Getting Down at Brown

When she turned around, I guess that she saw how stunned I was, and then apologized, profusely, for embarrassing me. She'd just forgotten to take her pajama top into the bathroom with her, she told me. It was fine, I said (sputtered?), not a problem at all. Somehow, Sheila, my college sister, had just teased me outrageously, yet never uttered the first word that would make it seem like she was flirting at all.

The pajamas were new ones, fresh-looking cotton, and just as modest as the ones she had been wearing last semester, and I was doing everything I could to make everything seem just as normal as it ever was. We fell right back into talking about ordinary stuff, before we finally realized that we had to get some sleep. I wasn't sure what was happening, until I saw it: tucked inside her pajama top, she was wearing the necklace I had gotten her for Christmas.

I needed to go to sleep, but there was no way, not now! I couldn't get the image of her bare back out of my mind. It had a nice shape to it, alright, even though it was nothing spectacular, and she'd just changed in front of me as casually as could be.

Naturally, I was hard as a rock; what 20-year-old guy wouldn't be after that? Trouble is, I couldn't take care on my horniness myself, not with Sheila in the (twin) bed across the room, and while I wanted to say something, wanted to ask her what the Hell was happening, all of our ease in talking to each other, so hard-earned for me, was gone, up in smoke.

Sheila? If her quick change had put any new thoughts in her mind, they didn't keep her from falling asleep. Only a few minutes after she turned out the light, I could hear her, the soft, regular breathing that indicated she was asleep.

I sleep on my side, usually switching sides a few times during the night, but this night I stayed facing Sheila's bunk. The green LED lights on her alarm clock kept telling me how slowly time was passing, and I saw 2:00 come and go, then 3:00 and 4:00. Finally, I fell asleep, awakened too soon by the alarm.

Our morning routine didn't change: Sheila got the first crack at the bathroom, since she always took longer, and then I got in second. I had my jeans and a t-shirt on by the time she came out, fully dressed, carrying her night clothes with her to fold and put in her dresser. Just like last semester, we both had 8:00 AM classes, so, just like always, we went downstairs to the cafeteria for breakfast.

This lasted for a couple of weeks. Sheila never made another hint of a move, and I never said the first word about the incident. Finally, I planned the very slightest of moves myself. One morning, rather than having my jeans and t-shirt on when she came out, I left off my shirt, and was just wearing the jeans. If I had a chest like Jeff's, who knows, maybe she'd have thrown herself on me in a fit of passion, but, like I've already said, I'm nothing but average, just a little muscle but no real definition. I did make sure to suck in my gut, but that didn't really matter, since I'm skinny enough not to have to worry about my belly. Sheila never said a word, but I thought I saw her looking.

It was Monday, the 6th of February. We'd both had supper in the cafeteria, as happened almost every day, when we got back to our room. Normally this was homework time, and I started mine, when I caught a strange odor. I turned around, and there was Sheila, sitting cross-legged on her bed, putting on fingernail polish, something I'd never seen her do, and something I'd never seen her wear. Heck, I'd never even seen her trim her nails. "That looks nice," I said, and she smiled, but didn't answer. Getting no other encouragement, I turned back around to my desk, and, a couple minutes later heard her say, "Crap!"

"Problem?" I asked her.

"Yeah, I'm messing up doing my right hand." Sheila was right handed, and I guess that she was kind of clumsy about using her left to do the fingernails on her right hand.

If it had been any woman other than Sheila, I'd never have gotten up the nerve to do what I did next, but I got up, took the polish from her, sat down on her bed, and started painting the nails on her right hand. I'd never done that for a girl, but the brush was easy enough to control, just like coloring inside the lines in first grade. I was favored with a really sweet smile for my efforts, and my mind was racing 200 MPH. By the time I was done with her last fingernail, I knew what I had to do.

"Stretch out," I told her, "so I can do your toenails."

Oh, my God, I even amazed myself. Yeah, I'd had a few seconds to 'rehearse' that line in my head, but I was still flabbergasted that I got it out, smoothly, without stuttering. That got me an even bigger smile, as she uncrossed her legs, and put her feet in my lap. She still had socks on, so I pulled those off of her, the feel of her smooth legs grazing the tops of my fingers electrifying.

Still, I was trying to be cool and calm and collected, and if my roommate was smiling at me, she was staying pretty controlled herself. First her left foot, and then the right. My mind was still racing, and I thought, maybe, just maybe, if I kissed the top of her right foot when I was done . . . .

It was a good thought, but I was also scared shitless that that might be too much. I kept thinking about it and thinking about it, but in the end, I chickened out. Still, I know that I was all smiles, and she was, too.

The opportunity passed, and I was mentally kicking myself for not having the balls to do better. I replaced the brush-cap on the polish, and handed it back to Sheila, resolving to myself that no, I would not flub the next opportunity.

Then, suddenly, it came to me: the next opportunity was right now. I stood up, grabbed a ridiculous sociology book I was supposed to be reading, and then sat right back down on Sheila's bed, putting her feet back into my lap while I started reading.

Would this work, I was wondering, my heart pounding. I was trying desperately to keep my cool, reading my book - like I could fucking concentrate on that! - and gently massaging Sheila's feet while reading. A not-so-surreptitious glance caught an 'O' of surprise on her face, but it was a surprise tempered with a smile, as she reached back to her desk, and grabbed a book herself.

How long were we like that? I honestly couldn't tell you; it was like time was standing still. I had a 23-page chapter I was supposed to read, but other than 'and' and 'the,' I couldn't tell you one word that was in it. Sheila was reading, too, but more than once I caught he peering over the top of her book at me, and she was always smiling.

Ok, now what do I do? Jeff would have known, and a million scenarios played out in my head, but I was just plain clueless, and scared. I think Sheila was, too, because she was the one to break it up, finally telling me that she had homework she had to get done on her laptop. She swung her legs off the bed, and sat down in the chair at her desk, but I did get the slightest of touches, as she dragged her fingertips down my arm while getting up.

That left me having to do the same thing, and as it happens, our desks don't face each other. Instead, my desk faces the narrow south wall, at the foot of my bed, while hers faces the longer east wall, at the head of her bed. That meant that she could glance over at me, without me seeing her, but I had to turn around to look at her, which would be noticeable and awkward. There was no mirror or anything on the south end of our room which would enable me to sneak peeks at her. My mind was racing, and I was just thoroughly frustrated, but there was nothing I could do.

Thank God, I had finished my calculus and physics homework before supper, because I was a complete wreck. Finally, around 9:00, I got up, grabbed my pajama bottoms and headed into the bathroom. I sat down on the toilet and brushed my teeth at the same time - hey, I'm good at multi-tasking! - before stripping down and pulling on my pajama bottoms. I normally wore a t-shirt to bed as well, but left it off this evening. I emerged from the BR, put my dirty clothes in the basket, grabbed my iPad, and climbed into my own bed. The lights were still on, and Sheila definitely noticed that I wasn't wearing a shirt, and I thought she smiled at that, but I wasn't sure. A few minutes later, she shut down her laptop, gathered up her night wear, and headed into the bathroom.

What the Hell should I do next? I kept thinking and kept thinking, but none of the ideas that came into my head - basically, simply pulling her into my bed for the night - were really me, were anything like I would act. Jeff and the guys like him could get away with that stuff, but me, no way, and I was scared that if I tried anything, it might be too much, and ruin what I did have with my roommate.

A few minutes later, and Sheila emerged from the bathroom, in her regular pajamas, but with a really pretty smile on her face. She slid into her bed, still smiling at me, as she picked up her own tablet and then turned out the lights.

I could still see her face, from the light of her tablet, still see that wonderful smile of hers. Finally, she half-whispered, "Thanks, Max, tonight was nice."

"It was," I managed to get out, "and I enjoyed it."

Man, I was proud of myself, but really, for most guys, it would have been a very simple thing to have done. Of course, if someone like Jeff had heard about it, I'd get laughed at for painting a girl's nails; he'd ask me if I thought I was at a teenaged girls' slumber party or something! Amazingly enough, I drifted off to sleep easily and quickly.

Was there another step I should take? I was torn here: an alpha would have just forged onward, but I didn't know how. In my fear, I was hoping that Sheila would somehow make the next move, thinking it was her 'turn' to push things, but even though I thought she might be interested, or at least intrigued, it was ridiculous for me to think a shy girl like her would be any braver than I was.

Oh, intellectually, I knew that I had to push things. Jeff would tell me, just go for it, and if she says no, then she says no, big deal. But it was a big deal, for me. Sheila and I still had 3½ months left in this dorm room together, and if I was misreading the situation, I could ruin what friendship we did have, and make the rest of the semester miserable.

I was between classes, when I saw a notice on a bulletin board: there was going to be a Valentine's Day dance this Saturday, the 11th -actual Valentine's Day was on Tuesday this year - at the Student Union, for people under 21. I guess that they figured most of the hot places around Providence served alcohol, and those of us under 21 couldn't get in, at least not without a fake ID. The dance was free, nice enough, and it said casual dress.

Oh, man, I could do this! I could ask Sheila if she'd like to go, make it sound completely casual, and lighthearted enough not to foul up what we had if she said no.

Yeah, right. I was going to be able to pull off asking her? Most 20-year-old guys could do that in a heartbeat, but I was thinking about it, trying to figure the exact words to use, and turning into a nervous wreck. But no, fuck it, I wasn't going to be scared, and I was going to ask her this evening, after supper. I just had to man up, is all.

And what did I do after dinner? I clammed up, that's what I did! I threw myself into my homework, kept my nose in either a book or the computer, trying to work up enough nerve to ask Sheila, and I never did.

Man, if only this was yesterday, when I was giving her that foot massage; I could have done it then, if only I'd known about the dance. Of course, there was also the little matter of me never having been dancing, not having any idea how to dance. I looked up dance steps on the internet, but it was like a blur, nothing sticking in my mind.

"You OK?" Huh? Sheila pulled me out of my reverie, startled me, really.

"No, yeah, I'm fine." I lied through my teeth.

"You just seem upset, is all."

"Sheila . . . ." That's all I could get out.

"Max, what is it? What are you so worried about?"

"About asking you to the dance, is what." Boy, that sure wasn't smooth.

"Max, are you asking me out?" Oh, God, she had this shocked look on her face. I just crossed the line, I knew that I did, and I just fucked up a great friendship!

"I'm sorry, Sheila, I didn't mean to mess things up, I just didn't . . . ."

"Yes." She stopped me cold.

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'll go out with you." Sheila had a huge smile on her face, and then she pulled me up out of my desk chair and gave me a hug.

Well, all of the tension just fell away from me, and in just a few seconds we were talking normally again, it was such a relief. I told her where and when the Valentine's dance was, and tried to make things sound completely casual, but things were different now, not a lot different, but still . . . . We talked a bit more about our feelings, and how I was scared shitless that asking her would mess up the friendship we had, but everything turned out fine, and yeah, she could see where that could be a worry, but hey, it was just a dance.

When it was time for bed, everything was normal . . . . right until they weren't. Sheila went into the bathroom to change into her PJs, and I changed in the room while she was in the BR. Then she came out, still brushing her teeth, and told me she didn't have any dresses here. I told her no big deal, it was casual dress, and then she went back into the bathroom to finish.

But in all the months we'd been sharing a room, she'd never walked out in the middle of brushing her teeth. Maybe I was being stupid, but just that slight change of behavior, hardly sexy at all, seemed intimate to me, in a way we never had been.

I had no idea that I was this tired; I guess that it was all of the tension I'd been carrying all day, that when Sheila lifted it from me, everything was gone, and I was just worn out.

Morning came, and it was back to our routine, but if I wasn't imaging things, Sheila seemed to be smiling a bit more. I know that I was as happy as I'd ever been, and if it wasn't for my clothes fitting me the same way they always had, I'd have thought I grew an inch taller overnight. Of course, I still didn't know where this was going, but when I had the opportunity, as we were walking to the cafeteria, I took Sheila's hand. Maybe not thinking about it, not trying to plan it ahead of time helped, but she didn't pull away, and glanced over to me with a smile on her face.

Still, it was only Wednesday, and that left me 3½ days to fret about getting things right. A haircut was an easy consideration, and doing my laundry was a weekly chore anyway. I had a decent pair of khaki slacks, permanent press, thank the Lord, and I got those on a clothes hanger as soon as they came out of the dryer. A light blue button down shirt, also permanent press - Sheila and I don't have an ironing board and iron in our room - and a dark grey blazer ought to be just right.

Of course, there was always the Valentine's Day present to worry about. Yeah, Sheila had agreed to go out with me, at least this once, but we were still very casual. I needed to figure out something, something personal but not "heavier" than our relationship was at this point. Flowers or candy are the traditional presents, but I wasn't sure if they were the right things to get her. The necklace I'd bought her for Christmas was just the right thing, classy but still at least as friendly as it was romantic. I figured, what the heck, earrings this time, same style.

Finally, I realized: I was overthinking this stuff again. The best moves I'd made were the nail polish and holding her hand, and those had both been (mostly) spontaneous.

When the dance finally came, I had a great time, and I thought that Sheila did as well. We laughed and talked, but most importantly, we danced. Oh, I'm no great dancer, and I suppose she doesn't really know what she'd doing either, but I knew I wasn't going to get a "No" in asking her to dance, and that helped a lot. During the first slow dance, I watched the dance floor, to see how couples were doing it, and actually, it seemed simple enough. I knew that the man was supposed to 'lead,' and I watched how guys were doing that, and thought I could as well. When the second slow dance started, I didn't even ask; I simply took Sheila's hand and led her out onto the dance floor.

"Just be careful," she warned me, "because I don't wear heels very often, and I'm likely to have a messy fall." At least she was smiling when she said it.

Sheila had told me that she didn't have any dresses with her, which was fine. She wore dark slacks and a soft, pale satin blouse. The heels were a surprise to me, because I didn't know she had any. But, most important were the necklace I had bought her for Christmas, and the earrings I'd given her for Valentine's. That she was wearing them told me that she appreciated the presents, and that she enjoyed being with me.

Sheila managed not to fall, and I managed to not stomp on her feet, so I thought that things were going very well. Our last dance of the evening was the best, because with her arms up and around my neck, my arms around her waist, I finally kissed her, just as I had been dreaming about doing, and my kiss was definitely returned.

The real awkwardness came once we left. Normally, couples have a choice, of either going to their separate homes, or spending the night together. Oh, Lord, I'd have loved to have made love to Sheila, but didn't think she was ready for that, yet we were still roommates. If we weren't roommates, I could kiss Sheila at her door, and she'd either invite me in, or say goodnight, but tonight, there was no choice: we'd be spending the night together, the only question being how.

We walked back to the dorm, hand-in-hand again, and I was definitely feeling it: this was a definite 'upgrade' in our relationship, but I didn't know just to what level. Our floor mates certainly noticed us holding hands, which got a lot of smiles, plus a few smirks. Oh, well, it really wasn't any of their business, but there was still a part of me - hey, I'm a guy! - that wasn't at all displeased that some people were assuming that Sheila and I were lovers. I suppose it's possible that when I hugged her from behind as Sheila was unlocking our dorm room door that I might have been showing off a bit.

But, the fact is that we weren't lovers, not yet anyway. Whether we would be by morning, well, I didn't know.

Once we were in the room, with the door closed behind us, we turned to each other, held each other and started kissing again. It was wonderful, but no, it couldn't be described as kissing with abandon. We were both enjoying this, but it was clear that both of us were also thinking about what could happen next, and whether it should.

Suddenly, and God knows how I managed it, but I decided to man up, and be responsible. "Sheila," I whispered, "maybe this wasn't too smart of me, but I didn't come prepared for sex." I hope that she understood that meant I didn't have any condoms in the room. Heck, I've never bought those things, never even tried one on.

I was just totally surprised: she rewarded me with a huge smile, and told me that she was really happy that, even as turned on as we were right now, I was treating her with respect.

With that, we both sat down on the bed, on her bed, still holding hands and still occasionally kissing, but probably more important, we were talking. She could wait, she said, and I could tell: she'd never come to this point before, to where there was an actual decision to be taken as to whether to have sex or not. I certainly hadn't: as much as I'd been hoping, for years now, that I'd have a chance to screw a girl, I never did, never even came close.