I was a "freshman counselor" overseeing and living with 12 Ezra Stiles College freshmen on Yale's Old Campus. I had a single room, free meals at the freshman dining hall, a good stipend, and money to spend as I saw fit to socialize my charges into college life. Combined with my full scholarship, I had no expenses and was living well.
For the last three years I had worked summers in the Governor's office in Harrisburg. Toward the end of last summer I was assigned to work with two staff people preparing a major gubernatorial announcement. Helping us was Martha, a fiercely loyal assistant secretary to the Governor. I met her daughter Sarah when she came into the office to meet her mother prior to their going somewhere after work.
Sarah was starting Bennington in the fall. She had a lively sense of humor, long brown hair, a decidedly feminist point of view, and a smile that would melt icebergs.
Early in October I was at a rowdy Branford College beer party when I ran into Sarah. "What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" I asked, knowing that she would push back. "Dumb place. One of the girls in my dorm knows this guy and she brought me along. His roommate is really after me. I'm afraid of him."
"C'mon, we'll go over to Stiles. He'll never find you there."
We danced at that more sedate party and I introduced her to two of my charges, David and Chris, who she charmed. At the end of the evening we found her friend and she safely escaped New Haven.
David and Chris were agog.
"You know somebody at Bennington? Can we road-trip up there?" Bennington in those days was a Yalie's wet dream, an all-girls college where it was believed that boys were devoured by sexually omnivorous beauties.
I'd never been there but I said it was probably not quite like that. Nevertheless, because I liked Sarah, I called her and arranged to visit in two weeks. She thought she could arrange blind dates for David and Chris.
Sarah and her friends Margaret and Fran, who roomed together, met us in their common room around 6. Everyone clicked and we went to a folk music concert and a reception afterward. Sarah beamed like the successful matchmaker she was.
Around 11 I was ready to start the three-hour drive back to New Haven, but David and Chris hung back. Margaret said we could stay overnight if we didn't mind sneaking into her room. I looked quizzically to Sarah, who winked. I took that to mean that I was invited also.
We crawled through an unlocked window at the end of the hall and sprinted for Margaret's room. (Later we found out that this was a venerable Bennington tradition that posed no real risk of discovery.) The sleeping accommodations in their room were a set of bunk beds.
Fran soon had Chris with her on the edge of the top bunk while David, Margaret, Sarah, and I were sitting on the floor in the middle of the room. We passed a joint around and told silly stories in squeaky voices. Soon Chris and Fran disappeared from sight and Margaret motioned to David to move with her to the lower bunk.
Sarah's room was down the hall. Her roommate was already asleep. Did I want to go there or should she bring her mattress here, she asked.
"I'll help you with the mattress," I volunteered.
"No, I'll do it myself. You never know what these busybodies will do if they see you."
While Sarah went for her mattress, I listened as the whispering got quieter and quieter and the bunk beds began to squeak. When Sarah returned, we rearranged the desks in one corner and made ourselves a little nest.
"They'll be new men in the morning," Sarah said. "I've never seen couples join up this fast."
While the Bennington winter home uniform was jeans and a sweatshirt, Yale road dress was jackets and ties, shirts and slacks. I had shucked my jacket and tie while waiting for Sarah and now we took off our shoes and socks and slid under the blankets, the only bedclothes that Sarah had brought along. We faced each other and I reached for her. She met me halfway and we locked into an embrace the consequence of which was pretty clear.
My beard must have tickled and she pulled back. "Doesn't it itch?" she asked
"No, so long as I keep the neck shaved. I forget it's there most of the time."
We kissed some more and soon were unbuttoning each other's shirts and pulling them off. I reached for her bra but she was already there, releasing it to reveal two lovely melons. We played with each other's chests for a while, me kissing her breasts and she working my nipples and drawing pictures on my chest and belly hair with her finger.
"You really are hairy. I can't get over it."
"Roll on top of me and I'll share."
Instead she held herself over my chest and swished her breasts all over, then lay beside me and resumed running her fingers from my throat to my pants. She hesitated as she got to my belt.
"Are you okay with the fact that I'm a virgin, Pete?"
"Fine time to tell me, now that you've got me in bed," I said. "Yes, of course Sarah, I am fine with that."
"Okay then, let me take your drawers down," and she undid my belt, unzipped my fly, and had me arch my back so she could pull off my slacks and briefs and add them to the pile of clothes.
"You really are a hairy guy!"