The Improbable Tenant

And again, always, he was forced to replay The Incident. Not an incident from The Big Fight, nor even the al Baq'a Bash, nor any other of the scraps sufficiently significant to merit a nickname and a place in the unit folklore, but instead only a meaningless whackdown that earned barely three lines in the company morning report.

The platoon had been jogging in two files down the sidewalks of a street of flat-roofed cinder block homes, weapons at port, hurrying to establish a blocking position when they ran into a group of insurgents coming from a side street. Point men on both sides exchanged fire instantly and harmlessly, and as most of the hajis fled several others, in what would prove to be a fatal lapse of judgment, took cover in a house and fired furiously from windows and doorway.

His first two squads deployed without command, like a machine. The soldier's mind clicked, assessed; no fear, no emotion. Operating on automatic pilot he sprinted forward as the return fire sputtered, then grew to a solid crackle. He saw dust spurts from the cinder blocks, a twinkle of answering fire, heard the sharp snap of an incoming round close overhead. He shouted "Grenades! Windows!" and ran through second squad, yelling "Follow me!" and without turning to see who followed dodged behind the fourth house from the target, cut back and kept running, canteen thumping on his hip.

Before he reached the target he heard the first loud crack of a 40mm grenade on or in the house and a moment later, as the soldier had foreseen, two of the hajis boiled out of a rear door with AKs. He had a clear recollection of angry, dark eyes and moustaches as his rifle came up seemingly of its own will and fired two aimed shots at each man. The first seemed to trip and fell hard, headlong on the hardpan, weapon clattering, feet bouncing incongruously. The second man slowed, a hand reaching for his lower back. He stopped, turned slowly, rifle falling butt first. Bewildered, he sat heavily, cross-legged, and then fell back.

Wounded or very seriously dead, the soldier thought. Well, ishta to you, boys. He crouched, scanned for danger, saw none, heard familiar voices from inside the house: "Clear!" "Clear here!" The soldier moved cautiously to the downed hajis, vaguely registering the plaudits of the men behind him who, of course, had his back all along, would have followed him anywhere: "Way to be, El Tee!" "El Tee brought smoke on them mother fuckers, that's what I'm talking about!"

But the soldier saw only the Poor Fucking Arab, who was barely alive. Their eyes locked; he could not look away. The haji looked up at the last face he would ever see and his lips moved silently. What are you trying to say, Abdul? A prayer? Fuck you? They looked into one another's souls for long, long moments and the soldier watched the light slowly fade from the man's eyes, and the face that would haunt him went slack.

The connection broke when the steady, irreplaceable Sergeant Mabry came to report. "All clear, El Tee. One inside and two out here. Nobody hurt. It's all over." But, apparently, it was not over. And perhaps not ever, not over.

******

Several weeks had passed since Russell's visit, and to an outside observer it would have appeared that little had changed regarding the relationship between Cathy and the student; matured, grown more comfortable, but not materially changed. Yet it had become increasingly clear to Cathy that their relationship had become more complex than she cared to admit. She had begun to take notice of Paul in ways that undeniably evoked strong feelings, feelings that some inner voice told her were wrong, that it was not the time, that she was not right for him; but she had also asked herself, why not? The fact that she found no answer disturbed her.

For his part, Paul had for some time made up his mind about Cathy, but misjudged her reluctance and blamed himself, quietly cursing his awkwardness. The student was not shy; he was by nature and training confident, assertive and aggressive to the very edge of rashness. But his recent experience had been in the company of men and in matters of romance he knew he was inexperienced. He desperately wanted to take their relationship to another level, and planned his next move as carefully as an engineer.

He conceived the idea that we would ask her to accompany him to some public event, something in which she might have an interest, so that she could, if she wished, see it as something less than a date; he could build from that. An ethnic street festival the previous weekend had seemed the perfect opportunity; sorry, she could not; she had to take her mother to visit a former neighbor in a nursing home; she would have loved to go. The student was not sure whether it had been a rejection or a reasonable excuse, and looked for another opening.

And so, three months to the day after he had appeared on her doorstep, neither realized how close they were to a happy collision. That Saturday morning they drove to the park for what had become a ritual run. Cathy was now jogging six laps, while Paul circled her several times. Each time he passed, with a word and wave of encouragement, Cathy found herself admiring his broad shoulders and tight cheeks, noticeable even through his sweatpants. When she had finished and stopped, he caught up and stood beside her.

"Good run. Feeling OK?"

"Fine. But my feet hurt."

"That's not right. Mind if I have a look?" He made her sit on a bench and took off her shoes.

She was embarrassed by the attention. "Paul, you don't have to do that. I'm OK. They're just sore."

"Hey, who knows feet better than I? These aren't the greatest socks for running." He began to massage her feet.

As soon as he started, she relaxed. God, that felt good. Is there nothing he can't do? "Paul, that's wonderful. You're fantastic."

He looked up, deep into her eyes. "Fantastic, huh? That's a big step up from being a nice guy."

She blushed, recalling one of their first conversations.

He continued to knead her feet, more slowly now, his mind somewhere else. "You know, when we first started having our talks I was struck by how intelligent and conversational you were. I've learned a lot from you, seen things through you that I had never thought of before. Told you things about myself that I've never told anyone. For a while I thought of you as a good friend. But now I find that I've become very attracted to you. More than just very attracted." Eye contact again, deep blue eyes. "Do you think we can go somewhere from here?"

Cathy felt her heart start to melt. And yet some damn thing inside her made her say all the wrong things. "Oh, Paul. Don't make a mistake. I don't think I'm the right woman for you. You need someone who's like you, fresh, just starting out. You're going to want to leave here, have a family. I don't know that I could give you what you want." How, why did I say that?

"I'm sorry. I hoped the chemistry would work both ways. I guess I was wrong."

"No, Paul, that isn't it at all. Of course I am attracted to you, too. More than I want."

Disappointment turned to encouragement. "Then you're a little embarrassed. Your friends would laugh at you for getting involved with your student tenant."

"That's not even close. Connie says I'm a darn fool if I don't grab you. You're too good for either of us."

"So you're afraid that if we got involved, it might not last. That one day you'll become a different person, or I will, and you'll have to drop me and I'll be hurt." Or you will, he thought.

Her eyes began to tear up, and he read the answer.

"Cathy, do you have any idea how many times I've been dropped from a thousand feet without getting hurt? I don't want to live month to month, waiting for conditions to get perfect so that happiness can just happen. I can make up my mind to be happy today. Tomorrow or next year will bring what it brings. I know you've been hurt, badly hurt. I've never experienced a hurt like that, so I'm out of bounds giving you advice. But I think you can choose, make a decision to smell the flowers in front of you right now." He paused, not knowing whether he had said enough, or perhaps too much.

She wanted to reach down for him, but her arms would not move; wanted to speak, but no words came, and the moment was lost. Paul stood, feeling awkward, then knelt again and slipped on her shoes. "Well, think about it. I'll run in and meet you at the car." He stepped back, paused, then turned and jogged off.

In that moment, she made up her mind. She was a fool, she thought. Of course he was right. And right for her, right now. She only had to allow herself to trust him, and she already trusted him. Just be a little vulnerable, she thought, take a chance and the heck with anything else. But he's more fragile than he looks. After everything I've said, he's going to need some encouragement. That's it. I'm going to seduce this guy, very soon, and I'm going to do it right. Well, maybe seduce isn't the right word; I'm sure he's ready. And so, already thinking of just how she would elegantly and romantically smooth him into her bed, while preserving the fiction that it was entirely his doing, she rose and started in.

She had not gone a quarter of the oval, a half-formed plan taking shape in her mind, when she saw to her horror that her soldier (for that was how she now thought of him) was under attack. Even worse, he appeared to be totally unaware of the danger.

The assault was being mounted by a young woman, a very attractive young woman in disgustingly tight shorts, who had engaged the soldier in conversation. And now she was pressing the attack, smiling coyly, batting her eyelashes, thrusting forward her very ample bosom; hands clasped behind her back, talons slowly extending.

Cathy broke into a run.

She arrived on the scene just in time (enemy breaching the perimeter wire, sentries still asleep). Paul looked up, but before he could congratulate her on a strong finish, she slipped her arm through his, fixed their opponent with a smile that had all the warmth and sincerity normally associated with a middle-aged flight attendant on a crowded red-eye, and inquired sweetly, "Who's your friend, Paul?"

The assault paused, taken aback by this riposte from the flank. Breasts and talons began to retract.

"Uh, actually, I didn't get your name, Miss..."

Now the attack halted in confusion, the assailant unnerved by Cathy's steely gaze, which was firmly focused on a point approximately one foot to the left and some ten feet beyond her rival.

She was Mary Lou; she had not seen your friend, but she was very pleased to meet you both; she came here frequently but had not seen you before; now perhaps she had better get on with her workout or she would have to stretch out again, ha ha; and maybe she will run into you both again.

Cathy watched with grim satisfaction as the retreat ebbed away, guidons trailing in the dust.

Paul glanced at Cathy, at the discomfited Mary Lou, back to Cathy. He had the vague notion that something had happened just outside his field of vision, perhaps something interesting, but he could not quite put his finger on it. The student was not slow, far from it, but in this case he had been distracted by the very delightful feel of Cathy's breast against his upper arm, and was wondering how he could contrive to keep it there. He felt he had a silence to fill, but could think of nothing to say beyond "Well, shall we go?"

He started to turn, mentally kicking himself for being a tongue-tied oaf, when Cathy said brightly, "Wait. I didn't give you my answer." Turning him to face her, she put both arms around his neck and kissed him. The kiss began softly, searchingly, than with increasing passion as she pressed her body against his.

Paul was momentarily surprised, but had wanted to do this for so long, and had mentally rehearsed just how he would do it, that he caught up immediately. With both arms around her wonderfully slim waist he pulled her even closer, startled himself by an instant and unmistakable reaction which was now pressing against her abdomen, and instinctively pulled back. Cathy would have none of that. She thrust her hips forward to maintain a full body contact and to let him know that she knew what that was, and liked it very much.

Another long, passionate kiss, and she felt comfortable with the rising heat in her body, as if they had been lovers forever. They broke, and she said softly, "Take me home, please."

Now they were in his car, and the darned console prevented her from sitting in his lap, from crawling under his skin as she wanted to do (which was just as well for the safety of the motoring public, for Paul was already mightily distracted), and Cathy had to be content with holding his hand in both of her own. She felt excited, giddy, and it caused her to tease.

"Honestly, Paul, I can't believe how that girl was hitting on you."

"Hitting on me? No, it was just talk-talk."

"That's not what her body language said."

"You can ready body language? Maybe that's something else you can teach me. And what about my body language? What was I saying?"

"Mm, you didn't seem to be picking up on it."

They were stopped now, at an interminable traffic light. He reached over, stroked her face, the back of her neck, creating a tingle which spread across her shoulders and down her back.

"Did my body language say that I wanted to touch her?"

"That feels good."

"Until you teach me this body language, I guess I'll just have to ask questions. I have a couple of questions for you now, if you don't mind."

"Anything."

Horns blared from behind. Paul calmly pulled ahead, stopped, looked into her eyes. Did he know how sensuous they were?

"Who has the most beautiful hazel eyes that look all the way into my soul, you, or that blind girl in the park?"

"Paul..."

"Say, I do."

A giggle. "I do."

"And who has a fully functional mind that keeps me interested, that I can talk to for hours, you, or that little dummy in the park?"

"She..."

"Say, me."

"Me."

"Who has the most fantastic legs and the most beautiful tight behind in the county, you, or the fat girl in the park?" His hand moved to her leg, creating another tingle which spread upward to join the first.

Another giggle. "OK, me."

"One more." Confident now, caution thrown to the wind. "And who, this very day, is going to find herself in bed with a thoroughly aroused young paratrooper? You, or that poor little thing in the park? And if you have any trouble with this one, I can help."

"Me. I want it to be me."

Another long kiss, and they drove home in happy silence. In the driveway he hesitated, but she was ready for him. "I'd like to take a shower now. Will you wash my back?"

"I'll follow you anywhere."

They undressed each other in the bathroom, feverishly, between deep, passionate kisses and the sight of her body drove him crazy with desire. But when they broke to enter the shower he felt nervous, almost awkward, and told her so. She simply smiled, handed him the soap, and asked him to go to work.

In a burst of inspiration, he soaped her back, then his chest, wrapped his arms around her and slid up and down and around, proclaiming himself her washcloth. She loved it. Cathy reached back to hold his thighs against her as he slowly lathered her stomach, her breasts, especially those, everything within reach.

Then it was her turn, and before she was finished he thought that he would never make it to the bed, would have to have her there in the bathroom and, never having made love standing up, was trying to visualize how, or whether, it could be done. But then she had a towel and they dried each other lasciviously, or at least as erotically as an extra-thick towel would permit, Paul desperately hoping that he would not climax before they got out of the bathroom.

And then Cathy was in the bed, sheet up to her neck so fast that it gave him the instant, ridiculous recollection of the ballplayer who was so quick, it was said, that he could turn out the light and get into bed before the room got dark. How could I think of that at a time like this? He covered his nervousness by posing for her, turning slowly around. "Well, here I am. Here's all of me. I hope you're not disappointed."

"Get in here, you gorgeous man, and love me."

Paul slipped into bed and found that the desperate passion he felt in the bathroom had abated a little, and so had hers, and they explored each other slowly, gently, starting all over again. He felt a consuming desire to make it good – more than good, memorable – for her. "Cathy, I want to learn to make love to you just the way you like. Will you tell me when I'm getting it right?"

"Oh, oh, just like you're doing."

More mutual caressing, and he could feel his passion, and hers, rising again. He let his hand trail lightly down across her stomach, lower, until he brushed her curls and heard her breath catch. Rolling slightly on top of her, another passionate kiss, and he gently slid his knee between her legs. She opened for him, and he moved his knee higher and then she raised her hips against it, firmly in place, and sighed as he massaged her with his leg, his hand occupied on her breast.

"They're too small, but it feels wonderful when you do that."

"They're perfect. Exquisite. Two of your finest assets."

He released her, finally, carefully removed his leg and his fingers moved down, this time all the way and into her. Wow, she's really ready. As he explored her – does this work for you? And this? – he sensed her breathing change: faster, shorter, her hands clutching his shoulders, tighter still.

"Oh, your fingers are magic. That feels so good. Paul, I'm ready for you. I want you."

Paul moved on top of her, guided himself in. He tried to be oh, so gentle, to go slow, but could not stop until he was buried. She was so smooth, warm, tight.

"You feel wonderful. We fit like a pair of spoons."

"Heavenly."

Now he began to move, slowly, not thrusting for his own pleasure but rocking gently, riding her high, maintaining smooth contact with her special spot, and Cathy felt the most intense pleasure spreading throughout her body.

"Oh, just like that. Don't stop." Make it last forever, she thought.

Her words increased his own pleasure, and he had to force himself to concentrate on her enjoyment to hold back his passion. He began to feel her body twitch, her arms tightened on his back, and he picked up the pace, a little more forceful and insistent. Cathy held her breath, tensed, convulsed three, four, five times and then relaxed, totally spent. Paul paused, not wanting to spoil her moment; he looked at her face, her eyes closed, and felt a loving, tender satisfaction. But then his own need took over, urgent now.

Conscious of his weight of her, he raised up, arms straight and began to slowly drive into her. Cathy opened her eyes, stroked his arms and chest. "You really are fantastic. Better than fantastic."

No reply; the student was very close now, holding his breath, and in a few hard, faster strokes she felt him tense, spasm inside her for long seconds and with a long sigh relax completely onto her. Cathy stroked his back; I'm all his, and he's mind; and she was so, so satisfied.

Dinner was late that night, very late, for the student felt so blessed to have Cathy where he wanted her that he was reluctant to let her out of bed, as if the opportunity might never come again. They made love a second time, this time with Cathy on top so that Paul might have both hands free for other duties, and while it might not, to Paul's later recollection, have been quite as spectacular as the first, it was very close. At last he relented; in point of fact, was not sure he could perform again for a while; and allowed her to suggest a restaurant. He pointed out that he would have to leave her for perhaps as much as five minutes in order to find clothes; was not sure he could be away from her for that long. She smiled, hugged him, replied that it would take her much longer to get ready, and pushed him playfully from the room.