home, where there was no place I could run away.

By the time Madison, that was the name she used on the phone, arrived, I was a basket case. When she rang the doorbell, I almost hid in the kitchen and pretended not to be home, hoping she would give up and leave.

The third time she rang the bell, I realized that she was determined and probably wouldn't leave or if she did, she be back later. Whatever it took to get me to sign the deal.

Hesitantly, I opened the door, hoping for someone over sixty, with a hooked nose and missing teeth. That would be bad enough but at least survivable without making a total fool of myself.

Madison was standing on the small porch. She took my breath away. She wasn't just pretty, she was gorgeous. My ultimate fear of a woman. I just stood in the doorway and looked at her. She was about five foot, six or seven inches tall with luxurious brown hair in an above the shoulder page boy style. Her facial features were out of Vogue or Elle, perfect eyebrows, slender nose and pillow like lips, not over large but inviting. But it was her eyes that held my attention. Green, almost hazel irises, open wide and large, black pupils that seemed to draw me inside. Her eyes were so incredible that I didn't absorb the rest of her body until later.

When I stood, speechless for several moments, she finally said, "Hi. You're Dwight?"

I nodded, unable to speak.

She looked puzzled. "May I come in?" she asked.

I nodded again and stood aside to allow her to enter. I was stiff with fear and still speechless.

She walked past me to the center of the living room. I closed the door and followed her, shuffling since walking wasn't a reality.

She put out her hand. "Hi again. I'm Madison. We spoke on the phone Wednesday."

I shook her hand without verbal acknowledgement of her statement. I'm sure she noticed the tremor I was unable to suppress.

"May I sit down?" she asked.

"Of course," I managed to say, my voice cracking with the strain. "Can I get you anything?"

"Water would be nice," she responded. "And get some for yourself," she added.

I returned with two glasses of water, handed one to her and sat on a chair across from the sofa she was sitting on. I began to notice the rest of her body. She was wearing a scoop necked white blouse of a satiny material that billowed over her ample breasts. Her straight above the knee skirt slid up her thigh as she sat, threatening to reveal more of the forbidden skin than I was prepared to handle.

I swallowed hard and gulped some of my water.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "Maybe I should come back at a later time?"

"No. No. I'm fine," I managed to say although my unsteady voice and tone revealed something entirely different.

"I don't understand," Madison said. "I thought you were expecting me?"

"I was," I admitted, my voice improving as I spoke.

"So, we're still okay to talk?" she asked.

Inexplicably, my courage and voice continued to improve. "We are," I said. "But maybe I should explain first."

"Why did I say that?" I thought. "What was there to explain? I was out of the game with women and out of my league with Madison. Did that need explaining? Obviously, some part of me thought so.

"I'll listen," she said simply.

"Madison," I started hesitantly. "Can I call you Madison?"

"Madison is fine," she affirmed.

"I've never been comfortable around women," I managed to say.

"I can understand that," Madison agreed. "I'm not always easy around men myself."

"For me," I said. "It's more than that. It's a long story. Goes back to my childhood. Anyway, I get so nervous around women I can hardly function. And when I'm one on one with a woman it's worse. Any woman and the prettier she is the worse it gets. With an average woman I stutter and have trouble speaking. Around someone as beautiful as you, I'm almost paralyzed."

"Thank you for the complement," said Madison. "I'm not sure I deserve it."

"You're welcome," I managed. "You actually do."

"I don't bite," declared Madison.

"I'm not afraid of that," I admitted. "Actually, that sounds almost good. It's more a Pavlovian reaction from how I was raised."

"If you learned it as a child, you can unlearn it as an adult," Madison observed.

"True," I agreed. "I haven't had many opportunities to work on it. Tonight is a good as any to start," I suggested.

"Fine," she agreed. "I'm glad to help."

"You don't mind being placed in the role of therapist?" I asked.

"I'm not a therapist," she asserted. "I'm a woman and I think I'm the perfect woman to help you overcome the reflexive reaction you have to women."

Before I could respond, there was a tremendous boom outside. The windows rattled and the lights went out.

"What was that?" exclaimed a startled Madison.

"I have no idea," I told her. "But I don't like it. Hold still. I'll get a couple of flashlights."

Using the flashlights to avoid furniture, we moved to the front window and looked out. There was a glow about three blocks away and a hard rain obscured most of the rest we might have seen. "Let me get my phone," I said. "There's a what's up page in our town that might have some explanation."

There were a bunch of posts on the what's up page. Most described the largest lightening strike they'd ever seen. Others thought it might have started a fire and one described in detail how lightening had struck the local electrical substation. Thousands of homes were without power.

I looked out the window again. "That glow is about where the substation is," I told Madison. "If I had to guess," I said. "I think we'll be without power for quite a while."

"I'm not going anywhere in that storm," commented Madison. "I hope you don't mind my company for a couple of hours."

"Not a problem," I agreed, wondering if I could manage a couple of hours with this incredibly gorgeous woman. "How about something to drink and stimulating conversation to pass the time?" I suggested.

"I'll pass on the drink," responded Madison. "However, the stimulating conversation sounds intriguing."

We sat down on the sofa and chair with our flashlights. Without lights, the matter of the insurance policy was set aside and we talked about the storm, other great storms in our experiences and speculated if the storm would influence the play of the university's home game the next afternoon.

We checked the status of the storm regularly. It didn't seem to be abating. In fact, it seemed to be increasing in intensity. The street in front of the house was flooding, the storm sewers unable to handle the runoff.

Late in the evening, we were looking at the storm for the fifth or sixth time. Madison was showing signs of concern. "I don't know how to handle this," she commented. "It's becoming a problem."

"What is?" I asked.

"There's no way I'm able to head home in this storm. The flooding is over the curbs out front and my car doesn't float easily."

"Look," I said tentatively. "You can spend the night here. Things should look better in the morning."

"I don't think that's a possible answer either," answered Madison. "We've just met. I'm concerned about what your neighbors might think."

"If you're not out in this storm, neither are they. They'll never know since they'll never see anything," I tried to ease her concern.

"Where would I sleep?" she asked.

"I have guest room upstairs. It has its own bathroom. There are plenty of towels and other linens. My bedroom is down here. You'll have all the privacy you need and more," I explained. "I guarantee you no one will bother you or molest you."

"I don't have anything to sleep in," Madison said.

"Hang on a moment," I said. I went into my bedroom and returned with an over large t-shirt. "You can wear this. I'm sure it's long enough to protect your modesty."

Madison took the shirt, opened it and held it in front of her. "This could work," she said.

"Then it's settled," I said. "Let me show you around upstairs."

"No. That's okay," she said. "I think I can figure it out on my own. You just stay down here."

"Wait a moment," I suggested. I disappeared into my bedroom again and returned with a new tooth brush and a sample size of toothpaste. "My dentist gives me these every time I visit. I thought you might find them useful."

"Thanks. That's very thoughtful," Madison said. "If it's okay with you, I'll head up there now."

"That's perfect. Good night. I'll see you in the morning."

Madison headed for the stairs. I picked up a few things in the living room and put away items in the kitchen before heading for my bedroom and closed the door. I brushed my teeth and took care of some personal items and headed for the bed. I stripped off my clothing and put it in the laundry basket, including my underwear. I climbed into the bed and settled in to sleep.

Sleep didn't come easily. With the storm raging outside, I couldn't hear anything from upstairs. I wondered if Madison was comfortable and able to sleep. Eventually, the storm abated but the electricity remained off. The house was abnormally quiet, creaking occasionally as it cooled off. None of the sounds of modern living were present. No refrigerator humming and no fan of the heating system cycling. Not even the comforting pixie lights from the clock or the night lights.

The lack of sound and light was disconcerting and interfering with my sleep. Sounds ludicrous. Too quiet to sleep but that was what was happening. I tried to rule out the presence of an incredibly beautiful woman in the bed upstairs as a possible cause. Eventually, I began to doze off.

I heard the first, tentative sounds of steps on the floor upstairs. Madison was moving around. Apparently, she couldn't sleep either. I held my breath in an attempt to hear better but there were no further sounds. I began to doze off again.

If Madison made any sounds coming down stairs, I missed them. The next thing I became aware of was my bedroom door opening slowly. That was not possible unless Madison was the one opening the door. My awareness increased but I kept my eyes almost closed, observing what was happening in my doorway through the tiny slits I kept between my eyelids.

The door opened most of the way. In the dark, I could just make out Madison's profile. She was wearing my t-shirt. It hung to just above the bottom of the panties I assumed she was wearing under it. She stood in the open doorway for a painfully prolonged time. I did everything I could to keep my breathing slow and constant and my body inert. However, I couldn't control my pulse rate. My heart was beating so hard in my chest I was afraid she would hear it.

Eventually, Madison took a tentative step into the bedroom. A second step followed and then another until she was standing alongside my side of the bed, almost within reach. I fought the urge to touch her. Eventually, she moved, apparently deciding on a course of action. She walked silently around the foot of the bed and up the side of the bed behind me.

Very slowly, she pulled the spread, blanket and sheet down and slipped smoothly into the bed. She pulled up the sheet and blanket and positioned a pillow under her head and settled down beside me.

"Dwight," she whispered. "Are you awake?"

When I didn't respond, she poked my arm with her finger.

"Ow," I reacted.

"You are awake," Madison concluded.

"Why are you here?" I asked quietly.

"I couldn't sleep," she informed me. "How about you?"

"I couldn't sleep either," I admitted. "I've broken my promise to you."

"Promise?" she asked.

"That I wouldn't molest you," I reminded her.

"Molest," she repeated. "An interesting choice of words. Such an ambiguous word. Did you mean assail me or fondle me? I can't decide. I'd like to know. Anyway, if anybody is molesting anyone, I'm molesting you."

"Fondle," I said. "Such an interesting choice of words. Does she mean grope or caress? I can't decide."

Madison laughed, a sound similar to middle C of a handbell ensemble. We lay like that for several pregnant moments. I didn't know how else to respond and I had no idea what she had in mind. I just waited.

Tentatively, Madison put out her hand and touched my chest.

I reacted badly. I hadn't expected her to touch me. I reflexively moved away from her. Just as quickly she withdrew her hand.

I didn't answer, either from a return of my abnormal fear of women or a perverse desire to let her plan play out.

She reached out and touched me again. I pulled away again.

"Dwight, I know you want me here," asserted Madison. "What's the problem?"

When I didn't answer, Madison continued. "Wait," she said. "You're naked under there aren't you?" she concluded.

I confirmed her assertion without word or movement, paralyzed with her knowing my state of undress.

"You are," she exclaimed. "You are naked."

Madison hummed softly, a prelude to a decision? She slipped out of the bed and walked around to stand in front of me again. In the dark, I watched as she slowly stripped off my t-shirt. Even though I couldn't see them, I knew her breasts were exposed.

"Are you watching?" she asked softly as she pushed down her panties and kicked them off. She stood in front of me, in the dark, exposed but unseen.

Fate has perfect timing or a sense of humor. At that precise moment, the lights came back on. My eyes opened wide.

Madison reacted by attempting to cover herself with her arms and hands but quickly abandoned the impossible venture. "You are watching," she observed. "Do you like what you see?"

I was speechless with her beauty. Her breasts were large, widely separated on her chest and scarcely drooping in spite of their size. They were hemispherical globes with light pink areolae and slightly darker nipples standing just slightly at attention. Her pubic area was a neatly manicured triangle with straight edges and a center of dense curly hair the same color as the hair on her head.

Madison turned around slowly in front of me. "Do I meet with your approval?" she asked. After a short pause, she added, "Dwight, say something."