Getting Down at Brown Ch. 03

"Max, do you have any particular ideas about Spring Break?"

I'd been a few weeks since Sheila and I had moved from being roommates to lovers, and, to me, life had been just perfect. What I had feared most, that us getting together romantically would destroy the relationship we'd slowly developed as friends, hadn't happened. Now, we were close, in a way I never realized before was possible, but we were still best friends, helping each other, being with each other, having just regular fun as well as romance. Spring Break started on Saturday, March 25th, just a couple weeks away, but I hadn't been thinking about it at all.

Well, that's not quite true. I had worried that Sheila and I would be apart for those nine days, and I didn't like that idea at all. A lot of college kids head for Florida for Spring Break, and I guess that it would be awesome to go with Sheila, but Brown is a pricey school, and I didn't see any way to afford that.

"Not really," I replied. "What about you?"

"Well, before I met you, I just went home on Spring Break. If I change that now, my folks will know that something's changed. But, you know what, I'm ready to tell them what's happened, and, assuming that they don't flip out, I'd like for you to come up to Maine with me for Break."

"Think that they'll flip out?" I'd only met her parents briefly, before and after Christmas Break, and while I guess that I'd recognize them again, I didn't even remember their names.

"I don't know. They never said anything when my brothers brought girls home, but I'm their little girl, and that might be different. My mom did ask if you were my boyfriend, before Christmas, and I'd told her no. But I'm pretty sure that they'll like you."

"Even after I've violated their daughter?"

Sheila just busted out laughing. "Violated? Oh, you big brute, having ravished me so," she mocked. But her mockery got me another kiss, as I knew it would; she seems to find almost any excuse possible to kiss me, and I sure didn't mind.

"We going to have to sleep apart?" I could picture her parents enforcing that in their own home.

"Well, there would be room, since Don, my older brother, probably won't be there, but I'll put my foot down about that; we sleep together, or I'm not coming home."

That made me smile. "OK, well we have to tell our folks, one way or another. Tell you what, you call your parents first, and after that's settled, I'll call mine. I know that my folks will be happy for us."

It was a little bit weird, hearing one side of a telephone call, but I could tell that it was going well. There was no obvious tension in Sheila's voice, and the longer she talked, the more she smiled. After she hung up, I got the low-down on the other side of the conversation.

Yes, her mom was happy for her, and yes, I was sleeping in her room with her. It turned out that her mother and father had faced a similar situation back before they got married, and had to sleep apart when visiting her parents, and her mom wasn't going to enforce that on her. Her father hadn't been at home when she called, so he wouldn't know until he got home, but, not to worry, Mrs St Croix would let him know just what was happening. I got the impression that Mrs St Croix would be telling him what was happening, and going to happen, and that would be that.

But one thing, Sheila wouldn't tell me much about her home, just teasing me with the barest of hints and "You'll sees." I wasn't sure whether I should look forward to that, or dread it.

Then it came time for my phone call home. My father is an attorney, and a Brown alumnus - both my parents went here, which might be why I got in; I'm a 'legacy' - and if they weren't the wealthiest people in Stowe, they were hardly the poorest. I'd won some scholarships, and a couple of grants, but, most important, my family had enough money for me to attend an Ivy League school without me having to take out huge student loans. The fact that I was an only child probably helped. Anyway, both of my parents were home, since my father has his practice out of an office at home, and they seemed pretty happy for me. At one point, my mom asked me a question, and I answered pretty directly with, "I don't know, we haven't talked about that yet," before I realized that Sheila had to have heard my answer, and figured out the question.

After I hung up, she smiled at me and said, "So, you got the same question I did, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I guess that's pretty obvious. Was your mom pushy?"

"No, not over the phone, but she'll have a full week to get pushy."

"So, maybe we ought to talk about it before then?"

"Oh, God, Max, we've been a couple for what, not quite a month now? Don't you think it's a bit early to be talking about that?"

"No, I don't."

Sheila just looked at me, kind of dumbfounded. We'd just had a six-sentence conversation about the subject, but the word 'marriage' was never uttered; it was danced around. My mom had asked me if we were going to get married - she's pretty conservative about that kind of thing - and apparently Sheila's mother had asked her the same question, though I wasn't sure when. I guessed that Sheila's answer was cryptic enough that I didn't realize what she had answered, and she hadn't told me about it until it was obvious that I'd gotten the same question from my mother.

"Max, yes it is, it's too early. We still have another year of school yet, and I'll have to get my masters to teach, and you're going to have grad school as well." Still, the word had been avoided.

Maybe I should have been more assertive here, but I didn't want to piss off my girlfriend, so I dropped it.

It was Thursday, March 23rd, the day before Sheila's parents were going to pick us up for Spring Break, when I got back to the dorm, and saw our door open. I slowed down, and stood outside for a few seconds, listening, as my girlfriend had visitors, at least a couple of other girls from our floor, and was being 'questioned' about our relationship, including whether or not I was good in bed.

"Well, I've got no one else to compare him to, but so far he's been 4.0 as far as I'm concerned! He excites me, and he takes care of me." That one puffed up my ego, a lot!

"Fuck, that makes him better than most of these doofuses," said some other girl, whose voice I didn't recognize. "Most've them are just concerned with getting their rocks off, and half the time they just want blow jobs, and don't care what we need."

"Yeah, and when you do find one who's good enough to take care of you, he's more likely than not to want to shove it up your ass." Another girl, same thing, I couldn't tell whose voice it was.

"Really? Max has never said the first word about anal." That was Sheila!

"Well, he probably will, eventually. Seems like that's a big thing for the guys." Her voice I recognized; that was MaryEllen. "I mean, it's OK, kind of, but I'd just as soon skip it."

"OK, well I've got to tell you guys something." Sheila again. "My mom asked me whether we were planning to get married, and I pretty much blew that one off, but Max wants to talk about it." My ears perked up at that one!

"Well, you gonna talk? I mean, has he actually proposed?"

"No, he hasn't proposed, it's just that both our mothers asked the question on the phone, and that brought up the subject. Heck, that scares the crap out of me."

"If he does propose, you going to say yes?" That was MaryEllen again. Oh, my God, I'm dreading hearing her answer.

"I don't know, it seems just way too early, but maybe." Holy crap, she's actually thinking about it!

Just then, another room opened up, and I couldn't keep standing here eavesdropping. So, I walked in, as though I'd just gotten to the room. "Hey, guys, what's up?" I asked, as though I didn't already know.

Once in the room, I recognized the two other girls in there, Liz was one, and the other was a really tall blonde girl I knew by sight, but didn't know her name. She and Liz came up, each grabbed an arm and the blonde girl said, "Tough luck, Sheila, we're kidnapping this man."

Of course, they were joking, but it made me feel good. I didn't know the blonde girl's name, but she was just the kind of goddess I'd dreamt about all of these years, real blonde hair, amazing blue eyes, and about six feet tall, and I'd have loved to have been kidnapped by her, last fall.

But now? It was a revelation for me, but she didn't do a thing for me now; all I could think about was Sheila. I knew that was how I was supposed to feel, but now reality confirmed it. I shrugged loose from them, and went up to kiss my girlfriend, hearing the "Awwws" in the background. "Better keep a tight rein on him," Liz said, as the girls walked out of the room and closed the door behind themselves. "if you let him run too free, he might escape."

Our afternoon routine was pretty much the same as always, a bit of homework, and then off to supper. The weather had warmed up some, so I was just wearing a light jacket, but Sheila had stuck with her typical heavy sweater. We didn't get together until November, so I had no idea how she dressed in warmer weather.

Who knows, maybe it was her conversation with her friends, but Sheila was extraordinarily frisky that night, and I didn't mind it one bit. Normally, we started out kind of slowly, but not tonight. Foreplay was at a bare minimum, and it was pretty much get it on and get it in! I was pretty happy about the frequency at which we were making love, because it kept me from worrying about cumming too quickly; my lover wasn't giving me much chance to get a sperm back-up. Other than when she was on her period, it was every night, and not a few mornings as well, as though we were trying to make up for lost time. We even got a couple of sessions in during her period, which was kind of a mess, but we both kind of shrugged, and figured that it was simply going to be this way. The good thing about her period? It meant she could start her birth control pills, and now we could forget about the condoms. That made things even nicer.

It was Friday afternoon, and Sheila's mom was due any minute to take us to her house in Portland. For some reason, Sheila wouldn't give me any details about where her home was or what it was like. I gathered it was pretty big, at least four bedrooms, because she and her two brothers had all had their separate rooms, but that was about the extent of it. Her father was an attorney, like mine, and I knew that he had a pretty successful practice. Both of her brothers had gone to Brown, and I guess that money wasn't an issue, but she still kept things kind of mysterious. I was just wondering how much of an inquisition I'd get from Mrs St Croix on the way up.

It turned out to not be too bad a ride. It's about a 2½ hour ride, up Interstate 95, from Providence to Portland. Still, I figured that the St Croix lived in a big, rambling house, but Sheila's mom was taking us into the commercial district, then into the Maine State Pier. There were a few condos around, and I figured that Mrs St Croix had to park her car in the big parking garage. When she pulled into a long-term reserved space, I was sure I was right.

But then, instead of heading back out to the street, we turn waterward, and wound up at the Casco Bay ferry lines. Then I realized: they must live out on one of the islands. That was cool!

It turned out to be a long ferry ride, a bit more than an hour. Sheila said it'd be a surprise, but at least she spilled the name of the island, Cliff Island, which was definitely not the first stop for the ferry.

Finally, we got to Cliff Island, and debarked at the terminal. The road was crushed stone, not asphalt or concrete, and Mrs St Croix led us not to a car, but a golf cart. I looked a bit puzzled, and then my girlfriend laughed, and told me that there were no cars at all on the island, just a few old pickup trucks for some fisherman and handymen.

When we got to their house, oh, man, it was obvious that the St Croix had money. The house was a big, grey-painted frame house, nicely appointed if only subtly decorated in the front, but the rear of the house was along the rocky northwest coast, with a beautiful, well-landscaped lawn, some trees, and a private dock. My folks were considered well off for Stowe, but I'm thinking that they weren't in the St Croix's league. No wonder they could put three kids through an Ivy League school.

I guess that Sheila could tell what I was thinking, because she told me that the house had been in the family for four generations, which meant it had been paid for long ago. What her folks saved on not having a mortgage got put into the property, so it kept being improved.

Sheila might have been shy around other people, but she sure wasn't around her family, and she took charge of the situation by leading me, and my suitcase upstairs to settle in her bedroom; there wasn't going to be even a hint of pushing me to sleep elsewhere.

And her bedroom was awesome! I hadn't figured that she'd have had it all girlied up, and she didn't. It was every bit as clean and uncluttered as she kept the dorm room, with the only unusual touch being some period-appropriate wallpaper. The woodwork was painted a bright white, and the overhead light was a twenties-style chandelier, with antique brass and four milk-glass covered lights; it was activated by an old-style push-button light switch. Still, someone had done some upgrading, because the electric receptacles were three prong, not two.

The spectacular part was the view. Her bedroom was on the second floor, with four big windows that overlooked the bay and rocky shoreline. There was a fireplace along the north-east wall. Even better was the full-sized bed, a real iron-framed bed that would look really good with Sheila in it. I wanted to make love to her, right then, but she put her hand on my chest and told me that there'd be plenty of time for love later.

Her father hadn't made the trip to Providence; I suppose that he had to work. Out at the dock was a smaller boat, but one with a completely enclosed cabin, one that he could have used to commute to and from Portland without having to depend on the ferry. The dock had its own boatlift. "Does this bay ever freeze up?" I asked.

"Not usually, but we had a really bad winter two years ago, and there was a lot of trouble with ice." Knowing what had prompted my question, she continued, "My father doesn't normally use our boat in the bad part of winter, because even when the bay isn't frozen, there's a lot of ice buildup around the dock. He takes the ferry then."

"What's this place like in winter?"

"Not as much snow as on the mainland, because of the bay water temperature, but we do get our share. It is really pretty. At any rate, we need to get back downstairs, before my folks wonder just what we're doing up here." She smiled at that one.

"Can we walk outside for a few minutes?"

"Sure, I'd like that."

It wasn't warm at all, in the upper thirties with the wind from the west, not too stiff a breeze, but still one which could cut right through you. There was no snow on the lawn leading down to the dock, which is where Sheila and I walked, as I was admiring the view.

But, even better than the view, was my girlfriend, walking down the yard, with us holding each other. We didn't really do that at school, I guess because neither of us was all that fond of showing off much more than just holding hands, but here, it was quiet and peaceful, with only the waves and the seagulls making noise. Finally, she whispered to me, "I'd bet you a euro that my parents are at the windows, watching us."

"A euro? What's that, like a buck-ten or something like that?"

"Well, I could check on my phone, but do you really care?"

"Not right now, I don't," and I turned to face her, pulling her into my arms and kissing her.

"Mmmm," she whispered, "now that was the right answer."

Just above the dock, there was a heavy bench, just perfect for sitting and watching the water. We were lucky: it was dry, even though there had been some rain here yesterday, and some things had ice on them. Sheila and I just sat there, holding each other, and watching the sun set toward the mainland. I could just sit here with her forever.

The sun set early, just a couple of minutes before seven. Maine is the furthest east state in the union, so sunset always comes earlier than any place else in the US.

Then, of all things, I heard an old fashioned triangular dinner bell! I'd never even seen one of those, except on old television shows, but the St Croix's house had one, and Sheila's mom was ringing it. Turned out that she'd started a slow oven-roast just before she left to pick us up in Providence, and now, oh Lord, the meat was falling-apart tender, the potatoes and carrots perfect, and, to use an old- fashioned turn of phrase, the table was laden with a wonderful meal.

Talk over dinner was pretty much what I expected, a lot of questions from her parents about me, from where I came, my major - even though I knew Sheila had already told them - and my future plans. I could sense the unspoken question behind things, and just knew that Sheila must've told them not to bring up questions about marriage.

I've always been able to eat a lot, but there was so much food on the table that there'd surely be leftovers. Besides, I knew enough not to eat more than the hosts! When we were finished, Sheila stood up to clear the table and do the dishes, and I went right with her; Sheila washed and I dried, even though there was a perfectly good dishwasher available. Her mom kind of smiled at that one, and then she started making an apple pie, from scratch. The kitchen was large enough for us to all do that work, and Mr St Croix, after first retiring to the living room, returned to help his wife, or, really, to watch his daughter and her boyfriend. I hoped that I was impressing them enough, because I knew damned well that I was under the microscope.

Once the dishes were done and the pie was in the oven, the four of us moved into the living room. It was impressive, immaculately clean, with the nautical touches you'd expect in an island home. There was a long couch, a loveseat, and a separate armchair, all matching pieces, and a rustic-by-design coffee table with small boat hardware embedded in it, sealed with some sort of epoxy to make a smooth surface. The room had wall sconces rather than an overhead light, and the white woodwork was complimented with grey walls and red-and-white sailcloth window treatments. There was a real wood-burning fireplace, and Mr St Croix had a fire going, creating a warm, mellow atmosphere. The whole effect was understated class, and, truth be told, it was a little intimidating.

But if the house was intimidating, Sheila's parents really weren't. Her father had a serious mien to him, but her mother was gracious, charming and personally disarming. The talk kind of turned away from Sheila and me, to her brothers, and the rest of the family, and the goings-on in Cliff Island, which weren't much, given that fewer than 100 people lived here year-round.

The pie was done, and at least some of supper had settled, so I had room for it. There's really nothing better than hot apple pie with vanilla ice cream, and that's what we had. Mrs St Croix offered me a second piece, but I had to beg off; this was just too much food. I kind of wondered, were they trying to get me so full that I wouldn't defile their daughter tonight?

Well, if that was their goal, it didn't work! Around 9:30, her parents excused retired to their bedroom, leaving Sheila and me alone. I'd thought of going back outside, but it had started to sprinkle. We waited a few more minutes before retiring to Sheila's room.

The room was on the cool side, but it wouldn't be for long, as I took advantage of the fireplace. It was already prepared, with stacked firewood and kindling, and there were some waxed firestarter squares. The kindling caught quickly, and Sheila adjusted the damper, since she knew better than I did how to operate the flue.