January 22, 1989
The parsonage bustles with energy - in the other room. Nick hadn’t wanted to tag along. His mom said everyone would be so glad to see him. Maybe so, but life is not always a two way street. It’s a good sized house on a corner, boxy and practical, probably the first dwelling plotted out in the development, 4 bedrooms, three up, one down plus a little den which served as a study which is where Nick sprawled out in a Naugahyde chair.
He didn’t exactly have a headache but more of a leave-me-alone ache. Maybe it was the cold weather wearing out its welcome. He could care less about the game and was surprised anyone around here did now that the Bears had fallen out again. They had arrived a little too early as usual and Irene found her place in the kitchen, his dad plopped on the couch in front of an enormous bowl of Lays chips standing ready for untold wintery hands. Nick stood around as they all banter over the pregame commentary, then remembered there was a better option.
The past few weeks have been mostly spent diving into circuit projects and homework, holiday break was restful even with Tim back a few days, sleeping in, time at the bench, listening to whatever. Hadn’t talked to Danni in a while, she’s plenty busy, he could call but doesn’t. Vance made second string varsity hoops, Nick and Ned actually made it to a couple games so far, hell, it’s an excuse to take off work.
At the beginning of school year the principal held a quick assembly and shared an observation, that students tend to mature quite a bit over the summer between sophomore and junior, and maybe he was starting to settle into himself more, less need to socialize, or pretend to want to.
No one had thought to look for him yet and he nearly dozes off, then a female voice,
“Oh hi, didn’t see you there...is there a bathroom upstairs?”
Slender, light blond, thirty-ish and wearing a long blue dress, light makeup and hair in a clip with an aire of intelligent sophistication, at least in her own way. She has a sharp nose, distinctive cheekbones with bright countenance, looking around with purpose, gives the vibe of a free-spirited art tutor, absorbing world around her as she goes.
“Yep, it’s right up there I think.” Actually there should be one downstairs but he’s a deer in the headlights.
She starts up and looks back at him, with a captivating, ethereal smile that lingers just for a second as she ascends,
“Will you be kind enough show me?”
Without thinking, Nick hops up and follows her, noting just a hint of perfume that is not familiar, some hairspray, mixed with what must be her own essence, which hints she has had an active day.
Next thing he knows he is beholding her in the bathroom’s night light, she’s facing the window while holding up the back of her dress, exposing nothing but tender porcelain skin. As he gains his wits she softly gasps, “Please.”
He takes a breath and locks the door behind him, leaving the lights off.
Things seem to be moving in automatic, as if this was all scripted and he, or they, are just playing the roles. He takes another breath and she leans forth and pulls the dress over her head, as if to reinforce the invitation. He puts his hands on her arms, fearing his hands may be cold, but then slides them down her sides to her bare hips. She reacts slightly and he detects chillbumps on her buttocks, at first taught and pursed together, the kind that some may consider too flat, but they are wonderful and quickly give way to a long set of slender pins which magically bring the action a convenient height.
Urgency kicks in, his pulse races, for all kinds of reasons, then he looks at the bathroom counter and finds a huge jar of Vaseline with no lid, seems like it would hold a gallon, maybe the pastor’s wife uses it on her face like in that commercial, but who cares now. He undoes his pants and hears her draw a breath.
With a practiced motion he has his part lubed up, a part which is now characteristically semi-erect, then he thinks it best to prime the target. Left hand spreads the cheek and right hand glazes the donut, she relaxes her buttocks, draws a deep breath and whispers “ohhh”.
With his trousers at his ankles he is still able to crouch just enough to get things lined up; he inserts slowly in an attempt to be kind, she seems relaxed and receptive, it’s quiet enough to hear the slurp. He is both alarmed and intrigued by her intimate scents.
Nick tries to make mental notes of the first time being in, not quite what he imagined, but not about to complain. It's so warm, the walls are very silky - as a dolphin’s skin? And - once he gets all the way there it’s as though is something touching the very tip. He draws back slowly. She whispers “faster”.
He speeds up just a little, a hand on each hip. As they start to settle into a rhythm he realizes she has started to massage around the front and moves her head about, gasping. He realizes he can explore so he reaches for a breast, small, but firm, and shrouded by a conveniently thin brassiere, massaging it slightly, finding the nipple, wanting to reach beneath her dress but it appears there won’t be time.
He senses a moist palm on his sack, and the light scratch of her nails was too much. Not since that weird Sunday morning dream back in junior high had he exploded as this, as he’d sprouted a roman candle.
He didn’t even have to withdraw since as soon as his leg cramp set in it just slithered out and dripped everywhere. She was the first to reach for the toilet paper to clean up, he did the same, and she went ahead and flushed both versions as he got himself put back together.
She draws near and pecks him on the corner of his mouth and whispers “Thank you so much”, then reaches for the door. Nick ducks behind the shower curtain just in case and she closes the door behind her. His rubbery legs almost give out so he just leans for a minute, takes a breath, and tries to decide whether this really happened.
Sometimes bravado takes the back seat. Sometimes the reasons aren’t so clear. This is not a time to think. That Deep Purple song started in his head and he has to grin, you know it’s non-confronting...it’s not against the law.
After a few more deep breaths he is certain there is no one else on this floor, so he takes a quick peek out the bathroom door to an introvert’s favorite sight, desolate space. He flips on the lights to become a legitimate occupant and washes his hands, naturally taking a quick sniff of the earthy aroma, surprisingly pleasant given what he had touched. He thought about cleaning up his lucky friend but that would have to wait.
He heads out into the hallway and back the way he’d ascended, this time alone, and quite relieved. At about two steps from the bottom he realized she may still be here, doubted it, but could be. With nothing to lose he plopped back in the chair and resumed his restful state.
But rest would not come. During the encounter he briefly wondered what kind of music she liked, maybe New Wave. Depeche Mode came to mind. He has to go look.
The main living room contained the expected crowd, mostly yapping and some staring the TV you can’t hear, since there were no Cincy or Frisco jerseys worn here it was more about the “fellowship”. He took a peek in the kitchen and there were a gaggle of ladies deep in their own world, but none in a long blue dress. Somehow he couldn’t picture her mixed in with that cackling flock. The bowl of chips is notably lower on one side, most folks have scooped them into red Solo cups to consume. Smart. His legs are a tad less wobbly now but this is definitely all real.
They don’t stay past halftime, and his folks could care less who performs. On the way home Irene asks Nick where he’d been, safely out of view in the back seat he was able to grin, just as he had in the bathroom and mutter “oh just hiding”. Tempting as it is to ask his parents if they had met or seen the woman in the blue dress...nah, too easy to open a can of worms. Nick figures he can always talk to Deke if he has to, should light come to this, yet, it feels too much like a gift, not the kind that one looks in the mouth.
That same Deep Purple record has a title track, albeit in a different context, we must remain...perfect strangers. He’s pretty sure she was a sister or acquaintance of someone and on the way out of town, or such and such.
Ned had successfully predicted the Niners’ win before the start of the 2nd half, for what it’s worth.
Finally back at base camp, Nick decides to inspect the scene down there. It’s surprisingly clean, still glazed, he can smell all the fluids involved, then with just one speck of dark matter, an encrusted gem right on the hood. After staring at it he decides he has to, it’s the only thing he has to remember and prove to himself, he finds a folded paper towel and wraps it up carefully and puts it in the Trotters box. It was also a good thing his t-shirt was not much longer, but he’ll need to pre-soak the underwears before they can go into the laundry, but no harm done. Some things have gotten a lot more discreet since his brother joined the Army. As he showers he feels more complete than he ever has.
Anything is possible.
*****
A few weeks later a card appeared on the little table in the church foyer, with the name in an elegant female’s writing, “Mr. Nicholas Swanson”
Irene brought it to him at home on one of the first warm days of the year, beaming, “well it looks like you have an admirer” and pecks him on the cheek as she does.
The envelope is a deep mauve. After a meticulous incision with a picket knife along the edge of the envelope he finds the card is a watercolor of a bo-peep type girl in a blue dress. His blood goes cold.
Flipping it over he finds no markings as with a Hallmark or American Greetings, just blank stock. Back to the front, it’s very possible the card was hand made, and if so, very well done. It would seem the envelope is also homebrew.
After another deep breath, he looks inside. From a different hand than the envelope,
“You are a gentleman. I do not know your name, nor can you know mine. You surprised and invigorated me, and I shall never forget you.”
It rushes back in a flood, so many questions, so many things to say, and not sure he’d be able to remember any of them if given the chance. He had touched humanity at its rawest and found such a precious gift of unfathomable wonder and beauty. So much left to the imagination.
He looks at it for a few minutes then carefully stows it in the Trotters box.