"I want you to spend the night with me." She was serious, she was desperate, and I was half-panicked and half-ecstatic to hear it. In the brief span of a few milli-seconds I imagined us married and raising children together. That was the panic part.
"I need you to see what it's like, to hear it for yourself. I just need you, tonight. It's driving me crazy and I don't want to be alone again when they get here. Nothing will happen. I promise. We're adults. I just need you with me."
The Playboy Advisor had assured me that getting into bed with a woman would take a great deal of seduction and planning. I'd been working on such a plan for months without much success; now, suddenly, she was begging me to go to bed with her? It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
Claire had been one of my best friends ever since I moved into her neighborhood in junior high school. She was the girl across the street, literally, and the first girl I ever had a serious crush on. Not that she knew that, of course. We were both nerds, bookish, outcasts in a sense, both painfully shy, but somehow we connected with each other. We thought alike. We enjoyed the same things. We made each other laugh. We hung out together as often as we could, but we were just friends. At least, that was all we would admit to each other.
She was a year older than me, which made her seem exotic and worldly. As we grew older, she started including me whenever she and her friends would go off on some wild adventure together. The wildest of her friends was Lydia. I think Claire lived vicariously through Lydia, who partied hard, always had a string of boyfriends, and loved talking about her sexual conquests. Lydia drove a red '64 Mustang convertible, equipped with a flask of whisky and a box of condoms in the glove box, just in case.
Claire and I both marveled and laughed at the stories Lydia told. We assured each other that we could never do what Lydia did, but at the same time, there was something about the way she flaunted the rules that enticed us both, not that we would admit it out loud.
When it came time for Claire and Lydia to start college, they both elected to go a university about an hour away, and they naturally agreed to be roommates. I saw Claire less frequently, but as often as I could, usually driving over to the campus on a Saturday or Sunday to spend the day with her. Lydia would be out of the dorm room, so we had the place to ourselves. We'd sit on her bed and read the newspaper together, or read books to each other, or go for walks together. Boring nerd stuff. Often, we'd find a spot at a bench beside a lake and just sit in silence, watching other people.
We liked each other, but neither of us could find a way to come out and say it. We wanted to be more than just friends, but we didn't know how. I don't know how many times I had thought to myself, this time I'm going to tell her I love her. This time I'm going to kiss her. This time... next time... soon, very soon.
On one of these Saturdays, she seemed unsettled, upset, but she didn't want to talk about it. I tried unsuccessfully to get it out of her, but no dice. It was getting late in the afternoon. We talked about where we would have dinner, and then I said something about the drive home. That's when she dropped the bomb.
"I want you to spend the night with me." It was one of those moments where time slows down, you hear your heartbeat in your head, and the ground beneath your feet seems to be moving.
"Spend the night?" I said, not quite understanding. "Is there something special you'd like us to do tomorrow?"
"No. I mean, yes, I'd love you to stay longer. We could go out for breakfast together or something. But that isn't it. I don't want to be alone tonight. I need you to see what it's like, to hear it for yourself. I just need you to stay with me tonight. It's driving me crazy and I don't want to be alone again when they back."
"I don't understand. What are you talking about? What are you afraid of? Is something wrong?"
She was quiet for a few minutes, and I waited her out. Finally, she said:
"Lydia has a boyfriend. They're sleeping together in our room every night. Well, they're not sleeping much, if you know what I mean! It's embarrassing. She doesn't think it's a big deal, and she says they try to be quiet. But I go to bed and pull the covers over my head and hear them... doing it. And it's driving me crazy. I just thought that it would be nice... oh, I don't know what I thought. You're my best friend, and somehow I thought it would make it easier if you were there with me while, you know... I feel like I'm all alone, and it would help if you knew what it's like. Does that make any sense?"
I probably swallowed audibly.
"I, uh. Hmmm. Yeah, that makes sense, I guess. How long has this been going on?"
"Three weeks now. Every night. Well, not every night. Sometimes when his roommate goes off for a night or two, they'll stay in his room. But I guess the roommate has his own girlfriend over, they want some privacy, so Lydia..."
"She asked me if I thought it would be ok, and I didn't feel like I could say no. She already thinks I'm weird. I was hoping it was just going to be one or two nights. I didn't want to be a prude. But now, it's every night. I've tried to mention to her that maybe they could find some other arrangement, but she just laughed me off and said that it was probably a good educational opportunity for me. I guess I have a hard time being confrontational."
She sighed and stared off into the distance. I tried to think of a way out. I guess that sounds crazy. Claire had grown up into a very beautiful woman -- well, not movie star beautiful, but to me, she was gorgeous. She had hazel eyes that changed color with the light, a smile that could melt me, she was bright and quick-witted, always fast with a wry joke or a clever comment. She was tall for a women -- not as tall as me, but close, and I liked that. Very slim, but curvy in all the right ways. She almost had a Barbie doll shape to her, but if you saw her walking across campus you might describe her as gangly. She was always in a hurry, never paid much attention to her looks, and she went through life oblivious to what others thought of her.
And I loved everything about her.
"So, your room only has the two beds. Two single beds. How do they...?"
She laughed.
"Anytime they're together, they're clamped so tightly in each other's arms you couldn't get a molecule of air between them. They don't seem to need much space, or want it."
I came back with what I thought would be a way to kill the idea.
"We'd have to be kind of close together, too. I mean, we've taken naps together. But it might be pretty uncomfortable for the two of us to share your bed for the whole night. I don't think you'd get much sleep, Claire."
(Alright, yes, I was naïve enough at this point in our relationship to think we might actually sleep while sharing a bed just inches from each other and listening to Lydia and her boyfriend practicing the top 20 positions from the Kama Sutra. What can I say?)
She gave me a look like I was from another planet.
