It was a tumultuous time. My wife was pregnant. I had already had two affairs and a few close encounters. I learned that I missed sex and that I must have been giving off some kind of vibration because so many of the women around me now flirted with me or did not object when I flirted with them.
I was surrounded by women because I was studying to become a nurse. I was the only male in the class. I am surprised how obvious it was which women were open to advances and which ones were not. Of these latter, some were clearly treating me like one of their buddies and others kept a clear emotional barrier between us. With others I myself felt nothing at all, no spark of attraction whatsoever. This had everything to do with their personalities and nothing to do with their appearance.
If they responded to my humour, I would spend more time with them. I was studying to be a psychiatric nurse because I was such a good listener. The women in my class would tell me everything. Who their first lover was, how they related to their fathers, why they wanted to be nurses, the strong and weak points of their husbands or fiances. What they were looking for in sex or love. I don’t know how many of them said to me, “I can’t believe I told you that. I’ve never told it to anyone before. You are such a good listener.”
It was a challenge to keep up appearances with the women who I had had sex with. There we were in class, sitting next to each other or a few desks away and we would carry on as if we had not recently been closely entwined, as if she had not been giving me head just the day before yesterday, as if I had not had one of them in the men’s bathroom in our building because, being the only male, I was the only one who used it besides the odd professor.
I was normally not an assertive lover or pursuer of women. I would simply get close to some of them and then wait for nature to take its course. Since I was already married, I could live with being fucked out of sympathy.
Yet as the year wore on and we came closer and closer to the final exams, I became highly charged and energized as I studied. I could not sleep after memorizing a course. I would get up and pace the floor in my apartment.
In school, I became pushier, almost manic, making jokes as if I were a stand up comedian. My brain seemed to be working at a high efficiency. All my senses were heightened.
One of the women behind me in the course was a red headed beauty. She was short with hair down to her shoulders and a body one could only dream of. Her breasts were magnificent and her hips round and ample, yet her waist as narrow as one of my legs. I know because we compared. She also had a perfectly proportioned face with soft white skin, pink cheeks and wide emerald green eyes.
We were standing in the school library. Everybody was making photocopies of the materials they had missed during the year. The panic was on to get ready for the final exams. For me and my classmates these would our finals, the ones that would allow us to go out and find employment.
The red headed woman was at the photocopy machine and I was waiting.
“Don’t miss anything,” I said, “You’ve a large stack to copy.”
“Ain’t it the truth,” she said, “but you’re lucky you’ve done all this before.”
“That’s true. You’re looking at a man who has all the knowledge from those notes and books now safely stored in his head.”
“What I wouldn’t give to take it from your head and stick it straight into mine.”
In my normal state, I would not have said what I said next. But before I knew it, out of my mouth flew, “I’m sure if I could come over to your place I would find a way to stick it straight it into you. It would be a pleasure.”
I was smiling the whole time these silly words spilled out of my oral cavity.
Her back was to me and I saw her stiffen slightly. But when she half turned toward me, leaning on the copy machine with one elbow, the red hair partially falling over one green eye, she was smiling.
“Are you offering to help me with my homework. Will you help cram it into me?”
I had no way out so I went on, “that was my offer.”
She lifed off the machine, came over to me and stood very close. She signaled for me to bend my head down and when I did she whispered, “I’d love for you to come over and give me the whole assistance package. When?”
The other women were standing not far off but were busy with their own materials and had paid no attention. I had only a moment before they came closer and could hear us. I said, “give me your telephone number and we’ll talk about it more.”
She went back to the machine and finished her copying. When she came away from the machine she handed me a piece of paper. She said loudly, “here’s the paper you wanted copied,” and brushed past me.
I smelled her aroma as I took the paper and closed my eyes. The woman behind me tapped me and said, “are you gonna use the machine? I got lotsa copies to make too.”
My revery was very brief and I went to the machine.
I called that evening from the school, before going home and caught her in. We made a study date for the next evening.
My wife was used to me studying with my class mates so she was not surprised when I told her I was going to study with someone the next evening. But she said, “I have to have the number where you’re going to be because I am very close to my due date.”
She was not as large as a house. She was too short to be a house. But her belly was so distended and tight that it looked like it would burst. So I gave her the number.
But I was not worried. The due date given by the doctor was still two weeks off and I knew my wife tended to be anxious well ahead of anything actually happening.
I was as manic as ever the next day and after school, I drove over to the apartment building of the red headed woman, my books in my hand, just in case we did in fact have to study.
It was a low rise and she rung me in. I walked up to her apartment on the second floor and knocked on her door. She opened the door wearing a loose blouse and very tight jeans.
“Hi,” she said, “come in and make yourself at home on the couch.”
The smell of marijuana hung in the air. There were only one or two lamps for light in an otherwise dark room.
“I was just relaxing,” she said. “Want to have some weed?”
“Sure,” I replied. “I need something to bring me down. I feel almost as high as a kite.”
She came in and sat next to me on the couch and brought out a rolled joint.
“I thought we could share,” she said. “Why so tight?”
“Because I been thinking about tonight. About you and how gorgeous you are.”
She laughed. “You’re pretty cute yourself. I love curly hair and you have those dark brown eyes I can get lost in when I’m talking to you. Here have a toke.”
She said the last after lighting up and taking a drag herself.
I dragged on the joint and took a deep breath. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. I did it again. My head was lying against the back of the couch. She took the joint from my relaxed hands and soon I felt her leaning on me, her breasts pressing against me and her hand on my hip.
I half opened my eyes and looked directly into hers. I surged forward and kissed her. My hands were under her loose blouse running over that smooth white skin. She was French kissing me and I could taste the marijuana in her mouth and pulled her even closer.
She was running her own hands over my thighs and crotch as I caressed her breasts under the blouse. I felt very aroused.
“My god, you’re big,” she exclaimed. “Each of your thighs is bigger than my waist. And I can feel all of you. You feel so good.”
She was unzipping my pants and I was lifting the blouse over her head. She had to stop when I lifted the blouse off her outstretched hands but she returned immediately to my pants, undoing them and pulling them down along with the underwear. Suddenly I sprang erect and we were sitting on the couch like two animals about to attack and devour each other, me with my pants down around my ankles, her with her beautiful breasts staring at me like two eyes.
Then the phone rang. There is one habit I have and I don’t know how I acquired it. I am like Pavlov’s dog. When the phone rings, I pick it up and answer it, no matter where I am. It’s like a compulsion. If I ever try to leave a phone ringing my level of anxiety rises and almost goes through the roof. I cannot bear not to answer the phone. So I answered it this time too.
It was my wife.
“You’ve got to come home right away,” she said.
“What’s the matter?” I asked hoarsely.
“I was taking a bath and my water broke,” she said excitedly. “I’ve got to get to the hospital. But why are you so hoarse?”
“It’s nothing,” I said. “I’ve just had to do a lot of talking today and we study by asking each other questions out loud too. You know how nervous I am about my exams. I must just have strained my voice by accident.”
“Fine, fine,” she said. “But come right home. I have the overnight bag packed already but I need to check everything on my list and we need to get there right away. When are you going to get here?”
I briefly paused. Would I tell her I just had to finish up a bit and try to have sex with this ravishing redhead? Would I opt for a bit of sixty nine? The red headed woman was looking at me with inquisitive eyes, her hands wrapped around my penis and her naked breasts pressing on my thighs.
“Please, please get here. You know how anxious I can get. I want to make sure everything goes well and I can’t take chances. It might hurt the baby.”
That tore it. I pushed myself away from the redhead, took back my penis and stood up. “I’ll be home in twenty minutes,” I said.
I did not have much to say and neither did the red head. I just got dressed and after a perfunctory kiss ran down the stairs, jumped into my car and drove home as quickly as possible.
My son was born the next day. And the three other children my wife has had with me since then have all been born two weeks early.
As for the red head, those perfect lips, those wonderful breasts, the taste of that perfect mouth and the fantastic sensation of her hand on me, they tantalize me and float away from me as I reach for them. What I did not know then and what is now a constant is that these images and sensations are lost in the flux of time and send to me a message from a distance, “you will never have us again.”