It started with a dream I had back in college, freshman year. I was so naive, so green, so inexperienced with relationships of any kind. I was a bit jumpy, sensitive, lacking in confidence but not utterly anti-social. I was also far from a he-man type -- I was the bookish nerd, not the football hero. And I wore glasses early -- I actually couldn't wait until I could, because I thought they made me look better.
There was this one student who I'd see around. Her name was Melissa. She was from my hometown, the big city. I'd see her around on campus, and I thought in a vague way that she was kind of pretty.
She had sandy brown hair, steel blue eyes, freckles, and a friendly, open face. Her hair went almost to her neck and hung relaxedly on her head. She never wore make-up, something I always like in females in general -- I never liked the idea of being "done-up", all that paint and chemicals hid the natural beauty of a woman.
She and I both stood about the same height, which is to say about 5-10. Were I to embrace her, it would be comfortable, requiring neither of us to stand on tiptoe. Her frame was fairly skinny, but she had a pretty ample rack, a little more ample than her peers.
On a couple of occasions, she sported tops that were just short enough to reveal a peek at her midriff and her cute, oval-shaped, innie bellybutton. It was about as sublime an image as a chick could have, or so I thought. This one time she had a pastel blue polo shirt which rode up just a bit. I always found such fashion teases tantalizing.
Perhaps it was the swirl of activity being at a major engineering university, what with the classes, getting accustomed to schedules, balancing coursework, and whatever, but with my head spinning with all the new data, I had an extraordinary dream one night, and it was about her.
Imagine the classic clouds or "in the heavens" scenes, lots of white, misty gossamer clouds of white, gently wafting around, perhaps a fog obscuring everything. Nothing is clearly visible.
And then it slowly faded in, emerging gently. It was me and Melissa, leaning towards each other, face-to-face, seated, as if on a hillside.
And we were kissing -- kissing sweetly, lovingly, blissfully, our soft lips, partially moist, feeling each others' out, feeling the warmth of each others' faces, cheeks, with me feeling the energy of her sandy hair, her presence, affection.
It wasn't French kissing -- there was no tongue. It wasn't down-and-dirty. It was about as simple, as kindly, as one might imagine. It was slow, and sensual, and frankly, loving.
Seemingly, about 15 minutes later, the vision dissipated.
The natural chemistry made sense to me. I am a Pisces, and she was a Cancer. I always thought Cancer chicks were naturally sweet anyway -- just a touch shy, but with the ability to flirt. Being a student of astrology (no, that was not my major; it was just an interest) I knew that each part of the body was ruled by a different sign. For Pisces, being the last sign in the astrological year, it was the feet, the last extremity in the body.
For Cancer, however, it's the breasts, and it is reputed that Cancers have quite sensitive chests. They love having them stroked, touched, felt. (Gals and guys both, supposedly.) And, logically, I would imagine that Cancer chicks, in many cases, have pretty sizable racks to that end.
After having had this dream, the most extraordinary thing happened -- I had a massive crush on Melissa. It was really odd, because this was someone I'd only seen around, but not really talked to much. I now found myself with this burning desire to get to know her.
As luck would have it, second semester, we would share a class together -- a sociology course on marriage. I chose it as an elective, primarily to help boost the grade-point average. (I was already doing well, but one always hedges one's bets against a rotten professor.)
Never one to hide out in the back of class, on the first day, I took a seat on the front row, in the 300-chair lecture room, with six large chalkboards and a front desk and lectern, all wooden, a setup that clearly had seen better days on this campus of over 150 years. Other students shuffled in with backpacks and spiral notebooks in hand.
Most of the seats on the first row were filling up, but there were a couple to my right. And then I saw her walk in, searching around. She took a seat just two from mine, to my right.
As she sat, she smiled warmly and said hi. I responded in kind, my heartbeat beginning to slowly accelerate. I introduced myself and asked her name, but I already knew it. I'd also seen her in my dorm and had done my share of sleuthing.
The professor, a grizzled man of 50, strolled in the room and called the class to order, giving the usual boilerplate speech about his name, the syllabus, and other introductory matters. After about three to five minutes of this, he began the first topic.
I found myself stealing looks sideways at Melissa. It was almost surreal that I had seen this lovely in a dream on a preceding night, and now, here she was, seated next to me.
Fifty minutes later, the bell rang, signaling the end of the first class. We had our first reading assignment, and our first homework. I chatted with her after class about what she thought of it. She said it would be an interesting course.
I asked her why she took the course. She said she was undecided as a major and thought a sociology course might be more accessible than psychology. I couldn't deny that. She also admitted she had a bit of a fascination with people and culture, how people decide how to live. I suggested she might consider an anthropology course, but she replied that it sounded stuffy.
The course took place three days a week -- Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays -- at 3pm. It was both of our last courses of the day, and was worth four credit hours. The second week after the Monday class I said I was going to the student snack bar/lounge and asked if she'd join me. She said yes, to my delight.
The snack bar/lounge was equal parts cafeteria, arcade, and entertainment center. It was also where the dorm mailboxes were situated, oddly, as well as a massive bulletin board announcing various campus events. For such a sizable campus, though, it was never overcrowded, and I found it a fairly chill place to relax.
It was in this environment that Melissa and I would study and get to know each other more. I don't know if she felt it, but when I say chemistry, I really do mean it -- I felt something chemical in my body when we were together. It was part calming, part relaxing, something I don't usually feel with anyone else. There was definitely a sweet and gentle vibe to her.
As the weeks of class went on, we began to share more about ourselves with each other. Both of us had had challenging early lives. My Achilles' heel was self-confidence, always feeling flawed and "never enough." Hers was finding someone to connect to -- while she was sweet and approachable, that never seemed to translate into the kind of buddy-buddy intimacy her classmates seemed to enjoy. In her own way, she was also nerdy, but not the kind that makes one awkward.
By midterms, I found myself thinking more and more about her, and not just emotionally, but also carnally. I was relatively inexperienced in the sack and, being the kind of guy I was, did not just simply play Casanova with anyone. I always liked the idea of being friends first, particularly if the upgrade path for that led to the bedroom.
In the privacy of my dorm room bed at night, I would find myself carrying my original dream a bit further, but not into the kind of tawdry scenes one would see in a XXX video. There would be cuddling. There would be hugging. There would be soft whispers, light tickling, playfulness. I would imagine running my fingers through her long strands of hair, and feel her ample presence in my arms.
As the eleventh week arrived, the end of the semester was beginning to come into focus. Both of us were doing well grade-wise, so we were both feeling pretty confident there. As it was now spring and getting warmer, a different energy was present.
With that energy, thankfully, came clothing that was appropriate to the warmer weather. On a particular Friday class, as I was reviewing the notes I'd scrawled in my notebook, my periphery was caught by Melissa as she strode into class.
She was wearing a polo shirt that rode up a little bit, just enough to let her oval-shaped bellybutton tease me, showing and hiding in alternating succession. I felt my crotch stir with excitement, but made a decision not to stare. But that was a bit of a challenge, as my eyes took in all of her as she got close to our seats.
Melissa had a rather nice pair of breasts. I mean, they were really quite noticeable, at least the size of grapefruits. The shirt she wore hugged them nicely, though, so they weren't showy -- just noticeable. No cleavage was visible, but my imagination filled in the gap anyway. And there was no profile of nipples, either -- perhaps a wise call in the dignity of a college classroom.
Despite the adage that it's not wise to compliment a female on her physical appearance, I went for it anyway and told her I thought her outfit looked really great. Her face lit up, and she thanked me, telling me it was something new for spring. I felt the energy of her pleasure and it buoyed me, too.
I needed the buoying. While I was doing well in the sociology course, a sort of existential angst had taken hold of my head, and I found myself questioning my worth, my value as a human being. Where was I going? I had chosen a major, but in so many ways, I felt like a misfit. I wasn't a hip musician. I wasn't a jock. I was a decent student, but not Dean's List material. On some level, I felt invisible.
So when I felt her positivity, it really was a lift.
It was another Friday night near semester's end. Melissa and I had actually started hanging out, outside of class, by this point. We often got dinner together, but it didn't feel like dating. It was just, here was this really hot student chick that I seem to have developed a crush on, and got to spend lots of time with, but not in a suffocating kind of way. In many ways we really were good for each other.
The snack bar/lounge was closing. We'd been there a good 90 minutes. It was time to go. As effortlessly as breathing, I asked if she wanted to come back to my off-campus apartment. To my great delight, she said yes.
My apartment was in a nice part of the college town. It wasn't far, and we walked there from the snack bar. My college town is picturesque, green and lush with oak trees, like many smaller places in the Midwest. It was a two-plex I got for a decent rate from a private landlord and had just the right amount of space for me and my belongings.
I turned the key in the lock and quietly pushed open the door to a peaceful, darkened apartment, with only a night light providing illumination in the spring night. I closed the door behind us, and for a moment, with only the soft hum of the central air, we stood there.
"May I hug you?" she asked me.
"Of course," I quietly said.
We walked toward each other, and stepped into a warm, full, embrace. I cannot recall the last time I ever felt a hug quite like this one. Her cotton polo shirt brushed against my lower neck and felt wonderful. Being the same height, our upper body frames fit snugly together.
