romance, mf, series Lurking at the top of the stairs was me. I was slouching in the darkness, my black fedora pulled to just above my eyebrows, dark pea coat humphered around my shoulders and tucked under my butt as I crouched there, on those carpeted stairs, my black hush puppies not making a sound. I had only just taken my gloves off, up there, I'd already knocked on her door bt she was out. Couldn't find a light switch but I knew the place, an old house in an old city in rural Ohio, possibly a two bedroomer to start but addition led to addition and it's a good thing I had known the place, there were half a dozen locations where the floors didn't come together in just the right way and the architect wasn't proud. Just another tiny apartment building, just another place to stuff the students. There was a key at the front door, down there, and that's why I had ducked down and squatted where I was. Christ, what if it's not her? Best way to find out -- wait. The door flew open and she with it, ushering a blast of cold late December air. Her hood was open and over her head, but it was her and not someone else, I knew that. I knew the coat. Green down thing, nasty. She turned to the steps and I said "hi" and she gasped in fright and disbelief and then in joy and wonder and charged up the stairs at me and landed in my outstretched arms. "Woof, careful," I said, holding her and bringing her into my lap, sitting now at the top of the stairs, "remember I was puking sick this morning." "Oh, God," she said, kissing me lightly on the mouth, "how are you?" "I'm fine," I said, taking my hat off and holding it with one free arm, "just a bad gyro or something, ehw, I can still taste the tin foil." "I didn't think you were coming today," she said. "Well, until about ten neither did I, but, you know, I'm in love." "Mm-hm," she said. "How long were you waiting here." "Coincidence," I said, "I just got here. I tried your door." Bright blue eyes set into a pyramid of darkest brown, wavy, frizzy hair. She placed her bowy lips against mine and pressed her tongue into my mouth slightly. I pulled my mouth against hers and breathed a little faster. "I'd like to try your door again," I said. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ December in this last year of the boom-boom eighties. The beginning of the end for the millennium and the start of the closing chapter in my college career. My grandfather was dead and he had told me the meaning of life, and for that I was grateful. It was just this past spring and he was dying and I visited him in Florida and he told me you have to set goals. Life is setting goals and achieving them. You have a larger goal, and you succeed at it by establishing smaller ones in order to attain that final, larger goal. Yes, pretty simple, but it's not "plastics" and you don't have to be in Wall Street or some other form of business to use it, you can be an actor, like me. It's so simple anyone can see it and yet no one my age was doing it. I was twenty-one, in the middle of my fourth year of college, and aware that I would be starting a fifth in order to get done. My grandfather's words of wisdom clued me in to the fact that my present course was just another of the ones I'd been riding since my inception, one of those fated paths of least resistance. Sure, choosing a major in theater might have been considered a little radical to those I'd grown up with in that stifling, fifties era-style suburb I still called home. But it was still college. I was still doing what was expected of me, and once that simple choice was made, I now had a new set of adults to tell me exactly what to do next so I didn't have to think about it at all. My advisor had a whole pre-figured out course of study he sent all of us through in order to keep our minds on performance and not worry about other aspects of theater or business or the world or anything else that might distract us from (or, who knows, improve) the "work". Screw that, I altered the major a little, changed counselors, and made myself learn things, important things, things I might need to know later on, if I intended to carve a life for myself rather than just following a well worn path set before me. And I met Maria. And that was a surprise. After three years of dodging every single possible relationship that sprang up in front of me -- and god knows they were plentiful. I'm an adorable guy. Women love me. I'm cute and talented and I kiss good. But I was terrified of being hurt again. The single important relationship I'd ever had in my life, one that spanned the decade, from first yearnings at the age of twelve to losing my virginity five years after to the final break, the moment I let go, see ya, I'm on my own now and don't expect any more phone calls, it was finally dead and buried, and only since March. I was complete. I lived alone in a basement apartment with one bedroom, one bed, ceilings that towered three inches above my six foot head and I liked them that way. Sure I had my nocturnal visitors, the whole summer of 1989 I was getting laid all the time, but in the morning they went away and I could just lie there or walk calmly and proudly, naked, all the way from the bedroom, through the kitchen to the shower and use up all the hot water. And nights when I was on my own, a balmy summer's eve let's say, with Joe Jackson on the stereo, all the lights out and just past dusk, napping in my underwear, the alley light shining through the blinds, casting sexy shadows on the tee vee, the couch, the wide bay doors which divided the bedroom and the living room (but were never closed) and on me. Half-awake now, I would hear the murmur of voices from the back patio of the bar across the alley, wafting through the open window with the fragrant night air, part sweet summer mist, part dumpster. Cool jazz. Hot night. I stood and walked to the window. "It's late," J.J. sang, "I'm winding down. Am I the only one..?" And for the first time in my young adult life I actively noticed I was happy to be me. Just me. I had been happy to be me and someone else before and that was nice, too. But to be alone and know it's okay. I knew also that if I needed company, I could step out onto the street, walk for a block or so and run into someone I knew, or check out a few bars within reach or there was always the set or a movie -- but to know I could just sit in peace, alone with my thoughts, and that that could be enough...well, it was new, it was different, it was so alien and wonderful. But as I was saying, I met Maria. And I don't think I could have without this transformation. Years and years of hiding and ducking, yes love is wonderful but responsibility sucks and I was always too fucking immature. But I changed, I was riding higher and taller and I had opened a new door and the first person to step in was Maria, nineteen and bright, a stunning young woman, taking time off from that expensive private school she'd spent her freshman year at to make some money and ride tuition free at this huge state university that employed her father. A professor's kid. That same professor who'd written a rather rude (but completely deserved) letter to the editor of the paper I wrote for criticizing my work as "politically incorrect", whatever that means. I had met Maria a few months before, or even perhaps a few years before -- I was always coming into contact with a variety of high school students who either got involved in projects that crossed over to the university, or through other college students, students who grew up in town and had introduced me. She may have even been at a party or two in the last apartment I'd lived in, I knew her old boyfriend anyway. But I knew her by name only just recently. Thad, a good friend, also a theater student, and I went to visit our friends in Danielsboro, Kentucky, who were involved in an outdoor production called "Daniel Boone was a Man" or some such nonsense, one of those dramas involving lots of horses and square dancing and pretty white views of American history. Lots of our friends were playing the part of "Injuns" and had to shave all of their body hair off, paint themselves dirt color and got to grunt a lot. On our way home, an eight hour journey in Thad's lovely air-conditionless rusty old tub of a car, we had a lot of time to just talk and more often than not the conversation was little blue. "So," Thad said, "have you looked over 'Balm in Gilead'?" "That's the undergrad show?" I asked. "Yeah." "No." "I'm auditioning for the part of Dopey," he said, "he's a heroin addict." We were cruising along state road 555 in Suthuhn Ohiyah, windows open full blast, hot air on our faces, sitting in the same T-shirts we'd slept in. Thad was at the wheel and I had just finished fiddling with my banged up wee tape deck, god it was good for how literally dented the exterior was. The plastic was cracked and every little piece of metal was scratched and bent but it was nice and loud and tinny. Thad's old wreck didn't even have FM but I had mix tapes of all sizes and colors. "Sounds great," I said, "Can I tell you something funny?" "No," he said, "no, not funny." "Fuck you, it's, I feel a little odd, you know, it's personal." "No, not personal," Thad said. "Come on, you can tell me anything." "Did I apologize for picking up Vera?" I asked. "Oh forget about that," he said, "and give me another cigarette." I looked at him wide and strange. "You're out already?" "Already?" "You bought two packs at that gas station yesterday." "Yes," Thad said, "and I spent the night with a bunch of broke and sad actors." "I see." "I'm a charitable guy." "Yes you are," I said, and fished out two sticks from the already ratty pack I had planted in the cracked door-side armrest. "And besides, how many have you had today?" Thad asked. I reached into my pocket and found a pack of matches. "Mom, I'm telling a story." "I'm sorry." "It has pussy in it." "Tell your story." I stretched out, reaching behind me with interlocked hands, touching the roof a few feet behind me. My face was slick with sweat and my hair a bobbed blond mop, ratty from filth. No shower this morning and I hate that. "Beth," I began, "you knew I was fucking Beth?" Big sigh from Thad. "Yes, I knew you were fucking Beth, Jesus Christ you know how to hurt a guy." I looked surprised. "You like Beth." I cupped my hands and leaned into my own lap in a desperate attempt to light my ciggie in the gale force highway winds. It was a triumph. "Oh you are mean, tell your fucking story." "Don't raise your voice at me." "Tell your fucking story." "Do you know your lighter doesn't work?" "Tell your fucking story." "So," I said, turning my body slightly so I could look at him better, one knee up on the wide, single, old-style front seat, "she was going on about how shy she is." "Shy?" "You know, the first time we kissed she needed the lights out." "She's got bad acne," Thad observed. "You think she's cute," I said rather defensively. "I'm just saying." "She has got bad acne. Anyway, so she's over the other night, and it's hot, and we're watching Cure videos and the blue light from the tee vee is just painting the walls --" "You are killing me." "-- uh-huh, and we're kissing and I ask if she wants to fuck and she's like, she doesn't know and I'm like, well, do you fuck and she says, yes she had but she doesn't know if she can trust me and I say, I'm not asking her to trust me I'm asking her to fuck me --" "You didn't say that." "-- maybe I didn't, I'm saying it now, though, but we crawl from the couch to the bed --" "Why did you bother?" "-- why did? Because the couch is right in front of a window, you don't really want to hear this do you?" "Keep going," Thad said, "I am piqued." "That's what she said." "Ha." "So anyway, I've got her all nude and everything on my bed -" "How are her tits?" Thad asked. "-- how are? They're nice, so everything --" "Nice? They're nice? She has this killer cleavage." "-- yes, killer, I'm not talking about tits here, I am, I am trying to talk about fucking. You are talking about tits." "You know who I really like?" "You aren't interested in this story at all, are you." "I am." "I would like to know who you really like, though." "I will tell you later." "You won't change your mind about whoever she is?" "I will not change my mind," Thad reassured me. "So it's not going well. Her cunt, I dunno, it was too small or something --" "Oh you'd like people to believe that." "-- and anyway, it was just not going well at all, it was uncomfortable and she said she wasn't sure if she could really do this, she said she wasn't really any good and anyway, she's shy, and I'm trying to calm her down and my dick is just straining against the latex here --" "Ah safe sex, I was gonna ask." "Why do you care?" "Because I love you." "Oh," I said, "that's sweet. Well, you know, these are the eighties and all, it's a matter of life and death." "Thank you, George Michael." "Don't you bad mouth George." "Please go on." "Well, this is the thing, so she lifts her legs above her fucking head! She just traps them behind her arms, outta nowhere, whoom, her feet are behind the fucking headboard, her navel is almost touching her own breasts and her cunt has become this wide open enormous gash, it's like five feet wide now and she looks up at me, and I'm gawking over the thing, and she says, will this help?" Thad stopped in mid-drag to stare at me with incredulity for a long, dangerous, eyes off the road moment, and then began guffawing in the most athsmatic manner. I just grinned. "I thought you'd like that," I said. "Shy?" he asked. "Very shy." "Oh my god! So then what did you do?" "I got fucking laid, Thad, I humped her 'til I bled, what do you think I did." "Jesus. That's great." "That's just sex, Thad." "You know who I like?" "She does this groovy thing with her tongue." "Who?" "Beth." "You know who I like?" "Who?" "Do you know Maria Butler?" "No." It was the first time I'd heard her name. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Oh, Maria Butler," I whispered softly into her ear. Late December, and I was pushing myself slowly into her. She bared her teeth and hissed slightly, drawing in a sharp breath. "Huh?" I asked, "Is, are you okay?" I leaned up a little, up on my hands, I looked into her concerned face. "S'nothing, ah," she said, and the tension in her brow softened and relaxed. I began pumping a little faster, but it didn't seem to be going well. "Huhn," she said, "I love you." "Mmnf," I said, "yes, I love you, too, I'm so glad to see you." I was rocking my pelvis into hers, curving my spine my rest my mouth on one of her large nipples. "Could I be on top?" she asked. "Ha," I chuffed, "I love it when a woman asks me that." We fumbled around each other on that bed, not too wide, a single person's bed for a single young woman. The curtains were closed, it was dark in her room and I didn't know where the edge of the bed was. I lay back, pinching skin, and she hopped up on top of me, mighty thighs straddling my wide hips, I put my hands onto her tiny waist and slid them up to her happy little tits. "God I love that," she said, "yes, squeeze them." She put me inside of her and made that face again. "Okay?" I asked. "Mmn, yes," she said, "it's better now." And we began rocking in time. Her time. It was better. I was never very good at coming on the bottom, but now I was. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ An hour later Maria was packing large amounts of her things into a bag and I was put my loafers back on, getting ready to walk the half mile back to my apartment to get my car. It was the first moving day and we would be starting slow. "Have you told your folks yet?" I asked, putting on my huge coat. "No," she said, futzing with some shoes, "not yet." "But you will, right?" I asked. "I mean, soon?" "Yes, soon." "Today would be nice." "There's a rush?" "Yes," I said, sitting close to her on the bed. "Because I have already told my parents you're moving in, and you know, news travels fast." "The length of the state?" "It's a small state." "It's not that small," she said. "What did they say about it?" "Well, only Mom was home at first, and she said she knew this would happen and did we need anything to fix up the place with." Maria stopped what she was doing to look at me with a confusing smile. "She didn't." "You don't know my mother. Dad called when he got home to give his congratulations." Maria shoved a handful of undies into the side-pocket of a suitcase. "You'd think we were getting married." "Oh, no," I said, "too oon. We've only been together two months. I told them that would be at least another two." Maria just laughed.