Through The Looking Glass 3

This story is a companion piece to Mirror, Mirror. One of the problems with first person narration is that only one character is fully developed. The problem I had was that there were two people who deserved to have their story told. You do not need to read Mirror, Mirror before you read this story. Lisa's story can stand on its own.

*****

When I saw Darryl my heart dropped into my stomach. Every girl has that one guy that pushes her too far in dangerous directions. Darryl was mine. All my progress toward being a fine moral upstanding member of society skidded to a halt.

I had finished lunch with my faculty advisor, Dr. Wantanabi, at the cafe in the Union when he wandered in dressed in his usual black outfit with an employee from the Athletic department.

"A friend of yours?" my advisor asked as she turned to see what I was gaping at.

I blushed. "He used to be, but that was a couple of years ago."

My petite, very Japanese looking advisor studied my face.

"Seeing him does not make you happy."

"It was a perplexing relationship. I was glad when it was over, and I do not intend to rekindle it."

She smiled knowingly. "Then perhaps we should leave before he sees you."

We bussed our trays and walked out into a glorious late summer day. It had been a wet summer and the campus looked at its best on the eve of thousands of feet pounding paths across the lawns.

"Is your lodging suitable? I know you had some problem with Student Housing."

Her question pulled me out of my thoughts, and I was grateful.

"It's in the old Psychology Building. My room has one of those one way mirrors in it that psychologists used to watch experiments in process."

Dr. Wantanabi screwed up her face. "Don't you worry that someone could watch you unobserved?"

I shook my head. "There's heavy curtains on my side. I've clipped them together to make sure they're completely shut. Other than that, it's another dorm room with a little more room than normal, and with the bathroom down the hall. The fact that I get it at half price makes it very attractive."

We stopped in front of the faculty offices complex. The building could have used more ivy and less stainless steel as far as I was concerned. It's modern lines had never looked right to me here among the ivy covered old buildings. It stuck out like old sneakers in a closet full of high heels.

"I've got to go upstairs and finish my syllabus for class tomorrow. What are your math lab hours?"

"I've got three p.m. to five p.m. five days a week this semester. "

Dr. Wantanabi shook her head. "Those are the busiest hours."

"I know, but it leaves my evenings free for those two grad seminars I'm taking this semester."

The wisp of a woman disappeared into the building.

I hiked to my apartment across campus swinging a wide arc around the student union. My mind was torn between hyper-alertness in case I spied Darryl and reviewing my one-sided relationship with him.

Why was he even here? After graduation, he had disappeared without saying goodbye. His NFL career called and I was someone who no longer fit in his plans. I heard later that he had been dropped after one year and zero playing time, and had signed with a Canadian football team the following year. During that whole time, he hadn't called or emailed once, and in truth I hadn't wanted him to.

Now he was back, and sooner or later we would have that awkward meeting where we caught up on where we are now. We would smile about what might have been and promise to get together again sometime.

I met Darryl the spring of my sophomore year. Megan and I had gone to a fraternity house party. Somehow in that seething mass of loud music and writhing bodies, Darryl zeroed in on me. He was a football player. and I, a mousy co-ed, was dazzled.

When he took my hand and led me upstairs, he and I both knew what was going to happen. After a little kissing in the darkness of a closet followed by more groping he demanded a blow job and I dropped to my knees, pulled down his zipper, and freed his dick. I had never handled a dick before much less given a blow job. I marveled at how hard and warm it was. I had no idea what to do, and still managed a few minutes later to get him off. I swallowed what I could.

"Lick me clean," he demanded.

I complied. When I was done, I stood.

"What's your name?" he asked zipping up his pants.

"Lisa Hartwell."

"Do you live on campus?"

"Arris Hall."

"We should get together more often."

I froze dragging myself out of my reverie. I thought I saw Darryl up ahead, but it proved to be trick of distance and my paranoia. It had clouded up and a chill wind blew across campus raising goosebumps on my arms. I resumed walking a little faster realizing as I did so that this was nuts. I couldn't spend the entire year skulking around campus lurking in shadows trying to avoid him.

After Darryl had zipped up, he turned and left me standing alone in that closet. Using a dirty towel I found in a bathroom, I wiped cum from the front of my dress leaving a large dark stain, and descended the stairway of shame sure that everyone knew what had happened and was judging me. I joined the party downstairs with mixed emotions. On the one hand, I enjoyed pleasing Darryl, and I hadn't any clue why. On the other hand, it appalled me that my first sexual encounter had been so clinical, so devoid of emotion. Actually, it was worse than that. Darryl had deprived me of any pleasure.

Two weeks later, he invited me out for dinner. I was over the moon happy. Sophomores didn't date senior varsity football players, especially good looking ones. He was courtly and charming over our sit-down dinner in a quiet restaurant. Later that evening in the unlit portion of a parking lot he turned to me.

"Let's have some fun. Take your blouse and bra off."

"What?"

"Take them off, I want to play with your breasts while you give me a blow job."

I stared at him open mouthed, and began unbuttoning my blouse. It was like I stood outside my body watching me peel my clothes off. After that, I unbuttoned and unzipped his pants and began bobbing up and down on him. I had consulted a few friends and now understood a little better how to give a good blow job.

I'd like to say that it was a pleasant and fulfilling experience, but it was not. Giving a blow job can be pleasant. I like the total control I have over the guy when I'm pleasuring him. This was different. Darryl took what I gave him and contributed nothing in return.

When I was done licking him clean, he smiled at me.

"Good girl," he said pulling at my nipples. That was it. There was no kiss, no embrace, nothing. I hated him, but at the same time, that faint praise had me purring.

I froze again on the sidewalk. I spotted him for sure this time. His bear-like swinging gait tipped me off. He was with the same guy I had seen him with at the union. There was no place to turn off so I did the only thing I could. I squared my shoulders and marched up to him.

"How are you, Darryl?"

Thunder rumbled in the distance

He frowned as he looked me up and down. It took a moment for him to recognize me.

"Lisa?"

He gave me a quick hug.

"You're still in school?"

I nodded. "Getting my doctorate in Mathematics." I gave him a quick smile. "Why are you here?"

He released me and stepped back.

"I'm interviewing for the job of assistant coach for the football program," he looked at the ground. "Pro football didn't work out the way I thought it would."

Was that a bit of humility? My heart went out to him, but not enough to rekindle our relationship. He had shown me who he was and I believed him.

It began to sprinkle lightly, overture to the storm to come. It made our meeting blessedly short.

"Well, it's nice seeing you. I hope you get the job." I didn't hate him, but I didn't want him in my life either.

The rest of the way back to my room I concentrated on not running into anything. The wind kicked up and I needed to get under a roof soon. Still, the second I lost focus, I was back reliving the past.

That second 'date' defined our relationship. A weird dynamic developed where I wouldn't hear from him for weeks, then one night he would knock on my door. We would kiss a little, then he would ask for a blow job, and like a good little robot I would comply. After he left, I would spend the next few hours mortified at my lack of control and wondering why I did it.

I shared what was going on with my friend, Megan.

"He's using you, and you're letting him. You need counseling."

It took her weeks to drag me to the Health Center, but drag me she did, and one day I found myself sitting in front of a psychologist. It didn't take long to discover my 'daddy issues'.

Don't hold me to this explanation, my degree is in Math, not Psychology. Me, as a child, trying to please my aloof and reserved father set up a dynamic in my personality where I wanted to please men, especially men who withheld affection from me. I know that sounds weird, but that is how it works. I guess it can lead to anything from spending your entire life in an abusive relationship to becoming a stripper or even a sexual submissive.

By the time I realized that kink in my mental makeup, Darryl was long gone. I pulled away from men, and filled that hole in my life by devoting myself to my studies which I was very good at. I let myself go a little and gained weight. Why starve myself if I wasn't trying to attract men?

The sky opened up seconds after I got to my building. When I pushed open the door, my room was the way I left it. I stripped down to panties and an over sized t-shirt. I was too warm to wear anything else, and sat at my desk.

My problem was men. They could never get things right. They either wanted to be too close, or too far away. Why couldn't they be reasonable? Not everything in this world was about sex, but that came the forefront anytime you talked to one.

I glanced over at the curtained mirror. Even here, I could be on display.

In anger, I grabbed a sheet of paper off the printer and took laundry marker in hand to write: WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SEE, PERV? If a man moved into that room, he would know my feelings about men right away.

I opened the drapes, taped the sheet to the window and closed the drapes. That futile gesture made me feel better.

I spent the afternoon doing laundry, and getting ready for classes the next day. Megan joined me for dinner at a new burrito place not far from my room. We caught up on each other's summer adventures, then I dropped the bomb.

"Darryl is back," I mumbled between bites

Megan shook her head.

"I wish you had a boyfriend. It would keep that creep away from you." She looked me straight in the eye. "Please tell me that you aren't still interested in him."

I raised my hand like I was swearing an oath. "I'm not interested in him."

Megan, to her credit, tried hard not to look skeptical.

"He's no good for you. He'll leave you pregnant and without a degree."

She had raised her voice, and now people were looking at us.

I shook my head and whispered. "He won't leave me pregnant. I drew the line at intercourse the last time, and I would do it again."

She pointed an accusing finger at me. "Hah, you're thinking about having sex with him."

Again, she was a little too loud for my comfort. A couple of guys the next table over were looking at me in a new light.

I shrugged and motioned with my hand for her to whisper. "What am I going to do? Sooner or later, he's going to turn up on my doorstep making demands."

"You're going to set ground rules. You want him to be your boyfriend," Megan gave an involuntary shiver, "not a midnight assignation. You want commitment and affection and everything else you deserve. Since he'll want none of that, he'll go away and you'll be able to get on with your life."

"I'll try," I mumbled a little too weakly for Megan's taste.

"You will also call me if things get too intense. I'm only ten minutes away."

Her voice got too loud again. I put my finger to my lips.

"Please keep your voice down."

Megan held my gaze.

"Lisa, Darryl will wreck your life. He's the kind of guy that takes and takes and takes without giving until he sees something better. Then he will abandon you. You know that. It's what he did the last time."

Eventually, we got off my failings as a woman and onto other topics.

I returned to my room dazed from afternoon's events.

Sitting at my desk staring at the drapes reminded me of the sign I had taped in the window. I had been angry when I wrote it. It needed to come down. Why antagonize people for no reason. I opened the drapes and I discovered I was too late. Taped to the window on the other side was: NOT A PERV, YET. MY CASE IS PENDING. MY NAME IS DAVE.

I blushed. and considered closing the drapes and never opening them again. That was the coward's way out. I pride myself that I make amends when I've made a social gaffe.

I wrote in block letters on a piece of paper: SORRY. MY SIGN ISN'T AS FUNNY AS I THOUGHT IT WAS. I taped it to the window, closed the drapes, and turned on the TV so I could veg out for a while. I was getting ready for bed when a hand rapped on the window. I slipped into a pair of sweat pants and opened the drapes to find printed on paper:

I'M A NICE GUY. I'VE HAD ALL MY SHOTS AND DON'T BITE.

Next I printed: TURN ON LIGHTS. I WANT TO SEE YOU AND YOUR ROOM.

I was curious who my new neighbor was. I cupped my hands around my eyes, and peered into the dark recesses. I could make out a few things, but not much. It got a little better when the light came on, but the mirror still foiled me.

ARE YOU A MONK? I wrote next. What little of the room I could see had nothing on the walls. There was nothing personal anywhere. Then I added on a separate sheet of paper: YOUR ROOM IS SO PLAIN.

I watched the dim figure write on paper with a giant marker and post: I HAVE NO TASTE.

He made me laugh. Whoever the guy next door was, he wasn't vain.

When he pulled down the sign on his side of the window, a tiny bit of the half-mirrored film came with it leaving a pinhole of light. He noticed it and scratched at it with his fingernail. He took out his pocket knife and managed to get the tip of the blade between the film and the glass. Within seconds, he was pulling large sheets of the film off.

A very normal guy came into view. He was a little taller than me, but I am tall for a woman. His high forehead of sandy brown hair pretty much screamed that he would be balding in the next ten years. He carried the paunch, the pale skin and sloped shoulders of a grad student. The lack of sleep, the unrelenting work, too much coffee, and the lack of sunlight gave grad students that universal look. He wasn't built like a Greek god, but he wasn't the chubby kid who could never climb the rope in gym class either.

He didn't believe in mood lighting. Every light in the room was on and the light dazzled me as it poured into my dimly lit room.

He held up a sign: WHAT'S YOUR NAME?

I scrawled LISA on a piece of paper and held it up.

Before I could write anything else, someone knocked on my door.

I scrawled BOYFRIEND. It wasn't true, but if a little white lie kept him from hitting on me, so much the better.

I pulled the drapes, clipped them together and answered the door.

Darryl stood at the door weaving a little; he had been drinking. He had raided somebody's flower box to get the fistful of flowers in his grimy hand.

"Here, I brought you these."

He waved his purloined flowers in my face.

"Thank you." I took the flowers and for lack of a better place laid them on my desk next to the computer. They had begun to wilt, not unlike Darryl. He staggered to the bed and collapsed into a sitting position.

"You and I should get back together. Come here, I want to give you a hug and a kiss."

He held his arms out to me, and I had one of those 'what's wrong with this picture' moments. He had to be at least twenty-three years old, he was a good looking guy who probably still had some money from his football career. What was he doing here with a mousy, thick waisted grad student?

I shook my head, "It can't be the way it was, Darryl. You sitting here drunk tells me that you haven't changed, but I have. I won't allow myself to make the same mistakes again."

Darryl shook his head. "Meeting you was no mistake. I loved what we had."

"Of course you loved it. The sex was good, and that was all you cared about. You never said anything to convince me that you cared about me one bit."

I don't know why I bothered to say that. It wasn't like Darryl could process what I had said sober, much less in his current condition.

I pulled him to a standing position. "If you want to discuss our relationship, please return sober. Otherwise I will not open the door."

With that I pushed him into the hall and shut the door. He stood there stunned for thirty seconds before he began rapping on the door.

I watched him through the peephole. He continued knocking and calling my name until other women on the floor began stepping out into the hall to see what the racket was about. He was smart enough to realize that the police may be on their way, and left the building.

My evening and my next day passed normally for a grad student. After my morning class, I spent my day in Dr. Wantanabi's office handing out syllabuses and signing drop and add slips. After my two hour stint in the math lab, and my evening seminar, I returned home with frozen tarragon chicken dinner in hand.

After a thoroughly forgettable dinner I settled down to a text book on multidimensional data manipulation. The plot was thin, the action was good, but z, y, and z remained unknown quantities to me. (Math humor can be wretched. Remind me to tell you the one about the three statisticians who went deer hunting.)

I heard muffled bumps next door, and tapped on the window. When Dave opened it, I held up a paper with my phone number on it.

He entered it into his phone, then typed: You look lovely tonight.

I glanced down at the baggy shorts and old t-shirt I was wearing then typed: Now I know for a fact that you're blind.

He returned with: You're a rose among dandelions, a bluebird amid starlings.

When I read it, I shook my head and typed: What are you, a poet or a bullshit major?

His response: Worse, I'm a journalist.

I smiled then wrote: I'm a mathematician and I find very little rigor in your comparisons.

He was a nice guy, and appeared to be fun to be around. As usual every light in his room was on. It was like living next to an airport.

He typed in: Then I probably shouldn't tell you that your visit is the highlight of my evening?

I rolled her eyes and shook my head: I have a boyfriend.

He grinned and shot back: Not looking for a girlfriend. I'm too poor to afford one, but flirting doesn't cost a dime. If it makes you uncomfortable, I will stop.

I gave him my best 'keep it coming' look, and punched in: I kind of like it.

Then I added: What are you working on tonight?

He pointed at his laptop and typed: A short story that will never get published about a rich lady and a garbage collector who are trapped in an elevator and forced to communicate with each other.

I pointed at the tome on my desk: Still sounds better than exploring polygon properties in n-dimensional space.

He laughed as he typed: If you turn up missing, what dimension should I direct the police to?

My response: Ha ha ha.

We texted a while longer than shut our curtains so we could get back to our studies.

Somewhere between the start of school and mid October, sharing our days through the window became a very pleasant way to spend a few minutes in the evening. Dave was a gentleman always. He became a bright spot in my day, and I looked forward to the time we spent together. He would inquire about my day, and aside from the occasional hint that he would like to take me to dinner, he made no demands on me at all.