Metro Encounter

Note: This story is somewhere between an erotic coupling and a romance. I hope you enjoy it.

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"Patrick, hi!," she effused in a very familiar manner. She was 30, maybe 35, and grabbed the seat next to me on the Metro subway pulling out of Union Station.

I had no idea who was greeting me this warmly. She was attractive in an athletic way, as far as I could tell in a startled first impression. Not beautiful, really, but sexy.

"Oh, hi.," I stammered before admitting the obvious—"I'm really sorry, I don't remember meeting you at the conference. It's a serious personality defect—insufficient name-face recognition skills. Or, simply, dorkiness."

"You teach at Berkeley, don't you, Patrick?," she asked with an infectious smile.

"Yes." I was really reaching into the mental rolodex now. Had I messed up and she wasn't from the conference, but from home. Who was this? Now I was imagining some really nice legs happening under those jeans.

"Do we know each other from campus?," I ventured. I was ready for humiliation, as in "I am the wife of your colleague," or "we went to graduate school together and had that wonderful night of love-making and you are the most insensitive lout for not remembering."

"No, Patrick, silly. But how are things on campus now?," she continued as if my non-recognition never occurred.

"I'm sorry," I said a second time. "I mean, before we keep going I need to say that I can't really place our acquaintance. How do we know each other?," I formally inquired.

"We don't."

"Uh, but you know who I am, what's up with that...and the familiar manner. Who are you?," I finally got out.

"Juliette Shanine," she said and gave me this mischievous and sensual smile that was the perfect complement to her lithe frame. "And I love to play this game with absent-minded folks who leave their name tags on after they leave a conference. In your case, literally an absent-minded professor sort—especially with that big 'Faculty' ribbon hanging on it. I have had half-hour conversations with people who return my pretension of acquaintance. One woman starting telling me about her kids, assuming that I knew them. I had a guy who ended our conservation with a 'come over to our house again soon' invitation. You, obviously, have not been an especially willing subject."

By the time she finished, the name tag was in my coat pocket. I really liked Juliette's smile. Her engaging and quirky style. And especially I loved that she left her top three shirt buttons free, allowing me to imagine the remainder of what I could mostly visualize of her B cup breasts. Bad habit of mine, that. "Do you have any other games I should be aware of, Juliette?," as I let go a slight grin that I hoped showed conspiracy in encounter, not annoyance.

"Totally. In January, I took off all my clothes in a mall dressing room, stuffed them in my bag and walked around H&M naked to see who would stop me. No one said anything for about 10 minutes, then a young guy asked me if I was OK and did I want his sweatshirt—it was adorable. Lots of times I beg change in front of Kramer's bookstore and then, in view of the donor, I give it to some other stranger."

By now the Metro had moved toward my Dupont Circle stop and I only had about 30 seconds with this woman. Was it enough to extend the connection?—I quickly ran through my options: staying on the train past my stop, asking her to join me for lunch, trying to get a number. I said: "Do you ever go to dinner with out of town strangers who are lucky enough to star in these artistic events?" And quickly followed up with, "and if so, here is my cell and name. I'll be here through Thursday evening." I scribbled the essential data on a scrap of paper and handed it to her as I got up to leave.

She said softly to me, "I do for men who realize it is an art performance and look OK in a pair of jeans." As I was neared the subway door Juliette said in a loud voice, "Don't let them get you down, Peter, lots of guys with a tiny penis have the operation."

I figure at least 50 people kept looked at me from the inside of the car as the train slowly...really, really slowly...moved north under Cleveland Avenue.

---Juliette---

I had another day and a half left at the conference. I checked for cell messages constantly that day and a little less the next. No call from Juliette. I had no right to be disappointed. I was disappointed.

June turned into September and the Berkeley campus came alive again with the promise of a new semester. Most of my colleagues burn-out on teaching pretty quickly, but fifteen years later I love more than ever the new year. Students are my drug. Teaching them is their gift to me.

"Patrick Wellborne," I twilled into the cell without checking the source of the call, per usual.

"Hey, Patrick, it's Juliette. From the Metro in DC."

Surprisingly, I didn't need a beat to know who was calling. I even recognized the voice. Sexual attraction will do that to memory, I guess. "Hi Juliette. Aren't you supposed to make me guess or at least suffer in some way before I find out who is calling?," hoping it sounded playful.

"I'm reformed," then a pause. "OK, that's a lie. But I'm really hungry and sitting on the corner of Telegraph and Woolsey, and I have a free meal coming with this date from a charming Professor I once knew for about twelve minutes."

"Do you still have that beautiful, slightly shy and very sensual smile that haunted me for about a week after I met you on the train and you didn't ever call and that was four months ago? If so, yeah, dinner at Forcea, two blocks down, in about 15 minutes."

"Unfortunately, my smile was wiped out by a freak accident involving leaking uranium. Is the offer still good?," she mocked.

"No, but my evil brother Sven, who makes a living by defrauding old ladies will be there."

"Great, tell Sven it's a date," and she hung up.

I didn't know whether my image of Juliette's features was clouded by the intervening months. I re-formed a mental picture of her as I strolled past the coffee shops, pizza places, flowers and bric-brac of Telegraph. I saw her looking the other way on the corner of Woolsey.

At first glance I knew the film in my head was real. Her very short, light brown hair sat atop big ears, a slender neck, well-toned arms and a dynamic, sleek build. He arms and legs are disproportionately long, and her facial angles sharp. Her breasts were perfectly rested on her frame. She was dressed in a delightfully odd mix of elegance and funk. A stunning Japanese blouse and unique scarf sat atop ripped jeans and dark red euro-shoes. Juliette didn't dress to obscure her worse features or highlight her better ones, but rather to express some mix of joy, beauty and reserve I couldn't quite grasp yet. She is kind of goofy-looking, with a bit of geek and a large chunk of totally cool that will always elude me.

She noticed me coming toward her and gave me a different, warm smile. I reached back with a happy, loopy grin. She held out her right hand for a shake. I grabbed it with my left hand, moved it out a little and gave her a light hug. She hugged back. Better yet, her left hand lingered slightly above my waist. Best, as we separated she smiled her sensual and shy smile that lit her up for me and made me want to hold her closely.

Dinner was heavenly. The food was better than mediocre, no more, but Juliette kept me thralled for two hours. Her depth of experience amazed me, but her ability to pull it all together and reflect on her journeys was the part that kept me glued. Just an example. When her grandfather died two years ago, she took a month to travel around and talk to people from different stages his life. She wrote a story about what everyone had said. Real, unsparing, loving. She sent it to all the people she had interviewed and asked them to write some comments and send them to other people she had interviewed, not her. It was a beautiful tribute.

"How do you feed yourself when you do these things," I managed the nerve to ask.

She brushed me off. "This lifetime isn't about creating money," she said. I wasn't sure what that meant, but I had a notion and dropped the subject.

I ventured on to just find out more. "So why Berkeley in September, other than DC is entering its fourth month of summer hell?," I innocently asked.

"A friend is dong a theater piece and needed to fill a part. But mostly I have been thinking about you," she said matter of factly.

I was just this side of stunned. "Oh." I collected my thoughts and checked my feelings: surprise, flattered, lust, concern. I went for flip and funny, which was easy and a bit of a chicken's way out for the quick-witted. "I've heard of being deliberative, but do you usually take four months to consider a simple dinner offer and then fly 3,000 miles to say yes?," and I quickly added, "because I am thrilled you did that."

"No. It's more complicated." Juliette looked at me with a vulnerability that had been missing to this point. I had an instinctively protective feeling. "OK, Patrick, here goes." She looked down at her empty cup and said: "I have only had intercourse one time in my life. I want to try it again and I thought you would be the man. After tonight, definitely. I want to try again with you. Are you OK with that?"

Absorbing this was difficult. Trying to do so and act relatively normal was impossible. I decided not to overwhelm Juliette with questions and requests for explanations. I said, "Yes. Of course." A long, really long pause later: "And my erection hiding under the table would fly off and beat me senseless if I said no."

Juliette smiled broadly. I offered a happy-to-be-with-you smile back to her.

"Juliette, I'm not going to ask you to explain anything you don't want to go into. But can you let me know, was the first time horrible or non-consensual or something of that sort?"

"Thanks for not barraging me with questions, Patrick. I would think you would want to know how I got to this crazy place at my age. Despite my nature, you are going to be shocked at this silly explanation. My first time was nothing horrible at all. The guy was sweet, in fact. He was gentle for being so eager, and probably skilled for being so young, as if I knew. But it hurt like hell and I decided never to do it again. Nothing more than that. I mostly but not totally sleep with guys these days, and I do everything, I mean ever-y-thing, in bed. Except intercourse. At first it was just self-protection, then it became a pseudo-political thing, and finally it was just me. But the last couple of years, I'm 36 by the way, I started to think maybe it was time to try again. Also, I want a baby...not from this!, relax...I just want to get comfortable with intercourse before I start down that road. Do you think I'm too nuts to sleep with now?," she asked with a tone of self-doubt that had just started to appear.

I thought of saying, "I'm so horny and so attracted that I would sleep with you even if I thought you were nuts." That, however, was not what she needed to know right now, and it wasn't what I really felt. I walked over to her side of the table and kissed her gently. I whispered sincerely, quietly in her ear, "I would love to be with you. Holding hands, fucking you, or anything else that works for both of us." I went back to my chair. "We all carry around little hurts and fears like that, or big ones, I do anyway, and we spend ourselves keeping them hidden. Yours is not so odd and it has the huge advantage of being repairable. I'll come to your performance tomorrow. Check out of your hotel tonight and come home with me for the weekend if you want."

"I want," she replied. Then a melting, sensual smile radiating everywhere. Next, the longest kiss the people sitting next to us ever had to ignore in a public space.

---Friday---

God bless, Berkeley. In the countless mall-laden highway intersections encircling America, Berkeley is the crazy lady who swings her big bag down the city street, wears bright colors and sings everything at the top of her lungs.

No one in the theater on Friday night would have noticed such a bag lady. The set had so many fabrics hung at various angles that it looked like a dress shop had exploded. The actors were mostly naked, except those that had on Brooks Brothers suits. There was cacophony before anyone said a word.

I discovered that Juliette had a self-effacing side, too. She wasn't "filling a part" in the play; she was the star. And she sang beautifully. Juliette walked onto stage naked. I watched her with satisfaction, anticipating the pleasure of lying next to her. She was muscular, taut. Her legs stretched out powerfully, and she moved about the stage with strength and abandon. She lacked self-consciousness, which I admired but didn't possess. My feeling of attraction was gaining an edge of appreciation for the surprising sides of this woman.

The aftermath of the show held more revelations. Quirky, daring Juliette was almost shy in the rush of congratulation following the performance. I let her be for awhile, but when I joined her, Juliette integrated me into a group of strangers with a grace that couldn't have been imagined from the brash woman who toyed with me on the DC subway.

We went drinking with the other actors, theatre folks and fellow hangers-on, and I kept learning more about Juliette. She was well-educated, articulate, funny and charming in a group. I would have been happy with just the off-beat and in-your-face character I thought I knew. Now I was getting more than I bargained for—all good. Like being happy to find that perfect pair of shoes and then discovering at the register they are on sale. I would have paid retail with Juliette.

Juliette extricated us at 1 a.m., and we walked to my house. I was a little worried about this part. Some folks find the house disconcerting. The flowers are wild, albeit with purpose. There is a rough wood and twig sculpture I made and placed immediately inside the front door so as to bring the outside in by tying the flowering shrubs with the hall to the living room. The downstairs was designed to make the kitchen a discovery and a highlight. The herb and vegetable gardens are like an element of the house rather than divided outside. I had spent 10 years making it work for me.

Few people understood it. I usually would hear: "This is interesting." "You like nature." Or something more positive, but bland. Juliette got it completely. She said nothing for a couple of minutes, then offered: "This house is why I picked you, Patrick. I sensed that you understood the part of me that needs to express and explore all the spaces around me. That is what you are doing here—speaking a vision of beauty and connection in each nook and unexpected place. We're doing the same thing in different ways."

My heart soared. "Thanks. Exactly. Really, thanks."

I noticed how she was beginning to slump. "Juliette, it's 4:15 am in DC. By the way, what is someone like you doing in a droll town like DC...don't answer now. Let's get you to bed. We have tomorrow together."

Juliette kissed me deeply. It was a passionate kiss—one held for a long time with the power of stored sexual energy. "No, I want you now," but even as she said it I could sense that she was tapping her reserves.

"Climb on my back. I'll carry you to your room." I managed the stairs with Juliette dead-weight; I loved feeling her body draped on me. I laid her on the bed and said in a careful, almost parental tone: "I'm going to undress you and tuck you in. You sleep up here tonight and I'll take the bed in the sunroom off the kitchen. Come down whenever you wake up tomorrow. I'm really excited about being with you."

I took off her shoes and socks, then lightly rubbed her feet. I unbuttoned her jeans and slid them off. She reached up and kissed me again. I just held her for awhile, slowing kissing her neck and behind her ears. I unbuttoned her shirt, then held her breast in my hand as her nipples stiffened and she put her legs around mine. I leaned her back into the bed as I pulled the covers and brought them over her. She started to protest, but gave in as I sat on the outside of the light blanket. I stroked her hair and said: "Juliette, I was so happy watching you perform tonight, knowing that you were going to come home with me. Go to sleep." She was already starting to doze off as I whispered to no one: "You are a beautiful woman. Thanks for coming to me."

I was horny, yes. But also I realized that I was lonely. And that night, lonely maybe was starting to dissipate a bit.

---Saturday Morning---

Despite the time difference, I was up first on that morning. This was definitely a special occasion meriting the morels brought to me by my cousin from Minnesota. I showered and started to make omelets. As I was finishing up, I heard the shower running upstairs. I arranged the omelets, toast, sliced fruit and jam on a large, white plate, and took it upstairs with two cups of coffee. I got to the bedroom as Juliette was in the bath drying off from her shower.

When she entered the room, she sat down next to me with nothing on and we kissed. I pulled the breakfast over and she pushed it back after complementing its beauty. "I want to make love with you, then let's eat. I want your erection for breakfast." She undressed me completely.

Juliette started kissing my eyes gently, rolling her tongue over my lids. She sucked my ears. Juliette moaned as I ran my right fingertips down her left side, across her hip and through her crack, then lightly grabbed her ass. She started to suck my nipple. I lay back and let her suck me like that forever, first one nipple then the other and then back again, over and over for 10 or 15 minutes. We kissed each other for a while. I was the more aggressive venturing into her mouth and out again. Juliette slid a hand slowly up my leg while we kissed.

I moved my mouth over Juliette's right breast. I started at the side and worked over to the bottom and, finally, rolled my tongue up to her nipple. Juliette's nipples were huge and erect. I just circled my tongue around each leisurely and gently, then took half her breast in my mouth and rolled them with my tongue. I could have done this forever. My dick was as hard as it had ever been, yet we hadn't ventured there yet. Now Juliette ran her fingers under my balls and around the space between my asshole and balls. She began to kiss her way down my side as she gently brought her hand around my dick.

I don't know what happened next, but she somehow put my balls and about half my lower dick in her mouth at the same time. She twisted her mouth around my dick at the base and let her fingers grasp and explore my ass. She ran a finger near my asshole and I groaned. She sensed what felt great, and slowly pushed in a finger as she brought her head over the tip of my penis. She looked me in the eye and then, over about 10 seconds, inched her mouth down my entire length. I am seven inches and nothing spectacular, and no woman had come close to this type of thing. She pulled and brought herself up to my face. We kissed for minutes that seemed hours. Juliette said softly, "I'm going to suck you until you explode in my mouth."

I discovered that my new lover had challenged all that energy from avoiding intercourse into perfecting oral sex. It was unique. She spread her body so that her long arms reached up and stroked my sides and nipples while her mouth worked every angle of my penis. Periodically, her beautiful grey-green eyes looked back at me—not seeking approval or gratitude, but communicating her enjoyment, and that her hunger was being sated, too. Then she would plunge down again. Her rhythm was steady and she increased the pressure to accompany her depth as she continued. It was so intense that I will never forget the feel of her sucking me that morning.