Yes, He's My Fucking Boyfriend!

"Yes, but his purpose was to deny people an education based solely on skin color. That's not a worthy conviction in my view."

Chad's eyes grew narrow. He put his hands down and slid to the edge of his bed. "In YOUR view, not in the view of Wallace and most of the people he represents. They have rights too, you know."

"But not the right to discriminate on the basis of race. It's immoral."

"Morality is a relative thing, Julie," he said, his voice jumping a couple decibels. "To them, race mixing is immoral. And so is what they consider a repressive federal government twisting their arm, demanding certain changes they're not ready for."

"Not ready for? Chad, it's been almost fifteen years since the Supreme Court decided that separate did not mean equal, and they're not ready? Give me a break." She cupped her forehead and sighed. "My god, Chad, we were supposed to end up in a nice warm bed together and here we are engaged in this ongoing point counterpoint."

He poked an accusatory finger. "You're the one who got us back into politics, starting with King and those black students."

"So it's my fault."

"Just saying."

"Just saying what?"

"Just saying that you can't seem to stop arguing until someone either agrees with you or gives up."

She shook her head. "That's so not true, Chad. It's just that you're so, I don't know, so nineteenth century about this. It galls me that an obviously bright guy like you thinks like those dumb crackers in white sheets who burn crosses."

"That's hitting below the belt, Julie. I already told you that I think racial discrimination is wrong. But so is shoving down people's throats legislation they're not ready for, not to mention burning down cities and violent crime. Like it or not, violent crime is committed by blacks disproportionate to their numbers. Statistics don't lie."

"Well, there's a reason for that, Chad, which I won't go into because you'll only call me a bleeding heart liberal."

"Probably."

She blew out a hot breath. "Chad, you know what? I think you're a hunk of a guy but I don't think this is going to work. We seem to have different values about people, a different sense of justice."

"Opposites attract, remember?"

That phrase, what she once thought cute, now rang hollow. "Sometimes. But in our case it seems to be a barrier we can't seem to breach."

He relaxed his formerly tight shoulders, reached out and tenderly slid his hand down her arm. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Julie, because I really like you. I can get past the politics. Why can't you?" He could see her tearing up. "Come sit with me, let's talk about."

She brushed away a tear and stood next to his bed. She so wanted to stay, to even get naked with him. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. Not now, maybe not ever. Shaking her head, she said, "I'm sorry, Chad, but I need to think things over. Thanks for the coffee."

"Julie, wait."

But by the time he stood up, she was already out the door. Down the hall she went, then down the stairs to the bottom floor and out the building. Walking with her head down through the drizzle, it suddenly occurred to her that she forgot her umbrella. Droplets of rain water ran down her face and into her tears. She was starting to regret storming out the way she did. Standing in the courtyard, she glanced back at his dorm and wondered if she should swallow her pride and go back, ostensibly to retrieve her umbrella.

Other thoughts ran through her mind—like sex and politics. Apparently the two didn't mix, not when two people held passionate, diametrically opposing views. She wished she could, like Chad, get past the differences and focus on what she liked and admired about him. One of those things, ironically, was his committed stance on political issues. His hawkish views on Vietnam she could live with. But she thought his stance on civil rights bordered on racism. Even so, she regretted saying what she did, comparing his views with those of the KKK. Chad was far from a dumb cracker. He didn't burn crosses, not even figuratively. What he did, she was beginning to realize, was empathize with people who were slow to change and whose cultural milieu was very different from people raised north of the Mason-Dixon Line. Wrong he might be in her eyes, but she couldn't deny that he was more tolerant than she when it came to opposing points of view.

She took a few steps back toward his dorm, a turreted, gray stone Gothic thing built in the 1920s for a long defunct medical school. She wanted so much for him to come after her. Why didn't he? She let a minute pass. No Chad. He was obviously disgusted with her. She shook her head, turned around and began to move on.

Then: "Hey, you forgot this." She turned to see Chad jogging toward her, a green poncho thrown over his t-shirt and jeans, carrying her folded umbrella like a relay runner about to pass the baton. He came up to her and said, "You don't mind getting wet, I see."

"That depends on the kind of wet you're talking about." She rolled her tongue seductively and swiped her hand over her crotch. Then she took the umbrella and said, "Look, I apologize for that dumb cracker remark, it was way out of line. Now, did you come out here just to return this or is there something else you have in mind?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. Like that nice warm bed we talked about. That is, if you can tolerate being with a radical conservative like me."

She rested her arms on his shoulders, draping her hands behind his neck. "The most handsome, chivalrous, radical conservative I've ever met." After kissing him, she added, "And that's all I'm going to say that's even remotely political."

In fact, she didn't say much about anything, nor did he after they returned to his dorm. In minutes their clothes lay in a heap on the floor. She loved the feel of Chad's hard, muscular body against her smooth skin, his warm kisses and tender embrace. Thoughts of what divided them burned off her radar like fog under a bright sun. She closed her eyes as he worked his tongue over her stomach and nipples. She shivered from the tingly, sensuous feel of his stubble against her inner thighs when he pressed his tongue to her wet vagina.

"I aim to please," he said.

"And you do," she responded. "Very well."

Words morphed into moans of delirious pleasure. She almost laughed thinking that Chad's deft oral technique gave new meaning to the term speaking in tongues. Chad was, without a doubt, the most unselfish lover she ever had, for he seemed to put her pleasure above his. Wendell and her boyfriend before him had all but demanded a blow job before they did anything else. Not Chad. With him, it was all about what she wanted, when and how much.

She barely had enough presence of mind to tell him she was on the pill and therefore he didn't need that condom he grabbed from his desk drawer. On the verge of climaxing during oral sex, it took only minutes after Chad entered her that she was ready to come. Still, she held back in a conscious effort to savor every second of every kiss of every thrust he delivered. "You've got me on a merry-go-round I wish would never stop," she whispered.

"It won't stop until you want it to," he said, brushing her still damp hair from her face."You're so damn sexy and beautiful, Juliana Wilcox. You know that?"

She flashed him a radiant smile. "You make me feel that way."

Chad waited until Juliana climaxed before he followed her up to the summit, those precious, sacred seconds of raw erotic bliss when time seems to stand still. For her, the "descent" was even better, the cuddling and soft kisses, the terms of endearment spoken in soft tones and giddy laughter. As he held her, she thought how stupid she'd been an hour ago, walking out on him because she couldn't stomach his politics. How absurd. "I never want to fight with you again," she said, rubbing his shoulders and kissing his neck. "Let's not...please."

"Sounds like a plan," he said, running his hands through her hair. "Let's stick to it."

***

For a few weeks they did, up until the day when black students and their supporters planned to demonstrate for an Afro-American studies department. Both she and Chad planned to attend. Of course, they had very different agendas. "Just pretend I'm not there," he had told her, half joking.

She knew that would be impossible, and she was right. Seeing him and his small army of dissenters in front of Ford Hall, shouting their opposition, fired her up. Not even her tender feelings for Chad could quell her zest to shout back. Her crowd's mantra: "What do we want? Justice! When do we want it? Now!"

"There's no justice in caving in to intimidation," Chad yelled back, looking at Juliana as he said it. "Afro-American studies departments are a contrivance we don't need at this university."

She inched closer to his protest line. "A contrivance? No, a contrivance is writing history that shows contented slaves playing banjos and singing how happy they are after picking cotton under a hot sun all day. That, my friend, is a contrivance." Students behind her roared their approval.

"Well, speaking of contrivances, Julie, let's not leave out that new dingbat holiday started by that dingbat firebrand college professor in California. The blacks' answer to Christmas and Hanukah, I suppose." The students behind him laughed.

A black female student wearing jeans and sandals and sporting a large Afro and hooped earrings confronted him. "Kwanzaa is no dingbat holiday, nor is professor Karenga, its founder, a dingbat. He's instilled black pride in our heritage and called for the right of self-determination for black people. Maybe racists like you could benefit from a course in Afro-American studies."

"He's not a racist," Juliana snapped, rushing to Chad's defense. "He's just...misinformed."

"No, he's a white racist honky idiot," the black student insisted. "We don't need people like him around here."

Juliana got within inches of the girl, a bold move considering she gave up a couple inches in height. "Hey, he's got as much right to be here as you do and every right to voice his opinion."

A white male student chuckled and said, "Well, well, we've gone from the political to the personal, it seems."

"Get out of my face, bitch," the black girl growled." What is he, your fucking boyfriend or something?"

"Yes, he's my fucking boyfriend!" Juliana yelled.

A chorus of oohhs and aahhs went up from those in proximity. Many were smiling, obviously enjoying the confrontation. The black student took a step back. "Well, instead of standing with us," she said, shaking her head from side to side like a metronome, "maybe you should stand with your boyfriend's group. Phony liberals like you are worse than racist people like him."

"And smug, self-righteous people like you are worst of all," Juliana shot back, throwing her hands on her hips.

The black student gave Juliana a push. When she pushed back, their respective supporters got between them to avert an escalation. Then they all looked up when a tall black male student, wearing a dashiki over his jeans and standing at the entrance with a megaphone, implored the protesters to file in. "We're occupying this place until our demands are met," he announced. "Malcolm X said that we will achieve our rights by any means necessary. Let the occupation of Ford be the first step."

Juliana watched as sixty to seventy people took up the call, trudging through the colorful fall foliage and then into the building. The girl she confronted gave her one last hostile look before joining the would-be occupiers.

"Julie, that was awesome, thanks," Chad said, throwing his arm around her and planting a quick kiss on her head. "And look, you can join them if you'd like, I won't be offended."

She squeezed her body against his. "Not a chance, not with people like her. She had no right to judge us like that. What a smug, pompous bitch." She could see by Chad's look of gratification that her words were music to his ears. She needed to set him straight. "Look, don't believe for a second that I've changed my mind, because I still say we need an Afro-American studies department, and I'll say it until we get one."

Chad held her at arms' length and said, "And I say we don't, and I'll say it until...whenever. Now, can I still be your fucking boyfriend?"

Juliana stepped forward, leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. "Only if you make love to me the way you did last time and continue to indulge me my, according to you, left-wing, liberal positions. Understood?"

"Loud and clear." He picked her up, threw her over his shoulder and started to jog down the hill.

"Chad, what the hell are you doing?!" she squealed.

"Just engaging in a little cross-country training with a phony liberal."

She was laughing too hard to say anything more.