Restless, I check my mail for the hundredth time. Nothing. I should just get to work, but I stare at the computer screen. Nothing. It's PMS, I tell myself, nothing new about that. I walk downstairs to see if Wynnie is in her office. The office is empty and I don't need to try the door of her lab to know it's locked. I'll just go outside for a bit, walk it off. It's only after the fact that I realize that I don't see what is around me. I just keep walking. He says I have a short, fast gait. I call it my cocker spaniel walk, to keep up with my taller friends. He's not much taller, but he strolls, using as much gait as God was willing to give him. He's not with me now, so I patter along, taking a direct path to nowhere in particular. A pretty young undergraduate smiles at me as I pass, I remember just in time to respond in kind. Do I know her? Was she a student? It doesn't matter, silly, she was just being nice. Maybe I was looking stressed? Well, then maybe you should just lighten up a little, huh? I can't wait to get this stupid dissertation done. I decide to sit on a bench that faces toward the university green and watch the students walk past. I have to think about keeping my legs closed. Not only did I wear a dress, I didn't wear any underpants. I've been feeling sensitive down there. The fresh air feels good. What I need is to go home and tire myself out with a nice orgasm, or two, or eight. It's definitely PMS. I'd call him, but he has to work. Besides, he's on this Christian kick, he wants to live a chaste lifestyle. I don't know how long I can hold out. Is it really worth it? Maybe I should give up and run errands. I'm never going to get any work done. Might as well be productive on some level. I walk back to the building, I should be enjoying the sunshine, but it doesn't sink in. It's October and the oppressive heat is gone. I can't even imagine living in the weather up North anymore. I press the button for the elevator and find I'm too impatient for even that. I walk over to the stairs and take them slowly. Everything feels like it's a bother. Shit, Charles is in the office, he's going to want to talk about work. What do I say? My hormones are on overdrive and I haven't gotten a lick done the past few days? Fortunately, he doesn't seem in the mood to talk. Maybe he hasn't accomplished much either. Small comfort. I walk to the parking lot. The walking is helping. I see a former student and we talk, they smile and talk about getting accepted to med school. They seem happy to have run into me, which is gratifying since I was just a TA for one of the big weed-out courses. It's a nasty job but someone has to do it. We walk together to the lot by the medical center. I look around for my car. Then I remember I found a spot in the commuter lot right across the street from the lab. Shit. It's late afternoon and it's getting hot as I walk back, I can smell myself without the panties. I wonder if anyone else can. That would be so embarrassing, but I could bathe several times a day during this time and still that aroma between my legs would be strong. It's not a dirty smell, but a sexual one, I'm pretty sure... I get to the car and I drop my umbrella as I look for my keys in my purse. Then I stand up and drop my keys. Geez! I bend over again, suddenly aware that I might be exposing my backside to anyone that's looking. I stand up suddenly, pulling the skirt down. I look behind me and see a man turn away quickly. I see him blush as the heat rises up from my own neck. Oh well, what are you going to do? A quick thought runs through my head, suggesting that I knew exactly what I could do. Yearite, that only happens in stories... In stories, they don't tell you that the increased sex drive is accompanied by all these nasty side effects that make you completely unattractive to the opposite sex, like bloating and irritability. Actually, retaining water also affects one's state of mind. It's like having 'water on the brain,' which is why women get easily confused and irritable. I compare women with PMS with Grandpa Simpson... 'Leave me alone!' 'That's not funny!'... 'I don't understand...' We cry in plaintive tones, never getting the joke. I'll be glad when Aunt Flow finally comes to visit. I let out a breath when I get in my car. The only space I can truly call my own right now. Please, God, let me graduate and get a real job. Don't get me wrong, I love my roommates, you couldn't ask for better. I need more space that is just mine, that's all. I turn the key and the engine turns over... thank you, thank you, thank you. It's getting old and all my spare money is going into repairs. Please let me get out of this place. Please give me my brain back so that I can work, so I can get on with my life. I find myself in the grocery store parking lot. I can't even remember driving there. I get out and walk inside the air conditioned building, unlike my car. It's too cold now. My nipples crinkle up so tight they hurt. Maybe I should just relax and enjoy it, instead of fighting it. In a grocery store? Why not? Let 'em wonder what you're smiling about. I take a cart and begin walking down the aisles. I don't know what to buy, I've lost my appetite and nothing appeals to me. This was a mistake. I can't even remember what I have in my refrigerator. Just walk, just try to relax. I leave the store empty handed. Maybe I can get some costuming stuff done before rehearsal tonight. The thrift shops should still be open at this hour, so I brave the afternoon rush hour to get to the old part of town. I have one eye on the TEMP light or worse, the CHECK ENGINE light. My car doesn't like idling in the heat. I've got a new alternator but you never know. I visit the Salvation Army, Friends of the Library, and the little second hand stores up and down Main Street. I search and dig and none of it is really 'period.' Just a bunch of cheap, graceless stuff from the '80's. If I could find anything with any character, I would buy it for future use... if I could afford to lay out the cash... I find a hat and an interesting prom dress that could be modified. Not too bad. I drive to the theatre, I feel so tired when I get in. I can't do anymore tonight. I tell the producer; he's not thrilled because we don't have much time left. I tell him he has me for the weekend, I promise. He seems satisfied. I call my boyfriend. I've started calling him that for lack of a better term. When the tow truck came for my car the last time, I said I needed to wait for my boyfriend. Once you start using the word, it's hard to go back. I tell him I'm done here. Can I come over to his place? Sure, he was done with bible study. Bible study. Oh, I think to myself, that's great, my man's restraint strengthened by a will greater than our own. I've tried to respect his choice, but it's difficult, oh so difficult. He's moved to a new apartment, I've only been there a few times. I ask him to give me directions again, but in the dark I lose my way. I turn and back track and become angry with myself. Why can't they light the streets better in this one-horse town? I wander at this intersection of three streets knowing that I have to take the second left from somewhere. I finally turn into the ABC liquor store and call him from the pay phone. I'm at the ABC, where do I go? Keep going from the direction you came... I don't know which direction I came from! I'm all turned around... Well, where is Rte number...? That's on my left... Okay then go to your right and take the first right past the Little Champ. Okay... and then I can find it. I'm sorry I snapped at you... I drive up to his apartment. I knock and hear him say, Come on in. It's dark and there are candles and soft music is playing. I see his shadowy form nestled in the recliner. I close the door. I'm sorry I snapped at you on the phone. It's okay. It's PMS, it's the evil ovary this month. Huh? Some months it's worse than others, I'm sorry for being like this. Just sit down with me for a while, relax. He moves to the sofa. I nestle against him and let his warmth sink into me. I've never had a fondness for new age music, but the quiet melodies wash over me gently, slipping through the brambles that abrade my spirit. He strokes my hair over and over. He brushes his fingertips across my cheek and my neck. I am unaccustomed to any man's tenderness and his is overwhelming. He rubs my arm, up and down, light enough to arouse me but heavy enough to transmit warmth and comfort to me. I am indeed aroused but not excited. I lift my head to let him kiss me, and immerse what's left of my drowsy attention in his full, soft lips. These are not invasive kisses, it is clear that is not his intention. This evening is not about what he desires, I can see. He does not tell me of his temptations, perhaps they would be strengthened if he gave them voice. I have not asked him what he dreams of doing, I have lured him too far and too often before. I stretch out, wanting to press my body against his. He accommodates me, but only briefly. Instead, he kneels beside the sofa and lays his head between my breasts, his torso rests on my belly and hip. His arms are wrapped around me and it's unclear whether the comfort is given or received. I am beyond caring. But... When all is still, I feel the restlessness build within me. It's not fair, he's worked so hard to soothe me. I have an ungrateful mind to continue whirring and clicking. I move to stand up, stand away from him. I don't deserve this beautiful, lavish attention if I'm just going to continue tapping my fingers or grinding my teeth. I look at him, he's so calm... he's almost asleep. I'd be better off going home and masturbating until I fall asleep myself. He walks up to me and brushes my hair from my face. His hands rest on my shoulders and his heat softens me a little more. He rubs my arms again, he seems willing to repeat this nurturing ritual for as long as necessary. I circle my arms around this extraordinary man and let him squeeze the tension out of me. I ask for a backrub and I stretch out on the carpeting. My skirt rides up and I feel foolish knowing that I'm only inches away from showing my bare bottom. I sense a gentle tug pulling my dress lower on my thighs. I guess he noticed the skirt as well. We're an odd couple, the two of us. Sitting beside me, not over me, he begins rubbing the palm of his hand over my back, like one would to settle a child down. He takes his time, massaging my shoulders, kneading up and down my spine. My body finally gains substance and the heaviness of imminent slumber. I let him continue to caress my arms just like at the beginning. That was nice, I tell him, thank you. We return to the sofa to cuddle, his head at my breast. I run my fingertips over his short hair. I hear him begin to snore softly. The weight of him on top of me brings to my attention my unsatisfied arousal. I consider returning to my apartment, but I'm too tired to drive. I recall a self-designed exercise I used as an undergraduate to fall asleep and soon follow my companion into the darkness. In the morning, there was a light blanket over me and I heard a familiar soft snore from the direction of the bedroom. I wrote a quick note and drove home. I finally satisfied my desires in the shower before heading to work. You may wonder at my choices, staying with a man who wants to save himself for marriage. But if made to choose between sex and nights like that, what would you do?