I Think I'm Gonna Stay with You...

The room, with its queen-sized bed, was ready when we arrived in early afternoon. I was alone at last with the beautiful and sexy, dean's list maker, Constance Erika Boutwell, a Powhatan Mills babe that could make my pulse race simply by showing up. It raced even faster watching her strip off her street clothes to change into her bikini. Hers must have been racing along too, because when she saw my erection, our plans to hit the beach took a detour. Sitting naked on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, she began to stroke me. "The beach can wait," she said. "First things first."

After fetching a pack of condoms from my luggage, I joined her under a sheet and thin blanket. "I hope you brought enough of them," she said, "because beach resorts make me horny."

She was preaching to the choir, I told her, and proceeded to prove it. It was quick and delicious, quick enough where we left enough time to put in a couple hours of beach time before heading back and jumping in the shower, a novel experience in itself, at least the way we did it. Seeing Connie sunbathing in her white bikini, not to mention the other babes lounging around us, got me up once again. Humping vertical in the shower with jets of warm water pouring down, doesn't quite reach the comfort level of humping in bed. Still, it's one of those things in life that one should try at least once.

We had dinner, then walked the boards, and I'd be lying if I denied the pleasure of watching other guys ogle Connie in her blue short-shorts and orange, tight, tummy-bare blouse tied around her slim waist, her platform shoes clip-clopping against the wood, her hand securely tucked into mine. From the front, with her Daisey May boobs, to her sexy tush, she collected her share of male eyes, some envious and hungry it appeared to me.

Later that first night, Connie got her wish (mine too): we fell asleep in each other's arms. That first half-day and night set the mood for the remainder of our trip. Our euphoric kind of love (always temporary, though not acknowledged as such when in the midst of it) got even more euphoric over the next few days and nights. Of course, the sex was exciting, but so was our walks on the beach at sunset in their own quiet, introspective way. As the song goes, "there's magic everywhere, when you're young and in love," and indeed there was, especially during those beach walks, where we talked about everything from our experiences growing up to our hopes for the future.

There was an oldie we both liked, A Summer Song (Chad and Jeremy), and Connie began to sing it one night as we walked along the beach: "Sweet sleepy warmth of summer nights/gazing at the distant lights/in the starry sky..."

When I picked it up—"they say that all good things must end someday, autumn leaves must fall..."—she stopped walking and threw her arms around me. Through misty eyes, she said, "I don't want this to end, Marc. Not this trip and not with us."

Of course, neither did I, sentiments expressed in the passionate way I held and kissed her in that starry sky by the ocean's roar. A Hollywood movie this wasn't but a setting for one it could have been. Hollywood endings are happy endings and I couldn't help but wonder if we'd follow that kind of script. We had just a few more weeks of summer before we'd be apart. Then what?

We discussed it on the drive back to Maryland. "If it's meant to be, we'll stay together," Connie said. "Even while apart."

Meant to be. I'd had heard that cliché many times and still wasn't sure what it meant. "Is anything meant to be?" I asked. "Or do things just happen because we make them happen because they're meant to be?"

Connie laughed. "You're a bright guy, Marc, but I don't think you'll get very far pondering that philosophical maze."

I agreed and dropped the subject. If staying together until we left for college was meant to be, we did our best to fulfill that "prophesy." A whirlwind of activity filled those last few weeks—movie, picnic and dinner dates, dates that often ended in my club basement. Plus, we were busy preparing for college. The University of Maryland, our flagship state school, offered her more student aid than the others, so that's where she was going. Maryland wasn't my only option. If not for Connie going there, I'd have gone out of state. But Maryland had a good engineering program and the opportunity to be near her sealed the deal.

A friend going into his sophomore year at Maryland told me that it might be what he called a 'social mistake.' "You could regret being so close to your girlfriend," he warned. "The school is flooded with honeys, available and friendly." When I told him about my own honey, he shrugged and said, "Okay, you'll see."

He was right, I did see. September was still warm enough for all that poon to dress in skimpy but classroom-acceptable attire. The engineering school was still overwhelmingly male in the early seventies. Not so the core freshman courses that appeared to have slightly more girls than guys. Taking notes wasn't easy, not when the chick next to you or the one across the aisle is all bare legs and deep cleavage.

And one of those chicks happened to be Constance Erika Boutwell. We sat next to each other in Health 101. We both lived in dorms on opposite sides of the sprawling campus, about a quarter mile away. Other than in class, we didn't see each other much during the week; too much work. Weekends were a different story. When either of our dorm mates left, we got intimate, a stealthy operation with sometimes comical logistics, but it worked. Sort of. The students on our floors knew what was going on. We took the snickers and indulged.

Still, I was distracted. T and A was one thing. But when you meet someone with those assets, plus a great personality to go with it, well, something can happen and something did. Her name was Elana Ellsworth, one of the few women in an intro electrical engineering course we both took. Just about any female in class would have garnered male attention because, as noted, engineering was still a mostly male bailiwick. But young women who looked like Elana took that attention to another level. She had light brown hair that cascaded just past her shoulders in curls and waves, with bangs that covered the corners of her beautiful green eyes. More: high cheek bones, great skin, full lips. She stood a slim but curvy five-foot-eight, and looked like she should be preparing for a career in broadcast journalism rather than engineering. She usually wore dresses and skirts to class, short by not ridiculously so. She sat a row in front of me, slightly off to the side, ideal placement for viewing. She was all business in class, took copious notes and raised her hand a lot. "Yes, Miss Ellsworth," our professor said when he called on her, always with a flirty grin.

I figured she was off limits, if not unapproachable. So imagine my surprise one early October day when she approached me after class to discuss some arcane part of the lecture. "Mr. Kamins, is it?" she said by way of intro. When I told her to call me Marc, she said, "Good, because I'm more comfortable with first names also. I'm Elana."

Books under our arms, we stood on the grass that fronted the brick, 1940s era lecture hall, part of a quadrant of older buildings on campus. I was dressed like a typical student, jeans, cross-trainers and my high school sweat jersey. Taking note of the jersey, blue with orange letters, she said, "You went to Poly?" I nodded. "My dad went there also and then to Virginia Tech for his electrical engineering degree. He kind of encouraged me to follow in his professional footsteps."

"Good for your dad," I said. "We need more women in the school of engineering." I didn't call myself a feminist but I wanted her to know I wasn't against women pursuing degrees that had been traditionally male.

"Well, I was going to major in math, then figured I couldn't do much with it except teach which I didn't want. Engineering seemed a lot more practical." She paused, brushed back her hair and flashed me a warm smile. "So, being you went to Poly and you're now here, I guess your professional goals are similar to mine." She looked me over, drill-sergeant-like. "You look like you wrestle or something."

I wrestled for Poly, I told her, my first two years. "But not now, though I still keep in shape."

"Well, I could use some shaping up myself," she said. I couldn't see where, but I let her continue. "A few girls in my dorm are starting a running club, which I plan to join."

After discussing the lecture, we parted, and I headed over to the library for some assigned reading, trying to make sense of our conversation. Of all the people the beautiful Elana Ellsworth could have approached, she chose me. She meant nothing by it other than a friendly chat between classmates, I decided. Perhaps she sensed that I could explain what our professor meant better than others in our class. Sure, that had to be it. Anyway, I had a girlfriend and I'd have bet dollars to donuts that Elana was attached as well.

We crossed paths a couple mornings later on the mall, the huge greensward in the middle of campus that stretched from McKeldin Library to Route 1. Headed to different classes, we stopped to chat for a few minutes, mostly about our course work. Glancing at her watch, she said, "Look, I'd like to continue this but I'm late for class already. Can you meet me later on for coffee? Say about one o'clock at Howie's?"

I agreed. And why not? I had no class at that time and figured that two heads were better than one when tackling the rigors of an engineering course. She showed up just minutes after I did at Howies, a small deli just off campus near Route 1. She paid for the two large coffees we ordered while I got us a table a few yards away from the deli counter. After taking first sips from our Styrofoam cups, she said, "This might be the start of our own little study group." She grinned and nodded as if she wanted me to agree.

Not sure how to respond, I said "could be" and then picked up where we had left off on the mall. We both had class later on, a good thing because I could have stared all day at those beautiful emerald eyes of hers. Shop talk soon segued into what we did on weekends. Like me, Lana went home about one weekend a month. As I figured, she had a boyfriend, her high school sweetheart, though one three-thousand miles away at a college in California. "We both needed a break from each other," she revealed. "We were kind of played out. The relationship went stale."

I was honest when she asked about my weekend social life, telling her about Connie while leaving out the intimate details. I then learned that she and Connie shared the same dorm (though on different floors; coed dorms were still a few years away) on the south side of campus. Elana didn't know Connie, "though I'm sure I've seen her around," she said. Was it my imagination born of male ego that I detected a hint of disappointment at my mention of a girlfriend? She squeezed her lips together and nodded, as if to say, 'oh, okay, never mind then.' Or something like that. I couldn't be sure. Not that it should have mattered. We changed the subject. But then, when we got outside, ready to go our separate ways, she called me back. "Marc, I don't mean to be nosy, but are you and Connie serious? I mean, like steady serious."

I chose my words carefully. "If you mean steady as in exclusive, we've been that since we met last June. If you mean we'd violate some agreement not to see anyone else, well, I think not." That was the truth, though it occurred to me that Connie might have a different take.

Elana said, "Okay, I'll put that away for future reference."

Future reference? She walked away before I had the chance to ask what that meant. She was leaving the door open to something more than forming a study group, was my educated guess. My friend's advice about 'available and friendly honeys' came to mind. Elana seemed to fit that description; the rest was up to me. While I mulled it over, Connie informed me that her dorm roommate was going home for the weekend.

Come Saturday night, I trekked across campus to Connie's dorm. When I entered the lobby, furnished with plush chairs and a sofa, there was a group of girls watching the big TV, including Connie and Elana. Connie jumped up and gave me a big hug. None of the girls took much notice except Elana. She did more than notice, she stood up and said, "Hi, Marc. So I guess this is Connie." Connie turned around, looked weirdly at the both of us. I gathered that they still didn't know each other. Not unusual because they lived on different floors.

"Elana's in one of my engineering classes," I said.

Connie smiled as if relieved. "I couldn't imagine how you knew someone in my dorm. Now it makes sense."

"We've formed a little study group," Elana revealed, then winked at me. Connie nodded with a cautious smile. Then Elana asked Connie about her major.

"I haven't yet declared one," she said, something I already knew.

I was thinking of a way to bail from this awkward situation, when Elana said, "Well, you two have fun." Again, the wink, coupled to a teasing, devilish grin to signal what sort of fun she knew we were going to have.

Connie and I forced a laugh, then headed for the stairwell. "I've seen that girl in passing," Connie said. "So how many are in your study group?" she asked as we climbed the steps.

"Well, er, it's just the two of us for now."

Connie slid down the hems of her tight shorts when we reached her floor. Then she said, "Really? She gave me the impression there were more. There's not many girls in your engineering class, I bet." I confirmed that, then told her about Elana following in her dad's professional footsteps. Connie said that Elana didn't fit her image of a female engineering student. "I would have pictured a nerdy-looking girl wearing thick glasses and carrying a slide rule around." She chuckled at her own narrow-minded stereotyping. "Elana's very pretty," she continued, watching me for a reaction.

Sensing that Connie was feeling a bit insecure, I put my arms around her and said, "You're very pretty, too."

There was no more talk of Elana for the rest of the evening. We ate pizza, watched the little black and white TV in the room and made love. I left early Sunday morning while most of the dorm was still asleep. Heading back across campus, I felt incredibly lucky to have a girlfriend like Connie so close. On the other hand, I wondered if keeping myself tied down to one woman at age eighteen was such a good idea, especially if a certain hot engineering major showed me interest beyond being textbook friends.

Well, you know the old expression: one thing led to another. And one thing did the following week when I met Elana in early evening at the library for another study session. At first, we were all business, discussing things like diodes and MOSFETs, amperes and pentodes. But even then, the sexual tension was evident, the flirtatious way we went about it, marked by subtle touching and speaking desire with our eyes. Finally, she came right out with it. "Look, I'm not one to steal a girl's man away from her, and I don't intend to start now. But maybe it's time to admit that we have something going on here irrespective of our course work. A different sort of electricity. Pun intended."

I couldn't deny it. "This could get very awkward, if not messy," I said.

She shaped her full lips into a cautious pout. "Yes, I know. Connie and I are no longer strangers."

Somehow, we returned to studying. It's when we left the library that things began their messy slide. The fall sky had grown dark, there was a chill in the air and a burning in my gut. We had our backpacks slung over our shoulders as we said goodnight—or at least tried to. We stammered and giggled as we drifted closer. I dropped my backpack, then Elana did the same. Then, for the next few moments, we did what we couldn't do indoors with people around. Our hands roamed over each other's bodies, bodies covered in sweat jerseys and jeans, standard attire for students before, then and since.

When we came up for air, she said, "That was wonderful, Marc. I hope you're not about to say, 'we have to stop meeting like this.'"

"We have to stop meeting like this." She got the joke and laughed. Then I added,

"Actually, I was thinking of more intimate places to meet."

"We think alike." Then she sighed. "But you have a girlfriend, one who shares the same dorm as me."

"Right." I stopped there, not sure where to go next.

She reached up and brushed back hair that had fallen over my eyes. "Marc, listen, you ring my bells in various ways and I'd love to start seeing you outside of class. But Connie seems like a nice girl, and I'd hate to see her hurt."

"And I wouldn't want to hurt her. On the other hand, I'm an eighteen-year old college freshman, not someone older ready to settle down."

"I understand but you can't date both of us at the same time. In other words, the ball's in your court."

I knew she was right. What I didn't know is that a girl on Connie's floor who knew me through Connie had seen me neck with Elana in front of the library. At least I didn't know it until Connie showed up at my dorm the next day around dinner time. I had just walked outside, headed for the cafeteria with a couple friends. "Connie! Hi, I didn't expect—″

She pulled me aside. "Marc, I know you're headed for dinner, but can we talk?" She looked upset, so I told my friends to go ahead.

We found one of the wood benches that stood around the complex of high-rise dorms. Connie wore a hooded Maryland sweat jersey, shorts and running shoes. Too tired to change after a running workout, I still had on my blue track suit. She wasted no time in telling me what she had heard. "Yes, it's true," I admitted. "We had been studying in the library. Then, things got somewhat flirty, and when we came outside, well, one thing led to another."

"Kind of the way things happened with us, isn't it? One thing led to another." She shook her head in a look of sad disgust, glanced away and brushed a few tears from her eyes. She flinched when I reached out to hold her. Then: "Look, just be honest with me. Do you and Elana intend to see each other? Other than in class, I mean."

Her eyes stayed glued with mine, waiting for an answer. But I couldn't give her one because I was in limbo, not sure which way to go. Only two months into freshman year, and I faced a "problem" most guys would love to have. "Honestly, I'm kind of confused," I told her.

She sighed. "Confused about what? You're not sure if you love me anymore? Is that what you're trying to say?"

I told her the truth, that I still loved her but wasn't ready at age eighteen to be tied own. "Of course, you're free to see other guys if you wish. With over thirty-thousand undergrads here, about half of the them male, you shouldn't have a problem finding guys interested in you."

"Which leaves you free to see Elana, right?"

There followed a few moments of tense, nervous silence. We both looked away, watching students file into the cafeteria. I wasn't sure what else to say. I found Elana irresistibly alluring; and for some reason, she felt drawn to me. I'm not being gratuitously modest either. Back then, I was hardly your standard hunk. Through sports and working out, I had honed a better than average physique. Other than that, looks-wise, I felt undistinguished compared to some of the studly looking guys in my dorm, the proverbial tall, dark and handsome types or the tall blond surfer types. Elana had called me "pleasant looking," which I took to mean not great and not bad, but somewhere in between. She liked that I was on her intellectual level. Both of us had distinguished ourselves through school in math and science. In fact, we had taken a special class in middle school for precocious students.