... "I was hoping you'd be here, Mark." (Okay, get it together. Steady, steady. Smile. Good.) "It's great to see you Elaine. How's Berkeley?" Unbelievable. The others were wandering off. Elaine walked up to him, The Smile playing across her soft, wise face. "Berkeley has its moments, but I want to know about you. Let's sit down somewhere." Detour for beer. A couch. Elaine: "Mark, I don't want to make you uptight, but I promised myself this if you were at the party, so here it goes. In high school, I always hoped you'd take me out. I was too shy to do anything about it, or about dating at all. I know we're different now, but maybe we can leave early and find out about each other. Twenty after midnight. Mark and Elaine at Howard Johnson's, ignoring burgers. Mark, wondering whether he's simply digging being wanted or whether the incredible pull he's feeling toward Elaine is real. She tells him about her two lovers, her two breakups, the pressure of her studies, the longing she feels for a relationship with all the trimmings--care, support, sharing. There's no question about the entree. Mark relates his non-history candidly. "Dora and I were shy, even after a year. I think our shyness about sex kept us from getting close in other ways. At UCLA it's been a lot of studying, a few dates and that magic encounter with Margaret. But this is going to be my year." "Do you know what you want, Mark? What's your image?" "Equal parts libido and friendship. She's a bit overwhelmed taking care of her Uncle Fred's summer home at Malibu. She spots me one day as I'm handily repairing the dorm bike rack. She asks me if I can lend her a hand at the beach. The beginning of an epoch." Elaine, smiling and shaking her head with delight: "My folks are in Hawaii and one of the kitchen cabinet doors is loose. Want to tempt fate?" In the front door two steps and locked in a clinch. Elaine's lips like melting butter, her tongue gently inquisitive. Mark's hands wildly stroking her back, her sides, her ass. Elaine, clutching at his shoulders, rubbing his hair. On the floor, frenching, tearing off each other's clothes. His tongue rolling through neck hollow and down, into the valley of her breasts, now up, reveling in the firmness of her left nipple. She moans as he sucks, hard, his right hand moving to her other breast, stroking, kneading, pressing and rolling the nipple. |