Nostalgic Ramblings Ch. 02

Oh, I just remembered something, about why Mary was in town, and it's important. (Should I go back and revise the text so that it's factually accurate, or just admit that memory has holes sometimes and it's filling up with recall before your very eyes? Fuck editing, and fuck editors. I'm an artist, goddamn it.) Mary had to come back to get some stuff out of storage, or rather, from her old bedroom in the old house where she'd lived for two years with her old college roommates.

The reason that's important is because, on the following night, Bachelor No. 1 called me up. "Hey man, we're all going over to Mary's old place to help her pack and move it all to her new apartment. Are you free to help?" Not only am I someone who genuinely likes to help others, but I was also damn lonely and looking forward to being around other people as much as I could. You're thinking to yourself at this point, "Yeah, and he wanted to jump Mary's bones as well." But I meant what I said about those four reasons why I thought I had no chance with Mary. Besides, wouldn't it be enough for a girl to just want to take advantage of a sexy moment and then pretend it never happened, so as not to lead a poor collegian down a path of mistaken intention? What I'm trying to say is, I really only went to help her move.

By the time I got there, three cars were filled with boxes and junk including furniture that had been bungee'd in the trunks. While they put the remaining few boxes in my backseat, I went in to see what was going on. Bachelor No. 1 said, "We're all done except for the cleaning." You see, the place had to be spotless or the girls wouldn't get their deposit back. The biggest problem was the bathtub. Holy fucking shit, have you SEEN what girls can do to a bathroom? I mean, guys leave pubes and piss all over the linoleum around the commode, but with girls, it's just fucking EV-ERY-WHERE. Hairs, soap scum, a layer of makeup on the mirrors and counters... and the nastiest yellow tub ring I've ever seen in my life.

Since I got there to late to help pack, I thought I'd contribute by fixing the disaster in the tub. I took off my shoes and socks, grabbed a steel wool pad and some Comet, and got to work. Mary walked in the bathroom and discovered for the first time that I was on the premises. No joke, she squealed with delight to find me cleaning that tub. I suspect there are several reasons for this. First, I'd already made a dent in the project, and she was happy to know the deposit was actually going to be in her possession. Also, it must have been a pleasant surprise to know that there are still men in the world who will clean a woman's bathroom and not expect sex in return. (Women, don't forget, just because a man doesn't expect sex doesn't mean you have to not offer it to him; he'll still accept.)

But I mostly like to believe that she was most happy to see that I was the guy who was the guy cleaning the tub. She was, I feel, looking for reasons to justify the strong attraction she felt toward me. At the same time, I was overwhelmed by the gratitude she showed to me, and because I think gratitude is such an important component of getting along with others in society, I immediately found my reason to be attracted to her as well. That, and the fact that she was a fucking hottie.

Now, here's another part of the story that strains the bounds of credulity but is indeed completely true. You've heard the phrase, "So incredible you couldn't make this stuff up," right? This is that.

Because I was the last one there, I happened to be the only one with an open passenger seat; the other cars were crammed with boxes and shit. Now, the drive we were about to make, from Mary's college town residence to her new apartment in her new town, was about an hour drive, which is nothing in New England. She and Bachelor No. 1 had left her car at the new apartment, so they could talk together for the hour drive, the intention being that they could continue the discussion on the way back. But for some reason, Bach. 1 had stuffed his passenger seat with shit as well. Why not pack my car instead? I suspect he wanted Mary to ride with me, but not for the reason you think. You see, Bach. 1 was a notorious emotional busy-body, and he loved to ask me every time I came over to the house, "You doing alright? I know it's a hard summer for you." He felt bad for me, you see, the bastard. So when he saw that Mary and I were getting along reasonably well, me must have "convinced" her that I need someone to talk to during the hour drive back, and perhaps he asked her to "do him a favor" and cheer me up. Little did he know.

That was one great car ride. It was one of the most honest conversations I've had with any person in my entire life, male or female. (The majority of my soul-searching has been with male buddies; I just don't trust myself to discuss deep emotional matters with girls without turning it into a manipulate-her-into-the-bedroom situation.) I told her I was in a relationship that stifled me; she told me she'd just been dumped but was glad for it.

At some point, I asked her if she'd like to go on a date. Those are the words I used, but it's vital you know the context. Mary explained that she spent a lot of time in our old college town, and it was sort of crumby because Bachs. 1 and 2 were always off fucking girls and, although they tried to keep her entertained, they didn't really have the stamina to devote time to Mary during her visits. I told her, "Well heck, if you want to call me when you're in town, we can go out and eat a bite. Call it date or whatever." It was just that sappy and plutonic.

No, I'm not forgetting that I nearly fingered her. You think I'm contradicting myself by saying that I wasn't coming on to her, and that she knew it. But you've got to understand the power of denial. I really really thought I was in a committed relationship, and she really really respected that I was. Yes, we both wanted to jump each other's bodies like lightning striking a radio tower, but neither of us could be the first to admit it. There was a pervasive air of... let's say, politeness. I swear to god, social conformity is such a fucking waste of time, and no one tells you this. You either figure it out on your own, or you never do. All that to say, I wish I knew then what I know now, in regard to so many moments in my life. Except this one. The tenderness of it all was just so perfect, like a fly trapped in amber - an event resulting from exact influences converging at once.

Mary smiled and seemed very appreciative that I would be so gentlemanly as to keep her company during her visits. The agreement of future meetings made the second half of that car trip much sweeter, much more honest. We talked about every topic we held dear - music, drama, books, philosophy - but NOT sex. Not yet. You see how the subconscious works, especially with someone you truly understand from the start?

Needless to say, our "date" was not long in arriving. Three nights after the apartment move, Mary's two hosts arranged to be with their girlfriends on the same night, leaving Mary alone and bored. Bach. No. 1 convinced Mary that she should take me up on my offer of a friendly date; it's important to know that he thought of me as a "knight in shining armor," especially after seeing me clean that damn tub. I'm sooooo glad I did that. Also, I mean really, how much convincing did she need?

(Deep breath as I prepare to relive this night for the millionth time...)

The atmosphere on that summer night was humid and hot. For New Englanders, this is "fun" weather; we experience horrible humidity year-round, so its either freezing humid (unbearable) or hot humid (an opportunity to wear less and play more).

I picked Mary up in my pee-oh-ess Grand Am. I remember having to replace that car's goddamn transmission three times before I finally allowed it to give up the ghost. On this night, without the cold to cripple the clutches, the shitmobile was running fine. As you'll learn momentarily, that car was the perfect machine to be driving that night, and I'm forever grateful to it, whatever junk yard or compactor in which it eventually found itself. I had just removed from the backseat and floors all the food wrappers, school papers and book, old clothes and various miscellaneous items; not to throw away, mind you, but simply to toss into the trunk. You see? I'm being totally honest with you! You doubting bastards.

Remembering Mary as she left the bachelor pad and made her way for my car, I'm left suffering the worst chill; it's sexual excitement mixed with a subatomic compulsion to miss that girl for the rest of my life. Her black hair fell around her shoulders in a marvelous cascade, and from the neck up she could have walked confidently into any opera house in the world and turned approving heads. She'd done herself up as beautifully as she could, considering that all she had to wear that trip were shorts and T-shirts. But am I complaining? My heart skips to remember those clothes - the dark brown baby-doll tee with the white piping, the denim shorts that hugged just enough of her upper thighs to avoid being labeled Daisy Dukes, white Keds and sports socks that showed her ankles. I recall her outfit, and what her outfit revealed... a tight athletic body comprised of smooth exotic skin, toned limb muscles, a set of perky B-cups and a charming, disarming smile. I'd never wanted a girl so badly, nor felt so inadequate next to one.

The events leading up to our disrobing are a blur. I know we went to a burger joint and got the specials; I insisted on paying, and she protested but not enough to seem boorish. The honest talk from the previous car ride continued as though no interruption had occurred, but this time with a twist. We talked about sex. Not the act, but the mindset - that is to say, we talked about relationships and our opinions on fidelity. This is key to understanding the final results of the excursion; unless Mary and I were able to overcome the roadblock which was my long-distance relationship, then neither of us could proceed as we wanted to, either into a declaration of "like" or whatever else we felt was appropriate.

The vital part of the faithfulness discussion did not occur in the restaurant, nor during our long walk along the riverside walkway where the city lights looked so beautiful and the first glistening glow of summer heat-induced sweat could be seen around Mary's neck and arms. After we'd been sitting on a park bench for about an hour, playing gin with a deck of cards I'd brought as per our prior arrangement, we decided it would be nice to just get in the car, go find a quiet place overlooking the river and listen to music in the dark. This is precisely what we did. I'm not proud to say that I picked a spot where I'd previously taken another girl, knowing it was secluded enough by location, distance from civilization and the placement of forest to allow for romantic couplings. Regardless, when we got there, Mary said to me, "Oh my god, this is so perfect. I love it here."

An hour later (time was really flying at this point), Mary continued to pepper me with questions about my relationship with my ex. She politely respected my decision to remain true to someone I'd had feelings for and with whom I'd promised to stay faithful, but she found subtle ways to let me know what she really thought about the way this girl was messing with my head and, more importantly, how she'd done me wrong in the past. But I took the discussion in a different direction. I told Mary that I thought my ex (my ex-ex?) was still dating (now there's a euphemism) other guys back in her home town, and - this is a crucial point - that it didn't really bother me. I told Mary that fidelity in pre-marital relationships didn't impress me all that much, because until you get married, it's all a big opportunity to find the one you want to be with for the rest of her life. And I mean to tell you, she could not have agreed faster.

She said, "Oh yeah, I totally agree. I don't think there's anything wrong with dating more than one person. I don't even anything all that wrong about keeping it a secret, when you know that person wouldn't understand."

Now it's true, as this story shows, that I was a dense young fool, but NOBODY is that dense. It's really rather remarkable how, at this point in my life, I was so much more accomplished at seducing women physically than I was at asking them out on dates. The fact of the matter is, I had been in this position several times before, where I knew that a milestone in the date had been passed, and all I had to do to get physical with the girl was to take it slow and make it happen. This does NOT always mean sex; every girl has the same set of vibes she sends out when she's ready to get physical, but "getting physical" does not mean the same thing to all girls. Some want to kiss, hands above the waist and that's it, while others are sexually starving and don't even ask you if they can unzip your pants. With Mary, there was a part of my brain that kept seeing her as a fragile, cripplingly shy victim of nature, and it was this part of my brain that continually forgot about the sofa-orgasm affair. I truly believed we were about to make out, and that was it.

It started like this: I asked her, "Mary, would it be alright if I kissed you?" I cannot forget how she reacted to that question; it's another one of the moments I can recall with exact precision. She said, "Oh my god, no one's ever asked me that before." The question truly seemed to take her breath away.

I turned off the car, sending the music away as well as the air conditioning. With the windows rolled up, as they needed to be if I was going to make out with a girl and not be heard across the river by who-knows-who, the humidity started to build right away, even before we touched.

I took Mary's hand in mine, leaned forward and pressed my lips against hers. There was a console between us, in the front seat of that old Grand Am, and we had to lean over it to kiss. I put my hand on her neck, and she tightened her grip on my hand. Immediately we abandoned all pretense of friendly politeness and began french kissing in earnest. Mary's mouth was actually the first to open, and I quickly followed her lead. Her breathing was labored, her lips soft and unhurried. At this point, dear reader, I can describe for you how she tasted and smelled in such a way that you would recognize the sensations right away and have a much deeper understanding of the moment. But I'm not going to. These memories I now decide to keep for myself. There's so much more to tell, and if it's not enough to satisfy you, then tough shit, Sherlock.

There was a moment at which I knew that Mary and I had developed a unique emotional bond which we were about to strengthen and transform through physical contact; I still had no idea if we were going to have sex (I'd know very soon), but that's not what I'm talking about here. When you're with a girl, and it's right, and you both feel each other, then you find a rhythm between your minds and your words and your bodies, and that rhythm pounds and flows in perfect syncopation no matter what you do to help it or stop it. That moment came for Mary and me when we both reached to hold each other in the exact same instant. What's more, we both knew that I was meant to move into the passenger's seat, and I moved at the same moment she pulled me.

I knew where the lever was that lowered her seat back, and I pulled it, lowering Mary slowly. I laid on top of her body and kissed her. We made out hard for several minutes - I licked her neck, nibbled her ears, placed smooches across her chin and forehead and nose and eyes. She tasted my mouth with her tongue, breathed her heat onto my face and neck. Her hands moved up and down my back and arms, pressing against my muscles through the T-shirt I wore, already growing sticky from the summer heat and the warmth growing between us.

For those of you who have read my other work, you know that the moment at which a fully-clothed woman allows a fully-clothed man to place his hardened penis against the girl's open legs is the moment at which heavy petting turns into a seriously likely, almost certain precursor to downright coitus. That moment came suddenly for me and Mary. As we rolled and embraced and grabbed at each other's bodies, Mary simply allowed her legs to open and take me in between. It was a sweet reward for all the emotional investment I had put into this girl, which is a cynical thing for the adult me to say. At the time, I was grateful, very grateful and humbled that such a beautiful girl would allow me to pleasure her in such a way. I rocked my penis against her loins with expert precision; I'd known for a long time where the clitoris happened to be.

Mary pulled my shirt out of my shorts and lifted it right over my head. She did this so suddenly that I almost resented not having time to permit the act, which is just the sort of silly thing a self-absorbed English major is supposed to feel when a gorgeous girl is taking off his clothes. Even as I tugged at Mary's shirt, lifting it above her bra, she was already unbuckling my belt with ravenous speed. At this point I started to suspect that Mary was a creature of dangerously intense sexual appetites. Or I should say, that Mary was, LIKE ME, a creature of dangerously intense sexual appetites.

You can see why the prospect excited me so, coupled as it was with the physical presence of that girl in my arms and not just the prospect alone. But I want to examine that for a moment. Would you believe that there's a point in most boys' lives at which they learn that girls enjoy sex as much as they do, and before this point, the believe that they ALONE are the gender that wants it all the time? The revelation is earth-shattering, filled with potential, and deeply gratifying. For me, this was that moment.

What came next was the only unpleasant surprise of the night, although it would turn out to be the basis for one of my most steadfast fetishes. I took off Mary's bra and found that she had padded her A-cup breasts up to B-cups. Nothing was ever said between us of the discrepancy, but when a boy has been lusting after a girl, the WHOLE girl, he is looking often at her tits and longing to feel them and kiss them and play with them for hours. I did this to Mary, and when I learned that the objects of my desire were less impressive than previously advertised, I was let down, not a little due to the fact that I'd been lied to. You know, of course, that she didn't mean to lie to me. She was just a normal girl who didn't want to look like a boy, when what she really wanted was to be lusted after. It wasn't some devious plan, just a part of growing up. Adults do it too, boys and girls, and that's all that needs to be said.

Fortunately, I learned quickly that there are benefits to being with a girl with small titties. Mary's nipples were very hard and very sensitive, as I discovered when I first started to suck on them. I love sucking on nipples and always had before this night, but from that point on, anytime a girl has little boobs, I imagine how hard and sensitive her nipples must be and my dick turns hard pretty quickly. My attraction to sensitive nipples is only the symptom of my fetish; the fetish itself is that I like to give a woman orgasmic pleasure, and a girl with sensitive nipples is a girl more likely to enjoy sexual sensations across the entire region of her flesh, therefore making her much more likely to experience orgasms. As you will see, this was certainly true of Mary.

Another one of my favorite memories from that night was the point when I tried to take her shorts off. Would you believe that Mary wore pants so tight that even SHE had trouble taking them off? If you're paying any sort of fucking attention to the story, you can see how she was trying to seduce me even as I tried to do the same to her. Those damn shorts were deliberately snug, perhaps painfully so. The revelations that night assaulted me like machine-gun bullets; I don't think I'd ever before experienced a girl dressing to make herself appear sexier to ME. I knew girls did this for other boys, especially in the movies, but for ME? Like I said, the thing I felt was gratitude. That, and undistilled animal lust.