A Fictional Interlude from the Vault

I normally write a few columns ahead, but I’ve been so busy lately I used up my entire buffer and thus found myself with nothing for today.  On top of that, my husband is leaving on an extended business trip tomorrow so my readers will understand if I want to spend as much time as possible with him today.  So, I’m publishing a story I wrote way back in 1985; I don’t recall what part of the year it was, but I suspect it was before my birthday so I was 18 when I wrote this and my first official trick was only a few months in the past (see my column of July 29th).  The protagonist of this story definitely isn’t a professional; she’s just a plain old university slut.  Also, note the obvious period references, which I hope don’t date it too badly!  I hope y’all enjoy this peek at my immature writing style, and I promise things will be back to normal tomorrow.

Greek God

It was on an uncomfortably warm, muggy day in late December that she met him, standing across the room from her with a chicken salad finger sandwich in one hand and a glass of punch in the other – standing there talking to some little air-head from the philosophy department.  He looks like a Greek god, she thought, with that body and that hair and that smile.  Like a damned Greek god.

As she stared, trying not to be obvious, his eyes caught hers, and he smiled, the kind of smile that someone who knows exactly what one is thinking has.  He looked only for a few seconds, then turned his gaze back to the blonde with the hyperactive anatomy.  She went over to Claire (the secretary from Liberal Arts) and asked who he was, and was informed that he was one of the graduate students in literature – Ancient European, she thought, or Ancient Near East, something like that.  Did she want to be introduced?  Claire wanted to know.  No, that was all right; she wanted to do everything herself this time.  That way, if she screwed it up, she would have only herself to blame.

After considering the best way to approach the matter for several minutes (during which time she consumed three and a half deviled eggs, two cheese crackers and a Diet Coke), she decided that he looked like the kind of no-nonsense guy who would appreciate the direct approach.  About this time, Miss Peroxide excused herself to go to the “little girls’ room,” probably because that dress of hers left very little room for bladder expansion.  This was just the opening she was looking for, so she swallowed, quickly smoothed her hair, and began to ease over; she almost stopped, however, when he turned directly toward her just as she began to move in his direction.  Instead, she answered his smile and continued on.

Things became infinitely more difficult when she reached him, because he said nothing; he just stood there, looking at her with a stare that cut right through her.  It made her feel positively naked, and scared her a little as well.  It wasn’t that she had never been naked in front of a man before; this was different.  His stare made her feel naked not only to him, but to everyone else in the room as well.  It was as though he knew her desire for him already, and was letting everyone else in the room know it, too.  The strangest part about it was, it didn’t matter to her.

After what seemed an eternity she heard herself utter a salutation, followed by some kind of stupid crap about not knowing what to do or say at these functions.  He just laughed a delightful laugh and replied that one didn’t need to do anything except be here and be seen to be here.  Politics, he said.  After that, he started asking polite social questions which some part of her answered and returned, while the bulk of her mind was busy taking in the sound of his voice and the way it so perfectly fit in with the rest of him.

Fit.  Fit.  It was that word which stuck in her mind until she realized why – realized while he talked about the space shuttle or Nicaragua or something like that – realized that he didn’t fit here.  He seemed totally out of place in this room, totally out of place even in this world.  There was something… unearthly about him, although she couldn’t place just what it was.  It wasn’t his Greek-god looks or his hypnotic voice or anything like that; it was more like an aura about him, the way he carried himself.  He seemed as though he had simply popped into the world from somewhere else, or sprung full-grown from the Earth.  He seemed only a visitor to this world, someone passing through it rather than one who was limited only to the confines of its space.

The effect, she realized after a few moments, was like that of the human guest star on The Muppet Show; an absurd idea, but one which she felt held a basic truth.  He seemed to share some private joke with himself, as though he could see the puppeteers moving below everyone else, leaving him as the only free agent.  It seemed almost sinful for him to be here, like throwing pearls before swine.  It was sinful to trap someone like him in this kind of situation, to force him to engage in the trite, polite, required social conversation that he was at that moment engaged in.  But was he actually being forced, or was it merely his game?  Perhaps he accepted the conventions for some unknown purpose of his own.

She abruptly realized that he had stopped speaking and was simply watching her again; she also realized that she had been standing there, saying absolutely nothing, for perhaps a full minute.  She mumbled an apology, but he just smiled and shrugged.  At some point the blonde had returned, giggling at some inane joke she had just been told by one on the professors.  Luckily she had to go to work or something,  and after giving him her number and being told that his was in the book, she made eyes at him one more time and left.  His eyes then returned to those of his quieter companion.  She realized that this was a perfect lead-in.  Was he going anywhere? she wanted to know, and was told that he wasn’t; not anywhere in particular, at least.  He was easily talked into going down to the local burger joint for early dinner.

He had an amazing appetite, which rather surprised her; he was trim and didn’t seem to have the room to put all that.  She usually resented people who could put away three times as much food as she did and never gain a pound, but this was different; it was almost as if he was trying to sample as many different things as possible because he was unused to them, and he seemed to enjoy the greasy fast food as much as one would the fare at an expensive restaurant.  They took their time, not leaving until it was almost sunset, and their conversation continued as he climbed into her compact car and wedged his knees up against the dashboard.  Since it was obvious he was comfortable and in no hurry, she decided that she would simply drive back to her place without any further discussion.

When they got to the complex, he got out and walked with her to her apartment as though it were the most natural thing in the entire universe; after she unlocked the door he opened it, closing and latching it behind them as though he had done it many times before.  He then sat down in the big chair and remarked on what a nice place she had, asked if the rent was reasonable, and other such typical small-talk.  She asked if he wanted something to drink, and he just nodded without asking what she had; after what she had seen in the restaurant she wasn’t surprised.  He would probably be happy with whatever she gave him, but she decided against giving him alcohol; it seemed wrong to offer him such a Muppet beverage.

After turning on the TV set to some dumb program simply to have background noise, she kicked off her shoes, claimed she was going to change into jeans, and went off to the bathroom while he watched the show (or at least pretended to).  She sat down on the side of the tub and turned over and over in her mind how she could seduce him without coming off as a complete slut, then realized that he had already formed his opinion of her and nothing she could do now was going to change it any.  Accordingly, she changed into a short silk robe with two Chinese dragons on the back, brushed her teeth and hair, fixed her face and sprayed on her best perfume (all as quickly as possible), then returned to the living room.

It was growing dark, but she did not turn on the lights; the flickering television glow and spillover from the bedroom was sufficient for her purposes.  She sat on the carpet near his feet and smiled at him; he returned the smile and said it was always fascinating to watch a serious student turn back into a woman.  She soon found her hand in his, and her heart raced as he drew her up into his lap.  She wasn’t sure if he kissed her first or if it was her idea, but it hardly mattered; they kissed passionately and before she was entirely aware of what was going on they were in her bed and his hands and mouth were exploring her naked body, the robe having somehow not made it that far.

Eventually, he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots, then stood up to undress.  As she gazed at his physique silhouetted in the bathroom light, she thought to herself once more how good-looking he was.  Like a damned Greek god.  Then he dropped his pants to the floor, and a scream froze in her throat as she realized just how right she had really been all along.

He just smiled and idly tapped his right hoof on the bedroom floor.