John and Joan

"I knew it," John said.

"Knew what?"

"Haven't I been saying it for months?"

"What?" she said again.

"How beautiful you are when you blush."

"John Smith, are you coming on to me?"

"Should I be? Would it do me any good?"

"It might," she said, looking down coyly, blushing yet again. "But probably not tonight."

"Probably?"

Again she laughed, again he laughed. There they sat, the two of them, soaked in beer, clumsy, awkward, socially inept, yet laughing together as neither had laughed in months. John stopped laughing abruptly. Joan noticed his sudden seriousness stopped also. Again he reached for her hand. This time she took it in her own. Both looked shyly at the spot that joined them. "Damn" John said, looking at the clock. We have been together only twenty-two minutes. Already it is my best date ever,"

"What?" Joan said. "Surely you have had better dates than this?"

"No," he answered, "not really. "I mean, maybe, by some measures, or by some men's measure. But not me. I am not like that."

"Like what?"

"You know, only dating for one thing. Looking at a date as a conquest."

"Don't you want to conquer me, John?"

"No, I mean yes! I mean," he nearly shouted. "I mean. . . Now you are flirting with me?"

"Would it get me anywhere if I did," Joan said, aping him."Perhaps."he said, aping her right back. But not tonight." Again they laughed long.

The waiter returned to clean up the mess, laying a fresh table cloth, grunting, "here"while thrusting menus at them.

"John Smith," she suddenly said, "You make me laugh. I don't think I ever met a man who made me laugh so much. Listen to me, being so open, I g, g, guess that means I feel comfortable with you." Astonished at her boldness, her honesty, she had stammered, blushing profusely once again.

"There you go again," he said.

"What?"

"Blushing again, it makes you look so cute, so, so gorgeous."

"Cut it out," she said, hiding her face behind her menu.

"You can't hide from me," he said playfully. " I just made my mind up about something, Ms. blushing Jones."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"I am going to kiss you before this night is through."

"So you say," she said, her disembodied voice drifting out from behind the menu

"Well," he said, "have you decided what you want to eat?"

"I'll have the cucumber salad a side of sourdough bread, That sounds good."

Reaching out, he plucked the menu from her. "Enough of that he said. I'll order for both of us. I won't think less of you, if you eat on a date with me."

Her face took on a deadly look "Don't!" she said, her voice low menacing. Don't you ever do anything like that again!"

"What? What did I do?"

"Snatching that from me, taking over as if you are in charge of my life. We just met. Who do you think you are?"

John looked like a tortoise about to retreat into his shell. His shoulders hunched, his jaw dropped. "God, I am sorry, Joan, please forgive me, I thought, I guess I mean I didn't think. Guess I ruined everything, huh? Just like me." he trailed off.

After a long painful silence, she sighed deeply.

"Look, John, I am sorry too. I overreacted. It's just, there's been, there have been, er, other guys, well, especially one guy. Long story. Sorry."

"Wanna tell me?"

"Another time," she answered.

"Woo hoo!"

"What does that mean?"

"It means you have already decided to see me again."

Blushing again at having been found out, she cocked her head as if considering a purchase. "That could be. That very well could be, John Smith. I think I am growing to like you very much. Ah ha," she continued, "now it is your turn to blush! look at you go! Your freckles look like day-glo!"

He tried to change the subject to stem his stammering, finally eking out. "L, l, let's order. I want the brat bits," he said. " If you don't know, they are tiny pieces of bratwurst covered with cheddar, breaded deep fried. Very fattening. Sinful."

"Shall we be sinful together then, John?'

"Now you are definitely flirting with me. Keep it up you'll be sorry."

"Somehow I don't think so," she said, lighting his soul with another of her deep, deep smiles, starting a response in his groin that could only grow throughout the evening.

Despite the easy going patter, internally Joan was seething with confusion and contradictions She could not believe she was coming on to this man, encouraging him. Was she putting herself in a position she would have difficulty talking her way out of? Would he expect her to 'put up or shut up?'

"Joan, Joan?" his resonant voice broke through her reveries. "Yoo Hoo, you there? Are you ready to order?"

"Oh sorry, I was, er, daydreaming. Know what? Let's have milk shakes, too, be really evil."

"Better yet. Now don't say ooh or ick. You gotta try this. This is to die for. You ready? Pineapple malts."

"Pineapple? Malt?"

"Trust me this once? How we gonna ever get along in the future if you won't trust me about something this simple?"

"Okay, You're the Boss," she said,"But her head was shaking 'no' as she said it.

"Fat chance."

Her musical laugh rippled again across his heart. "Would you please excuse me Joan? I'm sorry I, I'll be right back. He rose, turned rapidly, heading for the bathroom. He was so long returning Joan was becoming annoyed when the waitress appeared with their order. In irritation she said to herself, "Pineapple malt! Humph!" Twirling the straw in the weird mix, she sipped. Her eyes popped wide. It was good! Not just good, but, but wondrous. Like, like, ambrosia, she pulled the word from her memory. The food of the gods! Just then, John returned, smiling, but seeming embarrassed about something.

He tried to keep it simple, to limit his involvement to dinner and small talk, but was constantly distracted by the way the soft fall of her hair curled to form inverted question marks around her pert breasts. It had been a long time since John had had a real date with a real woman, much longer since he had made love. Her obvious interest in him was causing intense reactions in his groin. In the rest room, he had tucked his foreskin under the waistband of his jockeys in a futile effort to control a raging spontaneous erection.

"John, John. Yoo hoo, mission control calling Major John."

"Yes, Yes I am here. Just noticing that the food is here."

"That's what I am trying to tell you I thought it was gonna be weird, this pineapple malt thing but, it's good, really good, I really love it. Thank you."

They sat silent for a time as they munched their brat bites, curly fries onion rings. "Now that," she said, laughing,"is really delicious, total carbs and saturated fats, the nectar of the gods. Only thing. I am gonna hafta eat salads for a week to counteract the effects on my system.

John noticed Joan holding her hands awkwardly, like a surgeon washing up. He signaled for the waitress, asking for more napkins. "What would you like to do when we are finished here," he asked.

"Didn't you plan ahead for our date John?"

"What, be considered some kind of macho control type? Not me!"

This time their shared laughter was light, affectionate. She reached to place her tiny hand in his.

"However," he continued, "I do have a suggestion if you are up for it."

"Oh god, she thought, don't let him say that." Her hand was sweating in his. He was so handsome, his flaming hair so exciting. For a swift moment she wondered about the hair under his arms, other places. She felt the heat rise in her face, felt herself reddening. She quickly stifled her thoughts.

"There is a glorious moon tonight. Would you like to take a walk along the shore?"

She supposed it could be a ploy. To perhaps get her alone on a lonely beach. Or perhaps he was truly a romantic. She had known him only one hour seven minutes. Did she trust him that much? "Wait," she reminded herself. This was gingerman, she knew him well, she supposed. They had chatted for two whole years.

Okay, she asked herself. Will you ever take a chance again? Without much thought she decided.

"I'd love to, John, she said. "But no funny business."

"Scout's honor." he promised.

"Yes but were you ever a scout?" she asked, teasing.

"Cub Scout, Boy Scout, Explorer Scout, Junior Scoutmaster, Assistant Scoutmaster. Scoutmaster, even Committeeman."

"So you were an Eagle Scout?"

"Story of my life, - almost. The Eagle Scout committee ruled that I was too old. I had turned eighteen two months before."

She looked at him oddly. "But you stayed, went on to do all those other things, scoutmaster, all."

"John blushed looked down at his feet. "It's what I do, he said. I fall short, but I don't quit, not once I have committed."

The waitress interrupted with the check; John handed over his credit card. She swiped it. He added his usual twenty-five percent, signed. He held out his arm, old style,. "Shall we go?

They wended their way down the deserted beach, talking about themselves, about each other, their likes dislikes, dreams, desires preferences. A silver highway ran from their feet across the ocean to an impossibly huge moon, beckoning as vast spaces have always called to man. The waves whispered a gentle "shush, shush" against the shore.

She paused, turned. The moonlight illuminated her. John's gaze scanned her tiny form, awash in silver. Right then, he believed she was the most beautiful woman alive. "You are beautiful," he said, reaching to take her hand.

"I am freezing is what I am" she said. Their mingled breaths were steaming, as if their words had become visible.

"It is chilly," John said. "Let's build a fire."

"We can't build a fire here," she replied.

"Why not?"

"There's no wood, there's, uh," she said, turning in a circle, gesturing, "nothing."

"Did you forget already?"

"Huh?"

"I am a Boy Scout. I can make a fire anywhere," he boasted. He bent to pick up a few tiny sticks. "You gather about four handfuls of little sticks like this. Make sure they're dry. I'll be right back."

John returned in a few minutes with a huge armload of driftwood. Pointing to a large driftwood log a short way down the beach, he gestured, " Cumon." They transported their kindling and tinder to the spot. Using the log itself as a windbreak, he bent to strike a match, blew, arranged, blew again. Within a few minutes John had a fire roaring under the log. He slid off his jacket. Folding the sleeves inside to hide the worn cuffs, he laid it on the sand before the fire. "Sit," he said. They sat on the chilly sand, close to the fire, close together. She asked a few more questions. Before long, John realized much time had passed. He has been extolling the virtues of Hawthorne and Thoreau, spoken of Wordsworth, quoted Whitman, Bradbury and Asimov. he had never spoken so many words to a woman.

"I've never met a man like you," she said. "So serious, so intelligent. Most of the guys I've known only talk about themselves or sports. I'm not so good at Literature 'n' stuff like that, but when you talk about it, you make it sound so interesting, so exciting. I think I like you a lot."

"You may not believe this, but I've never talked about this kind of stuff to a girl, er, woman. Actually, I never talk this much to anyone. It's just, well, you the moonlight and this glorious, glorious night. The firelight on your face, your, er, figure, it, it. . . It's all so sudden, so, so overwhelming. You're so beautiful I can't believe I'm here with you. It seems like some fantasy I invented in my head. Or like some game I am playing on-line."

Joan responded only by grasping his hand, holding it tightly in her lap as if preventing it from escaping.

They sat a few minutes, looking at one another in silence. John became increasingly aware of the heat from within her warming the back of his hand.

Finally, she spoke, "You haven't known many women, have you?"

"No I have not been popular. I am nerdy, not very handsome, not well built. I don't have a lot going for me in the chick department. I have a crappy job, no money, a crummy car, almost no athletic ability. I'm too nice a guy to take advantage of anybody. I am not socially skilled enough to make any woman fall for me. Those women I do make contact with all tell me they only want to be my friend. I don't know how to make small talk don't know the first thing about sports or celebrities. I never can think of the right thing to say or do. Mostly I just have my books my fantasies. But how can you tell?"

"Because, silly, I've been sitting here and sitting here waiting for you to kiss me. You haven't done a thing. Any other guy would have grabbed me a long time ago."

"Well, you're so pretty, so great everything. I didn't want to get you mad or chase you away or anything."

"So?"

"Huh?"

"Jeez," Joan said, finally taking matters into her own hands. She leaned into John, pressing her lips firmly to his.

At last he caught on, enfolding her in his arms, responding warmly to her kiss. After a long time, they broke.

Without a word, she rose, running off down the beach; her long hair billowing darkly out behind her, highlighted silver in the moonlight.

John pursued. Closing the gap so easily she obviously wanted to be caught. Giggling dodging, she attempted to avoid capture, but John grasped her wrist. She slipped, fell, grabbed his shirt and dragged him down with her. They rolled, wrestled on the chilly sand.

Suddenly he was atop her. Taking her face between his hands, he kissed her hard. Her heat, her hunger, were obvious. She spread her legs; John's body slipped between them. She felt his manhood, rigid between them, obvious even through their jeans. She squirmed beneath him, their kiss went on. Her arms closed around him, desperate, pulling him tighter, tighter. He kissed her eyes, nose, ears, neck. His hands were busy: roving exploring, seeking her moist secret places. Their bodies writhed, met, bumped. Without warning, John cummed. "Shit," he murmured, almost aloud. Quickly he turned his body away from her, fearful she would discover his shameful secret. In the darkness he could not tell whether there was a visible spot on his slacks, but he . . .

"What is it? What's wrong," Joan prodded.

"Er, nothing, uh sorry, it's ah, it's, er I am okay,"

"You stopped, uh, so suddenly. Did I do something, er, wrong?"

"No, no God no! No it was me. I mean. Oh never mind. Now where were we?"

"You were viciously attacking me."

"Boo hoo, I sort of thought she wished me too"

"What the heck does that mean?"

"It's from a poem called "The Smack in School," about a little boy who gets in trouble for kissing a little girl in school."

"Humph." she said, "some trouble you are. You haven't even tried again."

That's easy, John laughed. "I can do that. You want trouble huh." But as he reached to put his arms around her, she slipped away, walking back toward the restaurant.

"My god, what a tease you are!"

"Am not," she said. Looking down at the sand she held out her hand. "Will you just take my hand walk with me for a bit?"

Realizing the situation had changed from teasing to serious, he took her hand, musing as to what was working its way through her feminine mind. They walked for a bit in silence, each pondering where this relationship was going from here. John's heart ached for more, so much more, but knew his financial situation, his not-so-good looks, his pitiful social skills, particularly with women, afforded him little chance with a girl like her. What an answer to his every secret dream it would be to hold her beautiful body against his! Dared he dream, forever? An end to his lonely dreary nights? When again his jeans gradually became too tight, he shut off his thoughts, fearing he would embarrass himself again.

Beside him, Joan was engrossed in her own thoughts. He was so good looking, so handsome. He had made her laugh more in two hours than she had in years. His strong hand in hers, the swish of their thighs together as they walked unsteadily down the sand, brought reactions to her body she had not felt for a very long time. Earlier, when he lay atop her, she had for a moment, thought he might seek to undress her, to touch her there. Had she been ready to stop him, or encourage him? Her rattled mind could not answer its own questions. She knew though, her body had wanted more, so much more. She was hopeless.

She stopped, turned. She had something important, so very important to tell him. But he swept her into his arms kissed her softly. Once. On the lips. Gentle as the wings of a moth. He kissed her nose. She closed her eyes so he kissed each one. His fluttering lips moved down her cheek to the soft curve of her neck. Goose bumps raced down her arms. With her free hand she stopped his face. Her lips sought his. There was an urgency in her now, born of need long denied. She opened her mouth. His tongue circled hers. Through her sweatshirt, his hand softy cupped her breast, his palm firm against her hardening nipple. His mouth was not gentle now, but hungry, as if it sought to swallow her. Her tongue, in turn, licked his lips, his teeth. Finally their tongues entwined, curling, writhing like coiled snakes

She grasped his hand in hers. How desperately she wanted to press it more tightly against her aching breast. Instead, she eased it away from her, stepped back. "I, I am sorry, John," she said breathlessly. I can't it's not. I'm not. It's too much, too fast. Please. . . I. . . "

"I'm sorry, Joan, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. . . "

She put her finger to hi lips. "Ssh. Don't. Please don't say your sorry. I am not sorry, not sorry at all. Ssh. Listen." She paused for a moment to catch her breath, ease her pounding heart, quell the shaking in her legs. She leaned closer as if imparting a great secret. "Because I believe that honesty is important in a relationship. Because I hope we are having one, a relationship that is. I have to tell you something. Believe me I have never said anything even close to this to any man, ever. "I want you! I have never wanted anyone, never felt anything like this before. It's like my body is yearning for you. because I want you so bad, want you. . .never mind not yet. . .I'll say it another time, I hope. But I am really, really scared. It's so strong, so powerful. I n, n, I need you John. What it is, how it happened. I don't know. I feel helpless."

"But Joan, that's, that's wonderful Me too, I mean I'll go. . .I mean we can go to. . ." His arms slapped his sides. Was there really any place he could take her. Despite the raging urgency in his loins, John's thoughts turned to his dwindling bank account. Maybe he could afford Howard Johnson's if he skipped lunch for a couple weeks. His place was out of the question. Her place, how would he manage that?"

"No! No stop, Joan cried. You don't understand. I couldn't. . . we couldn't, not tonight John. Don't you see? I have to find out, to think. I don't even know you. These feelings, I. . . Please John." then the tears began, trickling down her cheeks in soft rivulets, her shoulders shaking slightly.

The hard knot inside him, his raging erection, melted like soft wax. He took her into his arms then, let her weep, murmuring over and over. "It's okay. It's okay. Everything is all right. Come." He led her slowly down the beach. He felt a surge of peace, of well being, of rightness. All at once he knew: he had never loved so much, so well, so easily. He made up his mind on the spot. Not only would he have her, he would keep her, hold her, make them one. If he must wait, he would wait. So be it. He stopped, turned toward her. Hooking his forefinger under her chin, he directed her eyes to his. "It's okay. I'm here, every thing is going to be okay now. Trust me. I don't know how I know, I just know.

Hand in hand they ambled back toward the Sport n' Brat, maintaining an imperfect silence, awed by the intensity of feelings whorling about them. Outside the restaurant, they stopped. "Oh," Joan said, "Don't let's go back in there. Can we just find some place to be? I'm not ready to go home yet."