Beware of Love in Technicolor (37 page)

“Let’s go to the beach,” I blurted from out of nowhere. I saw him smile.

“Now?” he asked.

“Yeah now,” I laughed. “It’s a beautiful night and I’m not tired.”

Ben pulled the car off to the side of the ride, the gravel spraying out from the tires, pinging against the underside of the car. He put it in neutral and pulled up the brake. Then he looked at me, his hair falling in his face in the half light of a crazy night.

“I can’t stop thinking about that kiss,” he said.

“No?” I asked, looking up and meeting his eyes.

“It was nice.”

“Nice?”

“Nice. We were sort of interrupted.”

“I can do better,” I said, my heart thumping, my hands gripping the seat. “To be honest, I strive for better than ‘nice’ in my kissing.”

He leaned in close, over the center console, and kissed me again. This time I relaxed, knowing it was only him and me in the car, alone on a back road in the dark woods, and this time, that was exactly how it should be. He had a way of placing his hand on the back of my head, his fingers woven gently in my hair, holding me close to him. He smiled as he kissed, which made me giggle softly. He bit my lip gently, scolding, and we laughed and kept kissing.

He pulled away, threw the car into gear, and swung it back onto the road, now heading away from campus.

“Let’s go to the beach,” he said.

***

It was about a twenty minute drive to a sandy stretch of New Hampshire coastline, desolate this early in the spring, not to mention this late at night. It was past 3 am at this point. We were still laughing when he placed the car in park and turned to me. That is one thing I remember most about him. No pressure, never any awkward silences. And all the laughing.

“Race you to the water,” he said, with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Are you serious?” But before I could get my question out, he flung open his door, and sprang out of the car. I followed him, drunk more in wild lust for this man I could only barely get my hands on than any alcohol I may have consumed.

Running across the hard packed sand, the wind whipped and snapped around my head, creating a wild chaos mirroring my thoughts inside. Everything was a swirl, and I was surprised and let out a
whoop!
when Ben caught me up from behind, his arms wrapping around me, swinging me around until he placed me back down on my feet. He turned me into him and placed his lips on mine, and I finally found myself again in the wind and the sand and his arms holding me tight. The waves pounded the shore in an unrelenting rhythm, providing a bass line to the orchestra of sounds swirling around us.

“Take me to your car, or lose me forever,
” I said, as he spun me round and back into him again in the sand. The moon above was a bright half-moon, and there were stars scattered across the sky, tiny, faraway, with wisps of inky black clouds floating by and obscuring their view at times.

“Hell, even I know
Top Gun
,” he said, kissing me hard. “But I will take you.” And he threw me over his shoulder, easy as a ragdoll. I turned off all better judgment and let myself get swept up in the moment, knowing it could not be anything more than casual.

“We don’t have to do this,” he panted,
deftly removing both my jacket and my shirt while kissing me once we were back in his car.

“I want to do this,” I whispered, pulling his t shirt over his head, revealing a six pack worth remembering.

“Thank god,” he laughed, still kissing me as he maneuvered me into a better position in the backseat. He quickly produced a condom and slipped it on quietly, and I calmed down knowing that I did not have to be the one to bring it up.

Perhaps this time it would be easier. There was no pressure to do everything right. I knew Ben wanted me, and that was all I needed to know. In this situation, his intentions did not matter a bit. I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, which meant this was all for fun. 

And you would think, hope, pray, that knowing all this would somehow make a difference. That just the plain fact that Ben could have passed for Brad Pitt’s body double, would make the difference. But it didn’t. Not in the way you are wondering.

“You are so incredible,” he murmured, hovering over me. It had been about five minutes of him on top of me. Twenty year olds. Thankfully, some things do get better with age.

“I have to,” he said, as I nodded and he collapsed next to me in the backseat. I had already put in my
When Harry Met Sally
performance, which seemed to satisfy him.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, sweaty and naughty in the backseat of a nice car with a gorgeous man was great fun. It was the first time I understood all the fuss about size, as nature had been far more kind to Ben than to John. Also unlike John, he was chatty and alert and hungry afterward. But as we drove into the parking lot of the twenty-four hour diner he was dying to introduce me to, I thought of a few more ways Ben was completely unlike John.

John wanted to be good in bed. It had driven him crazy that he could not make me come. He actually thought it had something to do with him, which, as it turns out, it did not. When it came down to it, he put in the time, he put in the effort. And because he was my first, I had no idea just how rare that was going to turn out to be. Maybe it was compensation for the whole size thing, maybe it was just who he was. Ben may have been gorgeous, but perhaps that was what made him a bit lazy between the sheets.

At any rate, I was glad to have more experience
behind me than just one guy. At least now I had something to compare to.

Chapter Twenty-One

With April of my sophomore year drawing to a close, there were some issues that I needed to attend to. First, there was Ben. As attracted as I had been to Ben, once we saw the flirting and innuendo game through to the end that night in the backseat of his car, he lost some of his appeal. The grazing and winking and smiling and groping had been hot, but the sex? Not so much. Maybe it was because of the inconvenience of the setting. But I have since had a number of successful nights in the backseat of a nice car, so I can say from a combination of hindsight and experience, that was not the issue. The end of the game, as it turned out, was anticlimactic in more than one way. We just didn’t have much past a physical attraction, and fun as that was, it only takes a girl so far. We smiled and hugged and were pleasant the few times we saw one another on campus after that night, but I was relieved to know he would soon be off to Mexico during our junior year. That was enough time and space, I figured.

Then there was my major. It was time to pull the plug on my journalism dreams. As much as I loved the vision of wearing designer clothes and working at a glossy magazine somewhere in the sky in Manhattan, I hated journalism.

That is a blanket statement. What I disliked was interviewing people, and as it turns out, that is a pretty important part of being a good journalist. If I could have gotten by sitting in the shadows observing people, I probably would have enjoyed it a lot more.

So I went with straight English. But to be safe, and to balance out the Poetry Writing and Poets of the Romantic Era, I added two business classes. Micro-economics, and consumer behavior. I figured it would give some weight for future employers who might not appreciate the importance of Lord Byron, or rhyming couplets.

“I can’t believe you are bailing on journalism,” Topher said to me one perfectly sunny May morning on the front lawn of the SUB. He was reclined on the grass, hands behind his head, looking up at the clouds. I had to laugh at his hairy bare feet and ankles sticking out from the cuffs of his baggy jeans.

“I don’t like being a journalism major,” I whined. I was sitting upright, watching the flow of students on their way to and from their own lives. The sun felt warm and comforting on my back, but I was annoyed by the novice plucking of guitar strings just behind me. As much as I loved Topher, his newest chippie was getting on my nerves.

P. Denise Jefferies was a year behind us, and from what I could tell, wanted desperately for Topher to acknowledge her existence as more than a friend. She had shown up shortly after my night at the beach with Ben. At first, I was cool with her. She seemed smart and a lot less silly than most girls. But with warmer weather and skimpier clothing, I found she did not shave, which I admit to being creeped out by. So as shallow as it sounds, I found I could only get so close to her. If we differed so profoundly on something as simple as unwanted body hair, I was sure we had other, deeper differences I did not even want to dredge up.

Anyway, she was hanging out on the hill, along with a larger group of patchouli-reeking, barefoot hippies. I sat with my back to them, facing Topher exclusively. I thought about my next order of business.

“Have you thought about where you are going to live next year?” I asked him as I plucked a few blades of fresh grass from the lawn. I sprinkled them on my jeans, then brushed them away.

“Did I just hear you right? Are you looking for a place to live?” Patrick plopped himself down on the grass next to me, his perfect khakis sure to get grass stains, but even more sure to avoid it somehow, mysteriously. He was my preppy, soap-smelling island, and I smiled up at him and his freckled, boyish face.

“Did you find a place?” Topher looked at him hopefully, expectantly, and I realized the two had already been making plans to move off campus next year. I had only just begun to think about it, though I had avoided the dormitory lottery, so I would need to find something. I looked back to the boys.

“I found
the
place” Patrick said, his expression like that of a birthday boy dying to smack the pinata and watch the goods spray over the guests. “We’re looking at it tomorrow.”

Topher raised his right eyebrow and looked at me and then back to Patrick. I giggled and felt the sun on my back and blocked out the guitar plucking and was grateful for the warm spring day. I looked out across the lawn at a couple of shirtless boys playing Frisbee. Sometimes college was just a fantastic place to be.

“Well, I’ve got to go,” I said, standing up and brushing off the backside of my jeans. “I’m going to be late for Brit Lit.”

“I thought you were going to skip with me,” Topher said. I looked over at Denise, and the other, overall clad girls with bandanas holding back their unkempt hair. They were all giggling and singing along, as if they did not look completely ridiculous.

“Yeah,” I said slowly, glancing back at the girls and then winking at him and Patrick. “You guys enjoy that. I’ll catch up with you for dinner. Don’t go without me.” I tossed my black leather backpack over my shoulder and headed off down the hill. An in-depth examination of the lifework of D.H. Lawrence was far preferable to the hot mess behind me.

***

After dinner that evening, I sat on the front steps of Hadley in the fading light of another semester drawing to an end, reading
Sense & Sensibility
. For fun. I was on top of most of my work for finals, and was taking a break from my art portfolio. I was pulled out of my Regency fantasy when I heard the strangely familiar thud of boots hitting the pavement. I snapped my head out of my book in time to see John’s silhouette backlit in the growing darkness. I knew right away by the heavy steps of the towering figure that it was him. I hadn’t noticed the porch light above me come on.

“What are you doing here?” I asked as he approached.

“I was on campus. I thought I’d come by to see if your light was on.”

I craned my neck and looked up at my window on the second floor. It was dark.

“Nope,” I said. I opened my book and pretended to go back to reading.

“Funny,” he snorted.

“Oh, it’s no joke,” I replied. “Why are you really here?”

“I just wanted to see you. Is that so hard to believe?”

“No. But that’s why it’s no joke.”

“Can I sit down?”

“Sure. I was just heading inside,” I stood up and saw how exasperated I was making him. I loved every moment of watching him put a lid on his frustration with me.

“Well, then, can I come inside, and can we talk in your room?”

I know. I should have said no. Should have sent him away. But he had this pathetic, lost dog sort of look to him, and I have always been a sucker for a stray.

“Yeah,” I said reluctantly, inserting my key into the door. “Come in.”

***

So, you and Ben are getting along well now, huh?”
John said to me as soon as we were in the privacy of my room.
That didn’t take long
, I thought. He sat on my bed and started flipping through
Sense & Sensibility
after I dropped it down next to him.

“Nah, that was just sex, me and Ben,” I replied nonchalantly as if it were nothing that  Ben, his roommate and one of his best friends, and I had ripped each other’s clothes off in the backseat of his car only two weeks earlier. “Nobody fucks with my head like you.” I bent down at my fridge, waiting for whatever his response to my statement might be. “You want something to drink?”