Part 7 (2/2)

”I always break the cork,” she says. ”It's a total nerk.”

I take the bottle and the corkscrew and go to work. As I'm doing this she pulls a couple of wine gla.s.ses out of a cupboard. I get the cork out without a problem, pour the wine as she holds the gla.s.ses, then follow her into her room. She shuts the door, then hands me my gla.s.s.

”Do you have a dictionary?” I ask her.

”A dictionary?” She smiles and turns to her small bookcase, which holds mainly romance novels, and pulls out a small blue paperback. I set down the wine bottle and take the dictionary from her, and sit down on her bed, thumbing through it. She turns on her stereo and puts on a record.

”How are you doing?” I ask her.

She sips her wine and sits next to me on the bed. ”Fine.”

”Fine?”

”Well, no . . . not really.”

”I thought the whole deal sucked.”

She gives me her sweet little Pris smile, but it's much more intimate than I'm used to. ”It sucked,” she agrees.

I find the word ”nerk” in her dictionary. The definition reads: 1) an exclamation denoting amused frustration at an ironic or just plain stupid situation or mishap; 2) an expression of disgusted despair.

”Nerk,” I say out loud.

She nods. ”Nerk.”

I close the dictionary and hand it back to her. She tosses it carelessly across the room. ”Do you want talk about it?” I ask.

”No. I can handle it. It was an open relations.h.i.+p anyway, no strings. I just hate the way Tom just . . . it was just so totally insensitive.”

”Yes.”

”He could have just told me. Instead he . . .” Pris starts tearing up.

”I'm sorry,” I tell her. ”We don't have to talk about it.”

She nods. ”I don't want to talk about it.” She says that, then she continues talking about it. This goes on for a half-hour, but I don't mind, I care about this girl --- I love her. I sit there and listen, wis.h.i.+ng I could make her happier, willing to do anything for her . . .

I'm happy just sitting in her bedroom with her, having her all to myself.

From there we talk about the year she spent in j.a.pan as an exchange student, and then I hear about her mother, father, and sisters. She's the youngest of three, and they're all very loving and supporting. Her father sounds like a very warm guy . . . as she tells me about them I find myself falling in love with them too, wanting to meet them, wanting to be part of the family.

We finish the bottle of wine, then decide that we're hungry and raid the kitchen. We have to be quiet, though, because by this time all her roommates are asleep. We munch down cheese, crackers and salami and tell jokes and listen to music until 2:00 in the morning. She's starting to look tired, and for some reason I feel like I should tuck her into bed, give her a kiss, and leave. ”I've had a nice time tonight,” I tell her.

”Me too,” she says.

”Maybe I'd better go.”

”No,” she says. ”Don't go.” She smiles, giving me a strange look.

”Don't go,” she says again. ”Why don't you spend the night?”

”You mean, like last night?”

”Yes.” Then she laughs. ”Last night was a little crowded, though.”

”Yeah.” I'm smiling. I feel like I'm glowing. If she turned the light off I'm sure I'd illuminate the whole room. ”I am tired. It's a long drive back to Berkeley.”

”You're probably too drunk to drive anyway.”

”No. Well, maybe. Legally drunk. I can drive though.”

”Well don't. We'll have a slumber party.”

”Maybe we should call Felix and have him join us,” I tell her.

She laughs. It seems I've made a pretty good joke, cause she giggles and laughs for a good minute. Then we turn down the bed, and sit there for an awkward moment looking at each other.

”Do you mind if I sleep in my underwear?” I ask her.

”No, go ahead.”

Feeling strange, I stand up, unzip my pants and take them off as she sits there watching. I climb into her bed get under the covers. She turns off the light, then takes off her jeans. In the light from the stereo I see that she's also taken off her panties. She does it quickly, then slips into the bed and pulls the covers up. She's lying there next to me, bottomless. I think to myself, This has to be a major hint.

The glow from the stereo is about as bright as a single candle; I can see her face clearly. Her hair is covering one eye. I reach out, push it out of the way, and give her a soft little kiss and whisper, ”Good night.”

She gives me a soft little kiss in return.

I give her a tender little kiss on her mouth.

She returns it. It's no longer innocent, we are kissing. Her hand slides up my arm and to my hair, her fingers lightly touching. My mind shuts off, I'm in a state of nirvana. I am actually kissing her! Pris and I are kissing! An airplane could crash right into the building and I don't think I would notice. The place could be on fire --- I wouldn't care.

It proceeds quickly, no doubt because she's wearing nothing but a s.h.i.+rt. My hand slides down of its own accord, cupping her breast. She pulls back, and I can see her smile in the light of the stereo. ”Why is it that men always go for my left breast first?”

”Huh?”

”It's probably because you're all right-handed.” She resumes kissing me, her sweet little tongue tickling and teasing mine. Her left leg slides up and around my right leg, and I move my hand down to the smooth warm flesh of her thigh. I was right, there are no panties. Her kisses are getting intense, full of pa.s.sion. Mine are too, probably. I continue caressing her wonderful bare thigh for a while, then move both hands to the front of her silk blouse, undoing the b.u.t.tons. She sits up abruptly and pulls it off. In the light of the stereo I can see her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. They're perfect, just like I've always imagined they would be.

I sit up next to her, and both of us are pulling at my s.h.i.+rt. When it's over my head she starts kissing my chest, and one hand slides down my stomach and gives my erection a squeeze through my underwear. My underwear comes off next, very quickly, and then we're naked together, feeling each other's whole naked body pressing against each other, and we're kissing again.

My kisses move down from her mouth, across her chin, down her smooth neck and to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She makes sighing sounds and cradles my head. I kiss and caress both b.r.e.a.s.t.s, giving each one equal time, then move down her stomach, which is softly undulating. It's a flat, smooth, beautiful tummy; I leave a trail of kisses down across her belly b.u.t.ton and below. Then I'm kissing soft tangled hair, and she spreads her legs apart with a really loud sigh and I find her vertical lips with my tongue. I go exploring with my tongue, enjoying the way it makes her jump and squirm and cry out, then I find this little k.n.o.b with the tip of my tongue and begin to methodically stimulate it. This is a kiss of pure love, I tell myself. I'm kissing her soul. She's arching her back and crying out and clutching at a pillow. I keep it up, I want to do this for her all night, I want to be the most attentive lover she's had in her life. She starts gyrating her hips and caressing the hair on my head, breathing hard, and she says my name. I look up at her and she's looking down at me with wide eyes. ”I want you inside me,” she says.

I start kissing up her stomach, up to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and then I stop, and whisper, ”Do we need something?”

She reaches out and frantically opens the drawer on her night stand, pulls something out. ”It's one of Tom's.”

”Thank to Tom,” I say, grinning.

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