The college students in this story are real. They were all over 18 at the time of the events. Names of all characters have been changed...just because.
Before leaving the college campus after our junior year in 1972, Brenda and I checked into my fraternity brother's apartment for one last weekend. He finished finals early and would be returning to the same rental in a few weeks. When I asked him if we could shack up for a few days, he tossed me the keys and said, "Have fun!"
Brenda and I had been together for about 3 months. She was wearing my lavalier. That isn't an official engagement symbol, but it generally meant things were getting serious. We were in love. The chance to be intimate for a few days without having to worry about curfews or curious friends had both of us excited. Just knowing that we couldn't see each other over the summer meant we needed to make the best of this opportunity.
We did.
There were several lessons learned. The sofa was fun, but it squeaked. Getting comfortable seeing each other naked and with the lights on did not take long, but there was finger-pointing and laughter involved. Cooking bacon naked is not a good idea. Bathing together in the shower is sensuous, but it takes a bit of experience to know good positions. Lumpy mattresses don't get smoother with age. Refractory time can be over an hour. Looking up from a prone position in daylight means that nostrils without hair are preferred. And for extended sessions of doing tongue gymnastics, it is quite likely that hair would get stuck between my teeth.
If anyone had known what was going on, they might have suspected that Brenda and I were trying to get pregnant. We did have a name selected for our son. He would be called "Dax" after a heroic character from some 1970s romantic adventure movie.
Summer jobs separated us by 400 miles. My job sent me into the mountains of Western North Carolina teaching outdoor living, camping, and survival. I had one day off each week and letter-writing while under a solid roof near civilization was a top priority. Letter-writing in the open air of the wilderness is much tougher. Brenda's job as a clerk in a pro shop at a Palmer-designed golf course in Ohio was more like a typical 9 to 5 job. She had plenty of time on her hands and receiving a weekly letter wasn't particularly satisfying...and neither was letter writing for her.
About 5 weeks into the summer, I received a letter from Brenda that included my lavalier. From Brenda's perspective, I was out playing in the woods, and she was bored at the pro shop. She wanted to have some fun. I was not happy with the tone of the letter. I had not seen a jealous side of Brenda. My letters were intended to let Brenda see that I could enjoy work and that my fellow staffers became friends while living outdoors. That backfired on me. A phone call on a day off was tearful and I agreed to book a flight to see her on a 3-day break between sessions. Most of the money that I had managed to save to that point was used for the round-trip ticket. Brenda meant that much to me.
The greeting I received at the airport seemed like we would be picking right up from where we left off when we parted from the apartment. I was more than ready. Brenda seemed agreeable. A session on the sofa ended rather abruptly when she announced that she was having terrible cramps. Although frustrated, I expressed my concern and did not force the issue of my 'condition'. The crew in the mountains nicknamed our fraternal group, "Men of the Horn", also known as the Horny Men. My membership was consummated with that short visit with Brenda. In the end, she agreed to wear my lavalier and that we'd see each other at school in 3 or 4 weeks.
I continued to write. I even increase my letter-writing routine to a couple of times each week. I was much more careful about writing about my job and focused much more attention on how much I missed Brenda and how much I loved her. Brenda wrote one letter toward the end of the summer and seemed excited about getting back together just as soon as we were both on campus.
I had been in my room just long enough to unload my car, hang clothes in the closet, and put sheets on the bed when Brenda showed up at my door. One whiff of her perfume and a look at her tan and her summer-blonde hair and my heart shifted into overdrive delivering high octane passion to my outermost extremities. Brenda looked amazing! In one smooth motion, I pulled Brenda next to me, closed the door, and pressed the button on the doorknob lock. Not a word was spoken as we embraced and kissed. Brenda slipped both hands beneath my t-shirt and ran her finger up and down my spine. It was heavenly. I missed her touch so much that I am sure I was trembling.
Without a single break between the lips of two lovers, I pulled Brenda's blouse up from the waistband of her jeans and began echoing the gentle massage that she was giving me. The window unit seemed to sense that the temperature in my room was on the rise and began blasting cold air in our direction.
I had forgotten how noisy that old unit could be and joked to Brenda, "I see the air conditioner hasn't forgotten its part...let's get under the sheets."
Brenda pulled away from me and headed to my bed. Like some ritualistic dance, I flipped off the light and had my shirt, pants, and socks scattered in the short path from the light switch to the edge of the bed. Fresh sheets seemed like a luxury to me after a summer of sleeping bag endurance. Having Brenda beneath the sheets with the aroma created from our passionate kisses was rapturous.
I reach over to touch Brenda and discovered that she was fully clothed. It had been a while and Brenda knew how much pleasure I received in undressing her. As my hand moved across her breast toward the top button on her blouse, it was stopped by a hand that grabbed my wrist.
As if cued on a theatrical script, the air conditioner stopped blowing and we were laying there in silence. It wasn't complete silence, however. Brenda released my wrist and held my hand. She was trembling and I sensed through the darkness that she was crying.
"What's going on? I asked.
The trembling erupted into full scale sobbing. I was literally "in the dark" and totally clueless as to what was going on with Brenda. My mind was going crazy. I rewound the last four months in high speed and paused only a second at what fun we had at my fraternity brother's apartment.
The only conclusion I could reach...we are pregnant!
My fast-forwarding replay of the summer was interrupted as Brenda took a deep breath and let out a sigh. Through a breathless whisper, she announced, "I don't love you anymore."
This came from so far out of nowhere that I felt like the driver slammed on the car breaks and only my seatbelt kept me from flying through the windshield. My head, however, must have taken a hit on the dashboard.
"You mean you aren't pregnant?" I blurted.
"What? No, I am not pregnant," Brenda responded. "I just don't love you anymore."
The understatement of the year would caption my situation as "awkward".
There had been other break-ups with girlfriends, and I believe all of those were a gentle drifting apart sort of thing. Here I was in bed, nearly naked, and doing my best to bring my physical body down from the stratosphere. My heart and mind were in an out-of-control spin bracing for a crash.
This was unfamiliar territory for me and the silence killing me. Someone had to say something. In my head-spinning haze, I said, "Can we still be friends?"
"Good grief, where did that come from? I must be an idiot to come up with something that cliché'!" I said to myself. The only explanation: I was in shock.
"Yes," Brenda said. "I still want to see you, but just as friends'"
"OK", my brain says to me, "you just hit your head on the dashboard a second time...you need to get your butt out of bed." With that, I rolled off the bed, fumbled around and found my t-shirt. I managed to get the t-shirt on as I reached for the light switch and lit up the scene of the crime. I didn't think it was possible to feel any stupider after that, "Can we still be friends?" remark until I realized that I had my t-shirt on wrong-side out and my jockey shorts revealed a huge wet spot from the quick takeoff and sudden landing of my aroused genitals.
