The student union lounge was almost empty, which was odd. Then she remembered that the football team was playing at home; the campus was virtually deserted, but neither of us had noticed. We'd wandered away from the dorm arm in arm, meandering in no particular direction, Claire with her head resting on my shoulder as we walked. We made small-talk. Both of us were lost in a jumble of thoughts that were too raw be safe for conversation.
Our sexual attraction had burst its chains a week earlier, and now we had allowed ourselves to experiment. We were free, but not quite free, like puppies who suddenly realized the fences had collapsed and were madly charging out into the unexplored world, but never so far as to lose sight of mom. We were testing this new freedom, but cautiously, and neither of us were very sure how far it was safe to wander.
We held each other closer than usual and walked more slowly, just soaking up the simple pleasures of being with each other. We all want someone who wants us, and when we find that someone, often all we really need is to hold on tight.
We found a relatively clean sofa in a corner of the lounge and sat snuggled against each other. There were muted voices, some laughter, and the clinking of glasses coming from upstairs somewhere. Maybe a small banquet.
I kissed her on the temple, pressed my face into her hair, and breathed deeply. Claire's scent was always the same, but I wasn't sure what it was. Her shampoo, probably. She didn't wear perfume. She never wore much makeup. She didn't need any of those things, in my opinion. As kids we'd run around the streets together, never paying much attention to what we looked like. She was a grown woman now, subject to stricter expectations, but Claire never felt she needed to impress anyone, least of all me, and I liked that.
She'd left one more button undone than usual; looking down at her I could see the frilly bow in the center of her red bra as it strained to hold her ample breasts together. I hadn't taken the opportunity to look at the tag when I'd had the chance. I had no idea how big she was and where she ranked in the world panoply of women's breasts. I only knew that I liked the way they filled my hands. Her areolae were rose colored and her nipples got wrinkly as they swelled, which fascinated me to no end. I approved of the way she was put together.
She snuggled more deeply against me. She seemed happy. I knew I was.
"Can I ask you a question, Danny?"
"Of course."
"I want you to be honest. Have you ever done it before?"
Oh, wow. Where was this going?
I felt myself flushing with embarrassment. I was a nerd, not a football quarterback. I read books, magazines, looked at photos, I'd even seen a few X-rated films, but none of that counted. I was a virgin, and I really didn't want to admit it.
I tried to dodge the question. "Why do you ask?"
"I guess I want to know where I stand. I've never done these sorts of things before. I told you, I'm a virgin. I wondered if... if I'm just one more notch on your cannon."
"I think that would be painful."
She elbowed me in the ribs.
"I'm serious. I need to know. Have you ever made love to a woman before?"
It was a reasonable question.
"Never have."
"Never? Really?" What about Lydia? I remember a time when she was really into you."
I laughed.
"Lydia?! No way. She was interested in me writing a term paper for her, and maybe, if I'd agreed, she would have paid me off with a blow job, but she was never interested in me. The truth is, I've never had a serious relationship with a woman before. Women aren't interested in nerds."
She looked up at me. "I am. But I don't think of you as a nerd. You're different. Some might even say you're weird, but I would never let a nerd touch me like you've touched me."
Good answer. I let the "weird" comment slide. All of a sudden, I felt like I might go try out for quarterback after all.
"What about a blow job. Has anyone done that to you?" she wondered.
"These are pretty personal questions. You're not carrying a tape recorder on you, are you?"
"There's one in the lamp over there. Answer my question and be sure you enunciate for the record."
We chuckled. It was a nice feeling, sitting there together and sharing our deepest secrets.
"I've only ever had one blow job. And it was pretty great. Amazing, really."
"Who? Tell me who? When?"
"You can't tell anyone. You have to promise."
"I do. I promise."
"It was in my junior year at Hendricks. You remember Miss Kennedy, the librarian? She was the one all of us guys fantasized about. Short, tight skirts, starched white blouses, flowing red hair, those freckles and long legs and high heels. We would all go to the library just to watch her bend down and return books to the bottom shelves."
"Oh, my god. You're kidding me. You did that?"
"We practically drooled over our library books when Miss Kennedy was working. So anyway, one day I went in during English class to look up something in the encyclopedia. Miss Kennedy was at her desk, and she gave me a beautiful smile as I came in, then went back to her work. I flipped through several volumes, took notes, she wasn't paying much attention, and then I nonchalantly walked over to her desk and asked her if I could interrupt her with a question."
I paused at the memory of Miss Kennedy. Built like a brick house.
"She nodded and smiled up at me with those gorgeous green eyes. And I said, 'Miss Kennedy, I'm researching the sexual practices of the early 20th century. This article keeps mentioning something called a blow job. I've never heard that term before. Do you know what it is?' And she said, 'It's really difficult to describe. Come into the back room for a few minutes and let me show you how it's done.'"
She elbowed me harder this time.
"Oh, stop, you liar. You big, fat liar."
