Little Fluffy Clouds

"Are you going to the mixer?" Mark, freshly showered, fixed his hair in the mirror. Mark was my roommate, the best friend I'd made in my frosh year. He was probably the only person I could stand living with. Mark said I was antisocial. Personally, I thought I was just choosy. One person was always more than enough to be around at a time.

"I wasn't planning to, why?" I asked, sitting on my bed and reading a

Sandman

graphic novel. It'd be the last pleasure reading I'd have until winter break, and I was determined to enjoy it.

"Because that's where you meet people."

"I've met enough people."

"How about a woman?"

"They're under the same heading as people, you sexist."

Mark sighed. "No, you need to get out and talk to somebody with breasts. I can't live with you for a full year of moping over Diane."

"I'm not moping," I said defensively.

"You're reading the gothiest shit I've ever seen. Come on. Get up, take a shower, go meet some frosh."

Mark wasn't going to give up. I think he saw me as a project and I probably needed that. The worst part was, he was right. I was moping and Diane kept booting open the door in my mind and interfering with the story. Morpheus could wait, I suppose.

I took a quick shower, shaved, and put on what passed for my best outfit. Then Mark and I headed out to the quad, where tables had been set out with food and big coolers of lemonade and iced tea. A DJ was set up against the north side, the techno at an almost reasonable volume. Perils of going to a function organized by the school, I guess. Meant the lemonade and iced tea were actually, and more importantly

just

, that. If this mixer was anything like the one last year, there would be a lot of talking, but the real party would be more granular and in dorms while upperclassmen laid the foundations on the frosh of their choice.

I spotted Diane across the quad, talking to a skinny blond guy. I damn near turned around. I couldn't deal with seeing her flirting, not right now. Give me a month or two...and I'd still not be able to handle it. But it would be a month later.

"Stay on target," Mark intoned, following my attention.

"I hear you, Red Leader." I looked away, anywhere else than Diane.

"Are you going to need me, or can I trust that you'll actually try to have fun?"

"I'm okay. It's just a bit of a shock, that's all."

"Okay good, because that gentleman over there is desperately trying to pretend he's not eye-fucking me."

"You bullseye that womp rat, buddy. I believe in you."

Mark grinned and set off to talk to the guy. That was how he met Troy, who became Mark's boyfriend for the rest of their college tenure. He wasn't the only one who had a life-changing visit to this thing, though it took me a bit longer.

I tried to block out Diane's ostentatious flirting--was she being intentionally showy for me or was that my imagination--and went to get some lemonade. I needed to spend enough time here that Mark wasn't going to read me the riot act, and I could then slink back to our room and see if Rose was going to make it out of that serial killer convention.

Only Diane wasn't making that easy. Seemed like every time I looked over she was draped over her guy in a different way. And yeah, maybe I shouldn't have looked over quite so much but I never said I was a paragon of willpower.

The pull of my room was growing stronger and I was considering just loading up on the fried snacks and calling it a night. Besides, Mark was distracted and might not even notice a surreptitious exit. I was about to make my move when, "Hey! There you are!"

I turned to find a group of ten or so people, half of whom had been the friend group thrown together by the housing director our frosh year. We'd all been on Hall L in Caulfield Dorm, which we had nicknamed only semi-ironically as the L-Train. In the lead was my friend Anders, the self-appointed conductor of the L-Train.

"Hey," I said, shaking hands with him. That was back when we did that. As with most things, it started ironically but eventually took on a life of its own.

"You weren't going to cut out, were you?" Anders asked.

My eyes fell on the new faces. Two in particular. "Uh...no?"

"That's too bad. Kevin's an RA this year, and me and Jon are suitemates, so that means party suite. We were gonna grab some food and take this up there."

"So same thing but inside."

"Jon also has a fake ID and his parents' credit card. There's enough beer up there to incapacitate an elephant."

Jon, a pleasantly round guy with the beginnings of a dwarf beard, grinned proudly. "You in?"

I did my best not to glance at either of the young women who'd caught my attention. "Yeah, I'm in. Let's go make some bad decisions."

The only bad part of Jon's room was that he liked ska, so that's what was on the stereo. Me, after plainly not being over Diane, the ska felt like another way to punish myself. At least there was beer. Warm piss beer, but we were sophomores in college. We didn't know any better. Frankly, knowing better hasn't done more than make me pay more for drinks. I took the beanbag chair against one wall and started drinking, wondering if I actually was going to talk to either woman, or if I was just marking time before returning to my room.

Truth be told, I was more into one than the other. I was trying not to watch her as she talked with Jon, but it was hard. She wore a short sundress that hugged an hourglass figure. Her skin was a pleasant olive hue, with cute brown freckles across the bridge of her nose. She had wide brown eyes with a subtle slant to them, a narrow nose, and a heart-shaped face. Her chin-length chestnut hair had a slight wave to it. Her body was sexy, her face was cute. It was a juxtaposition I found intensely alluring. Her name, I'd find out later, was Zora Davidova.

I made the decision to talk to her and was about to get up when the other girl plopped down in front of me. "Hey! We haven't met yet. I'm Bridget."

Bridget Kim was barely five feet tall and not one hundred pounds. She was petite bordering on tiny, a slender-limbed beauty with the lithe muscles of a dancer. She had almond-shaped eyes, so dark as to be nearly black, a button nose, and full, cupid's bow lips. Her face was expressive, her smile wide and welcoming. Her glossy black hair went past her shoulders. She was wearing cut-offs that stopped at the tops of her shapely thighs, a bodysuit, and a flannel over that. A gold cross hung between her modest breasts.

"Hi." I introduced myself.

"It's awesome to meet you! Okay, would you rather fight a hundred chickens or one bear?"

She was so serious that I nearly snarfed my beer. "What?"

"It's an important question. Get it right and I'll hang out. Biff it and I'll find somebody else."

"Am I armed?"

"You have a baseball bat and a copy of Oprah's biography."

"Why do I have the biography?"

"Because."

"I don't think I could take the bear, and I don't think I could distract it with Oprah. So I think I have to go for the chickens."

She settled down next to me. "That's the right answer."

We got to talking, and I found myself having a good time. Bridget was fun and she had just enough quirk to make her entertaining. I didn't even realize that Diane had completely fled my mind either.

It was a week later when I was down in the lounge watching TV. Joe Bob Briggs was doing

Lost Boys

and

Near Dark

and I wasn't gonna miss that. I was settling in for a long evening when the door opened. Zora came in wearing plaid flannel pants and a

Star Wars

t-shirt, carrying a soft blanket over her shoulders.

"Didn't think I was gonna have to fight anybody for the TV at this hour," she said.

"Careful, I've been training."

"I have four brothers. Wait, what are you watching?"

I explained what I was doing there and felt a little silly.

She brightened. "That's what I was going to watch."

"Pull up a couch."

She settled on the other end of the couch and we introduced ourselves for the first time officially. Joe Bob had the power to double the length of a 90-minute movie, especially once commercials were thrown in. As the evening wore on, fatigue stripped inhibitions. By the time the final credits rolled at the end of

Near Dark

, Zora's head was on my shoulder and she was snoring softly. I briefly considered just staying there all night, but she awakened with a light snort.

She wiped her mouth self-consciously. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine.".

"No, it's just...I have a boyfriend."

"Oh," I said. Anyone who'd been to college had heard this one. Just about every woman goes in with a high school boyfriend she still thought was The One and they were going to try the long distance thing. It never worked out, but no one wanted to hear that. I was going to be diplomatic until she inevitably decided that a boyfriend she could see was better than one she couldn't. "Walk you back to your room?"

"Sure, yeah." She picked up her blanket and as we began to navigate the off-white corridors of Caulfield Dorm, she said, "That was fun. We should do it again sometime."

"Any time."

Zora opened up her door and, lit by the harsh glow of a desk lamp, Zora's roommate was on all fours, a guy absolutely railing her from behind. "Zee, fuck!" the roommate screeched.

"Stacy, sorry!" Zora slammed the door and leaned against the wall. "Well, shit. Maybe I can sleep in the lounge?"

"You can stay in my room."

She gave me an indulgent smile. "I have a boyfriend, remember?"

"Which is why I mean sleep. If you try anything, you'll get the business end of my hatpin."

She giggled. "You're sure?"

"It's no problem. As long as you don't mind snoring. Not me, my roommate. Guy has a chainsaw up his nose."

She thought it over, and gave a ghost of a nod. "Okay.

Sleeping

."

"Sleeping," I confirmed.

Mark sawed logs in the dark room as Zora and I crept to the bed. I slept by the wall, my back to her. We barely fit in the twin bed, but I had one of the best nights of sleep of my life. My pillow smelled of her for days after.

Zora and I remained in our holding pattern until Halloween. We stayed up late often, watching movies, her falling asleep on me each time. Mark gave me shit whenever Zee slept over. "When I said you needed to meet a woman, I meant a girlfriend. Not someone else to pine over."

"Long distance boyfriend. I just need to wait him out."

"You're in a better mood at least," he observed.

I was also impatient. Zora was taking longer to break up with her boyfriend and sleeping in a bed with a gorgeous woman I couldn't touch was taking its toll on my willpower. I started wondering if maybe there was another option on the table. Just one that would bridge the gap until Zee dumped the ghost.

Bridget was obviously volunteering for the job. She always seemed to turn up no matter where I was. In any conversation, I had her undivided attention. She was good for the ego, I'm not going to lie, and she was beautiful and interested. The only problem with her is that she wasn't Zora.

On Halloween we had a dorm-wide party. As broke college students, our costumes were as cheap and half-assed as we could come up with. I found Zora looking incredible in black tights and an orange dress with a few construction paper black triangles pinned to it. "What are you?" I asked.

"A Jill-o-Lantern. What about you?"

I held up the milk carton and bared my vampire fangs. "Lost Boy."

She shook her head and laughed. The two of us went to Kevin's room. The punch was basically antifreeze and it tasted like Kool-Aid. Dangerous stuff. Zora and I were tipsy inside the hour. We never strayed far from each other. Bridget joined us for a little bit, and Zora ended up talking to her more than I did. At the end of the night, I was walking her back to the room and I wasn't sure which one of us was leaning on the other. Zora paused at her door, listening, and her face changed.

"Sleep at your place?"

"I have a boyfriend," I warned her.

"Dick," she said, taking my hand. I don't remember the walk to my room. We were just suddenly there and I was surrounded by her heat, the smell of her shampoo. I unlocked the door and the two of us were together in the dark room, and all I could hear was her breath. Impulsively, I leaned in, my mouth finding hers. Her lips were soft, her mouth willing. Her tongue tasted of the dangerous punch.

"I have a boyfriend," she whispered.

"I'm sorry." I could feel her breath on my face.

I felt her lean in, brush a kiss over my face, and I caught her again. "We're drunk," she said, breaking away and finding my bed, climbing in. I sat down, pulling off my shoes, wondering what the hell we were doing. I wanted Zora more than I'd wanted any woman in my life.

"Where's Mark?" she asked.

"His boyfriend's local. Lives off campus. If he's not here now he won't be here all night."

"We're alone then." She kicked off her shoes. "I'm not a cheater."

"Okay."

She pulled me to her, her mouth finding mine, her hands finding my face, tongue caressing mine. "We can't have sex," she murmured into my mouth.

"Not a problem," I said. I'd been drinking so much I wasn't sure I could get it up, even for her. Better this way anyway, let her keep her vow and give her a good time. Our kisses were passionate, made sloppy by the drink and a need for the other brewed over a dozen late night movies. I found her neck, exploring the graceful arc with my mouth. Periodically she would murmur, almost to herself, "I have a boyfriend," and every time after, when her mouth found mine, the kiss was more passionate than the last.

My hands went to her pillowy breasts. I was obsessed. I'd seen a few pairs close up by then, but Zora's were incredible, the heavy and teardrop-shaped, still buoyed by youth. I hadn't thought of myself as a breast man, but as I explored the soft flesh beneath her dress, I thought she might make me one. My mouth fell to her cleavage, and I sucked in the scent of her sweat mingled with her light perfume.

"I'm not usually like this," she breathed.

"I'm not here to judge you, Zee." My mind was overheating. I'd wanted this since the moment I'd seen her, and though it had only been two months, those were long months without her. My hand crept up her thigh, taking the hem of her dress with it.

"What are you doing?" she asked, shivering.

"I want to watch you cum."

The trembling turned to a shudder, her mouth reaching for mine. "This is crazy."

"I think you like being a little crazy with me."

She lifted her hips, her dress bunching up around her waist, and I was able to find the top of her tights. I slipped beneath, brushing the hot skin of her belly, then ranged lower. She sucked in a breath when I touched her panties. I sat up, in the dark room, my eyes finding hers. She held my shoulders, tensed and alight. Deliberately, I probed between the soft cloth of her panties into the sultry heat beneath. She spread her legs with a moan as I made my way down the patch of downy fleece. She grew wetter and wetter until I arrived at her lips, soaked and nearly too hot to touch.

I pulled my fingers out, popping them in my mouth for my first taste of her. She was spicier than I had imagined. I wanted her on my tongue desperately, but knew that was too far. She wasn't a cheater, she said, and this wasn't cheating, she implied. I knew that if I put my face between her thick thighs that would be in the warped calculus that drink and desire had performed in her mind. Her thighs were pressed together, trapping my hand, her new lover. Her white panties were bunched up just below.

I kissed her savagely, wishing her mouth was her pussy. My hand was able to do what my lips could not. She let out the loveliest whimper as I entered her again. Her hips worked against the intrusion. I circled her, penetrated, again and again. I wasn't an artist that night. I needed to see her cum and I wouldn't wait. I felt it in the hammering of her heart, the quick gasps of her breath, the increasingly desperate note in her moans. She was ready.

Her fingers sank deeply into my shoulder and bicep and she let out a cry. Her sweet body descended into helpless shuddering against me. I held her as the aftershocks worked their way through her.

I looked down at her once. Her dress was hiked up to her waist, her naked hips shining, her panties rolled into a band midway down her thick thighs. I threw a blanket over us and cuddled her, kissing her temple as she recovered her senses.

"Did you want...I feel like I should give you a turn," she murmured.

"It's okay."

She reached over and felt me "Are you still wearing your jeans?"

"Zee, I'm fine. You don't have to."

"I want to."

I'm many things, but I'm not dumb enough to turn down a handjob from a beautiful woman I'd been mutely in love with for two months. "Okay."

I felt her taking first my pants and then my shorts down, and she gripped me. "Oh. Wow."

"What?"

"Nothing," she said. I felt her running her palm up and down me, exploring.

"Lick your palms," I said. "It's too dry otherwise."

She brought her hands to her mouth, tentatively licking them. "Are you sure? This feels weird."

"Trust me." That had been Diane's trick. A good way to get me to forget whatever it was I was mad at her about. Lick the palm, go to work, and five minutes later everything's fine.

"Okay. Tell me if I do something wrong," she said, beginning to stroke. She was clumsy, but I didn't care.

"You're so fucking sexy, Zee," I said, kissing her. My hand came up between her legs.

She shied away like a tickled fawn. "I don't think I could take it."

I took my hands away, content that this would just be for me. "Just stroke. Don't pull, don't mash. Stroke and I'm all yours."

Her eyes shone in the dim light. She began to run her slicked palms lightly over my length, root to crown. I didn't need much, not after watching her cum. That was an even more beautiful sight than I had imagined over these long months. She milked the orgasm from me swiftly with me clutching at her.

She yelped when I splashed over her belly, but didn't move aside. I leaned in, kissing her. Now her kisses were suddenly hesitant. I did the wrong thing and thought that more ardor would be just the thing, and she leaned away. "I have a boyfriend," she said.

"Right. Okay," I said. I didn't mention that she was drying on my hands and I was drying on her tummy. The magic of the night had been broken. "We should probably get some sleep. I'm really drunk."

"Yeah, so am I."

I rolled over and so did she. We lay like that, back-to-back, until sleep claimed us.

Things were awkward with Zee for a few weeks. We never mentioned that night, even though all I wanted was a repeat performance. She talked about her boyfriend even more, and I took the hint. We'd been drunk, that was the end of it. I needed to look elsewhere for a girlfriend.

Bridget was right there, being cute and funny and so obviously interested that it was getting awkward to ignore. One day two weeks after Halloween were hanging out in my room, studying for the intro psych class we were both taking. I had the book in my lap, leaned back in my desk chair. She was on my bed. "I can't concentrate," she said, getting up.

"After this test, you won't have to."

"Until the final," she said. She went to my shelves. She stopped at a binder. "What's this?"

I hadn't looked at those in a while. "My portfolio."

She pulled it out, and opened it, finding laminated black and white photos in sheet protectors. And yes, that's pretentious, but in college there's nothing more profound than a simple black and white image. She progressed through hilly landscapes and stormy beachscapes, arriving on what I liked to call my Diane Period. Last year, when we'd been together, she had been my muse. A dark-eyed nymph, I'd photographed her anywhere and everywhere. I didn't like to think of those images now, as they reminded me of a time before Zora.