Once (or Twice) Upon a Mattress

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.

By now, Brenda was out of the bed and tucking in her blouse. She did that head shake thing to get her hair back in order and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

For a moment neither of us spoke. The air conditioner kicked back on, and I shook my head with a half-snicker. As she made her way to the door, Brenda slipped on her sandals and reached out her hand to give me something. It was my lavalier.

By now, my shock subsided enough that I knew I was hurt. I took the lavalier in hand as Brenda unlocked the door to leave.

"Someday, I'll tell you what all happened on the golf course this summer," she said as she walked out of my room...and out of my life.

"Holy Shit!" screamed my brain, "that is a third head-bump on the dashboard!"

I reminded myself to breathe. The normal medulla signals from the brain that result in breathing were not functioning due to the repeated hits on that virtual car dashboard, not to mention the swift kick to the groin I felt as Brenda delivered her parting 'on the golf course' shot. Crying was working just fine though. My evidence of that was a seriously damp pillow that greeted me when I woke up two hours later. I was still in shock but knew that I had friends who would be there for me. I just needed to find them...right now!

"It is time to get out of this room and find out who has returned to campus," I said to myself.

My first stop was just across town at Mark Murphy's apartment. He was back in his second-floor apartment, and I could hear music blasting from his place. Oh, the irony that "Breaking Up is Hard to Do" was the song playing on the stereo.

Mark and Melissa Stevens had moved into the two-bedroom apartment when they were

just friends

. I couldn't help but run that 'just friends to lovers' scenario against my disastrous 'lovers to just friends' recent history. As I marched up the stairs like I was headed to the gallows, I started practicing what I would tell my friends Mark and Melissa.

My fantasy gallows climb was interrupted by a gruff, theatrical bark from below. "Hey you! Get down here, I need to tell you something!"

The voice sounded familiar but in my confused and abused state of mind, I could not connect a name to the voice. Bonnie Cook was standing in her doorway, arms folded across her chest and holding a bottle of Miller Lite with two fingers.

"You've got some nerve coming around here," she said in her best Hollywood gangster voice.

I laughed for only the first time that day when I realized this was one of the first friends I made when I came to college. Bonnie hadn't changed much since our freshman year. She was my height, still wearing her blonde hair short, and still about the proportions of a real-life Olive Oil from TV Popeye cartoons of our childhood. She did look good and I'm pretty sure the scrubs she was wearing were all that she had on...'comfort' was a Bonnie signature. As I made my way back down the steps, I thought to myself that I had never really looked at just how pretty she was...my loss, I thought to myself. We never dated but I recalled some fun times those first couple of terms.

There was one spur-of-the-moment weekend trip to Atlanta. One of my fraternity brothers was dating a girl in dental school and asked if I wanted to tag along. I jokingly asked Bonnie if she wanted to take a road trip and both of us were suddenly without an overnight bag and cramped up in the back seat of a VW Beetle and on our way. The four of us had a great night in Underground Atlanta and consumed too many pitchers of draft beer. It was a silly night. In the wee hours of the morning, Bonnie and I were introduced to a fold-down sofa that made a single bed and left to our own devices. I'm sure that I tried as much as any inebriated guy could to get Bonnie out of her underwear. We ended up sleeping in our underwear without any sexual contact at all. The next morning, Bonnie was up, washed, and dressed first. I was rudely awakened by hysterical laughter. Bonnie was leaning over my mid-section pretending to us my morning 'condition' like a four on the floor gear shift. "Vroom, vroom", she laughed. "It is time to get the rest of you up." Those were fun times and I have no idea how or when we lost contact.

Bonnie invited me into her apartment and asked me, "When you go up to Mark and Melissa's place would you have them turn the music down a notch. I have a few friends from the theater coming over and we're going to read through the script of "Once Upon a Mattress".

"That sounds interesting," I responded. "I have no experience reading through a script, but I think I would make a great mattress coach.

Bonnie snorted and replied sarcastically, "I bet you would!"

"Isn't that the play based upon the fairytale, The Princess and the Pea?" I asked.

"Did you learn that from your career as a mattress coach?" Bonnie said laughingly.

"Well, no. But I did pee on a mattress when I was younger, does that count?" I quipped.

The conversation that followed was two old friends catching up with lives of young adults in the early 1970s. We walked and talked all through her place until we reached her bedroom. I plopped down on the bed and motioned for Bonnie to join me.

"We're not going to play four-in-the floor again, are we? asked Bonnie sarcastically.

I pulled Bonnie up next to me and she snuggle against my side. I gave her a quick summary of my day's events and about the sudden break-up. "You are probably in a dangerous position right now. I think I could ravage you into orgasmic bliss with just a hint that you would be agreeable."

"I'm so sorry about you and Brenda. That had to be awful for you," Bonnie said sympathetically. "I think I would take you up on an Atlanta replay, but I don't' think my theater people would find it amusing."

"They probably wouldn't understand an inside joke about 'once upon a terrible mattress in Atlanta', would they," I explained.

As I squirmed my way to get the two of us upright, I said "I understand. Consider it a long-shot request from a horny guy."

Bonnie took my hand and guided me back to the door. We embraced like old friends and shared a quick kiss on the lips. I was starting to feel human again. Bonnie was a special friend, and I was so glad that we re-connected that friendship.

As I turned to head up the stairs, Bonnie reminded me, "Don't forget about the music, please?"

I responded, "I'll take care of the volume personally".

As I made it about halfway up the stairs, Bonnie assumed that tough character voice once more and barked, "You come back here to my place at midnight. I don't think you need to be alone!"

I didn't respond to her demand, but I did turn and gave her a smile.

Mark and Melissa were gracious hosts to their heartbroken friend. After a few beers we all loosened up a bit and talked the late evening away. No one seemed to notice that I checked my watch as the time slipped closer to midnight. Mark offered me the sofa if I wanted to crash at his place. Melissa was prepared to bring sheets, pillows, and a blanket to make me comfortable. I begged off. "I need to check on an old friend. I need to go," I told my friends as I made my way to the door.

I made my way down the stairs from the apartment only to discover all the lights off at Bonnie's place. I figured she was tired after the reading and had gone to bed. I was tired myself and decided to head back to my own mattress.

I hadn't quite reached the car when a familiar bark came from the direction of Bonnie's door. "Where the hell do you think you're going? Would you stand-up a princess? Get back over here!"

Turning toward to door, I saw Bonnie in what looked to be some sort of silky princess costume and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Are you looking for a Serta coach?" I asked coyly.

"Maybe," Bonnie responded. "What I really need is for someone to tell me about this terribly uncomfortable lump beneath my mattress!"

"I'm no expert," I explained, "but I wouldn't mind riding in like a knight is shining armor to attempt a rescue of a fair maiden princess in a sleep crisis."

"Well, you can forget the maiden part, skip all of the shining armor crap and get your butt inside!" Bonnie said in a gruff but joking voice.

Bonnie led me through the dark apartment and eased me down on the edge of the bed. I heard the click of her shoes hitting he floor and instinctively slipped mine off with an echoing thud.

"Good grief! Bonnie whispered. "Were those your shoes or did you bring the white horse inside with you?"

We both had a good laugh and rolled over next to each other on the bed. I had a brief flashback to being in a similar scene earlier in the evening, but that nightmare halted when Bonnie's soft lips consumed my lips in a sexy kiss. Just having someone close who was concerned was comforting. Having someone laying close whose touch relaxed the tension of my day was heartwarming.

Bonnie and I seemed to be fading after a nice session of making out. I reached down to loosen the clip on the scarf that was binding the princess attire on my friend. She, in turn, reached down to unbuckle a rather odd connector that kept my belt in place. It did not take but a moment for the struggle we both encountered to get silly. I could not figure out the scarf clip and Bonnie was pushing and tugging at what had to feel like a jigsaw puzzle of a belt buckle.

"I'll make you a deal." Whispered Bonnie. "If you get out of that thing, I'll get out of mine...deal?"

"You're on," I replied. And we both proceeded to get more comfortable.

Now, my idea of 'getting comfortable' meant getting out of my shirt, pants, and socks. When the sound of clothes hitting the wall and the floor ended, Bonnie and I rolled back into our making out position.

Bonnie's concept of 'getting comfortable' meant removing every stitch of clothing she was wearing. This became obvious when Bonnie moved her bare leg between mine and shifted her knee all the way up to my tighty-whities. There may have been a few embers lit while we were kissing and massaging one another earlier, but my hand sliding down Bonnie's back only to discover a bare bottom threw gas on the fire. My shock and pleasure happened so quickly that I'm surprised that I didn't blow out the front of my underwear with the aftershock bulge pushing Bonnie off the bed.

Things heated up quickly. There was a bit of playful rolling around and a lot of nibbling. Bonnie's breasts were particularly responsive.

"I don't think this is appropriate behavior for a princess," Bonnie said breathless. "But if you stop teasing my nipples, I may have to hurt you."

Again, we laughed and were having fun just enjoying each other's touch.

I took the dare and separated my self from Bonnie's breasts with a few flicks of the tongue. I did not get hurt. There was no virtual dashboard to crash into. This was encouraging.

The path down Bonnie's tummy was paved with nibbles and kisses. At a point just over a small speedbump I encountered tall grass in the right-of-way and snuggled my nose into a musty scented crease just below.

Bonnie squirmed a bit and said, "That tickles!"

Without another word being spoken, Bonnie adjusted her legs so I wouldn't break my neck and I responded with an exploratory tongue.

"Oh unarmored prince without shining armor, please do not stop!", Bonnie said with a quiver in her voice. "Oh my god, that feels incredible, "she exclaimed as the pitch of her voice moved up to a squeal.

For several minutes this continued. Bonnie could not keep still. She grabbed the sides of my head and moved me to the places that gave her the most pleasure. My poor jaw was about to fall off. I began to fear that I might drown in the combined saliva from my mouth and the stream of warm secretions coming from Bonnie.