Some Small Mercies

She was younger than me, by two years, but that didn't matter. She also said she had a boyfriend. That should have mattered too, but it didn't. The first time that I kissed her was the night I held her hair back while she threw up after we'd all been out drinking. That should also have mattered, but in some strange way it didn't, because she was cute and fun.

We were both thrown into the deep end, living in the same sprawling student house, her in her freshman year and me in my final, in a third tier university in a forgotten part of the country that the promise of life had leached out of, leaving behind tumbledown dockyards and the marching stacks of chemical works alongside the bank of a river that was almost too wide to see across, an endless roiling landscape of dirty brown water under the wind.

Where we lived was one of a hundred identical places that lined the long avenues on the perimeter of the campus, each house its own microcosm of young adults, finally free of home, kicking back, sampling that rarefied air, the first taste of freedom. I was the house senior, which put me in charge, but that was hopeless. Even from the very first week, it was clear that there was no order to be brought to the bedlam, as the occupants of our specific den of iniquity brought back bodies to fuck or cones to smoke or little tabs they'd got from a guy who knew a guy who knew some serious face in the estates that ringed around us, hemming us in like a moat.

I navigated a path through the chaos, picking battles, playing loose with the house rules, making it up as I went along. We never got a smashed window, so I guess I was doing something right.

The second week in, we were all gathered together with beer and vodka in the lounge room, crammed onto the battered couches that had seen a decade-worth of fools like us, drinking and watching videos. She was sitting on a chair, and she put her legs up on my lap, laughing along to whatever the movie was that we were watching as I stroked her shins.

After the movie finished, she yawned and went up to bed, leaving me to get the ribbing. I thought it had been discreet, my hand on her thigh through her leggings while we all watched the screen in the dark, the feeling of her firm body beneath my fingers, unresisting. But, they'd all seen it, and I got the broadside. I denied everything, pointing out that she was a freshman, that she had a boyfriend, that I was going to be sitting down here and watching the next video we'd selected and not following her up to bed.

I didn't go to her bed that night. I held my resolve. She was in my bed the next night, though, despite all my words to the contrary. She stayed that night, just sleeping, then she stayed the next morning and we made love. She stayed in my bed for five years.

It changed the dynamic of the house, picking at the seams, exposing unexpected jealousies. She was good looking, with an easy smile and a carefree attitude, happy to build a little bubble with me, moving her bed upstairs so we could push them together and have a vast expanse to romp around on for the entirety of Saturday morning which we heard the rest of the house moving around outside the door. It was my first proper relationship, both of us diving headfirst into it and fitting together like long-lost puzzle pieces, taking turns cooking and cleaning up, going shopping, doing the laundry, then spending our nights wrapped together in a world of our own.

That was the year I finally seemed to get all my shit together, pulling up out of a nose-dive with my grades to finish on top, opening up opportunities to stay on after graduation and study postgrad. I took the opportunity, and even though we had a pittance between us, we managed to secure a place on the main road, just the two of us now, our first actual home together, while I made ends meet as a teaching assistant part time, taking the courses that that I'd been a student in only a few years before. We had nothing; we had everything we needed. After years of drifting, of not knowing what my life was going to be: here, at last, I'd started.

Postgrad was hard, but in different ways, trying to keep up with the evolution of a brand-new field of study long enough to put a thesis together without it already being superseded as the frontiers advanced past it. Her degree was coming to a close too, hitting her final year. Money was still tight, but we made do: the rent was cheap and the city we lived in seemed specifically designed to house people on subsistence living. I took a part time lecturing post to try and get us a little more, since her meagre university grant was almost meaningless.

The Sunday before my first lecture, sitting in our little lounge with all my slides prepared and a steadily growing feeling of dread, she took pity on me.

"All prepped?" she asked.

I nodded, morosely, shuffling my pieces of paper together on the little table. She stood in the doorway, in jeans and a top, her unruly tresses of auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail. She smiled sweetly at me.

"You'll be great," she said.

I didn't share her optimism. I stashed my notes in my bag, but I couldn't settle. All I could think about was fronting up to a hundred faces at ten o'clock the next morning.

"What's on your mind?" she asked me.

"Oh, just the existential terror of getting up in front of a horde of first years with a questionable motivation for being there."

"How bad could it go?"

"You seem to forget, I was one of those first years. I know how bad. I was right there. That lecture theatre might as well be a colosseum."

"What's going to take your mind off it?"

"Aside from at least four pints?"

"Yeah, not good for your first day. Aside from that?"

"I dunno," I confessed. "Maybe a reconnaissance? Check out the lay of the land, before the enemy arrives?"

"Sure."

I frowned at her. "What?"

"Sure. Let's go. You've got a key, right?"

"Yeah, but..."

"So, let's go in there. You can stand at the front, see how it feels. I can sit in the seats."

"And heckle."

"Like I'd even know what to heckle about. I'd have to resort to, I dunno, calling you a poo-poo face."

She grinned, and her cheeks dimpled.

"A poo-poo face? Is that as good as you've got?"

"For now. I might think up something more cutting when we're in there. What do you think? Good idea?"

I stood up and went over to her. She wrapped herself around me and gave me a kiss.

"I think it's a good idea," I told her. "I like the idea of walking out there tomorrow remembering you being in the audience. It's like that thing you're supposed to do in public speaking if you're nervous."

"Which is?"

"Imagine the audience naked."

She kissed me again, her eyes twinkling. Gently she disengaged from me and took my hand, leading me towards the bedroom.

"Oh, I think we can do a lot better than that," she murmured over her shoulder.

---

I felt like a thief, standing at the back entry to the West block in the dusk with my girlfriend by my side, fiddling with the key. She was dressed in a long-sleeve jumper now, but still in her jeans and sneakers, standing close as I got the door opened at last. With one last surreptitious look around, we slipped into the building.

The theatres were stacked on one end of the block, and I was due to be in the upper one. We came in through the back entrance, via the little departmental library, and opened the door into complete darkness. I stopped, feeling her hand in mine, and gave it a little squeeze. Then, I searched by the door for the bank of light switches, throwing them on, one by one. The steps lit up, then the rows of seating, and finally the stage area, showing the large wooden demonstration table in the middle, next to a trolley on which the slide projector sat. The table was specially designed, with springs and dampers, so that it was vibration-proof. I still to this day do not know why it needed to be like that.

She ambled along one of the rows, her hand trailing across the wooden seat backs, glancing at me from time to time as I took up position next to the projector. Looking up at the banks of seating from the bottom, the nerves hit me again. I imagined them filled with an unruly press of students tomorrow, all staring back at me, waiting for me to mess up for their own glee. She took a seat, crossing one leg over the other, and waited.

"Shit," I breathed, and my voice carried all the way to the back of the room.

"How's it look?" she asked.

"Absolutely fucking terrifying."

"Are you imagining everyone naked?"

"To tell you the truth, I'm just imagining turning up naked. It's like one of those anxiety dreams, like when you're walking through campus and you realise that you've only got your t-shirt on. Except, this is for real."

She grinned at me, her fingers toying with the woollen neck of her jumper. Then, she got up from her seat and came down the steps towards me. I didn't dare move. She approached the big wooden table and stopped.

"Let's see what we can do about that," she murmured.

I watched in absolute silence as she reached down to the hem of her jumper and began to lift it up. I'd watched her put the jumper on in the bedroom, but my breath still caught as she revealed the lacy black basque beneath. She tugged the jumper over her head and let it drop, levelling a sexy little smile at me. My gaze travelled from her impish expression, down to the valley of her cleavage and then over the exquisite lingerie to the belt of her jeans.

As if reading my mind, she began to jiggle, kicking off her shoes. Her hands went to her belt, undoing it and then popping the button of her jeans. She slid the zip down and the denim gaped open, revealing more black lace and then a slash of creamy skin. She prised the waist wider and began to wriggle her jeans down her hips, revealing what she was wearing underneath.

Her eyes never left mine, but all I could do was stare, following the progress of her hands as she exposed the tiny lace panties and the straps dangling down from the black basque to clip into the tops of her dark stockings. Gracefully, she stepped out of her trousers, to stand in front of me, stripped to her lingerie, her taut figure on show for her boyfriend in the middle of the empty lecture theatre.

"Imagine that," she purred, smiling cutely back at me, twining her hands together behind her back to display herself for me.

"Come here," I rasped, holding out my hand.

She took it and allowed me to gather her up in my arms, pressing her lingerie-clad body against me. I lifted her up and perched her on the edge of the large table. She shuffled her bottom, getting comfortable, and then leaned back over the polished wood.

"So, you'll have your notes here tomorrow," she observed, "But for now, it's just me."

I laid a hand on each of her knees, my fingertips brushing her sheer, dark stockings, and I spread her legs. She relaxed back, laying down on the table, putting her hands behind her head. I bent forward, my lips brushing the exposed skin of her inner thigh, working my way parallel to the suspender strap, finding the edge of her panties and peppering her with kisses until she crooned.

She lifted her bottom clear of the table as soon as my fingers found the waistband of her panties, letting me strip her, exposing her crotch to me. I stroked her gently, teasing her folds, watching how her eyes closed and her body settled on the table. She waited patiently to be explored.

"I think this might be counterproductive," I told her.

"Why?"

"Every time I look at this table now, I'm going to see you lying here in lingerie."

"And that's a problem?"

"Yeah. I'm going to be standing in front of a hundred first years with a hard-on."

She laughed, then said, "Then do something about it."

I smiled back, bringing my lips into contact with her slit, feeling her shudder at my touch. That surprised me, that she was as turned on by being laid out half naked in the lecture theatre as I was watching her. I could taste her, that sweet moisture, and I dipped inside, probing with my tongue until she was squirming, her hips bucking as I teased her. I withdrew, sliding a finger into her, finger-fucking her slowly as I undid my own jeans, stripping off until I too was naked. Her eyes alighted on my erection and she shuffled up the table without needing to be told, making room for me to kneel over her on the hard surface.

We didn't need to talk; there was no more banter. She looked up at me, waiting, and I pressed down onto her lovely body, my manhood finding its warm, wet target and sliding in. She felt so good, dispelling in an instant all thought of where we were and what we were doing. We were in a little bubble, fucking gently on the table on the stage, the rows of empty seats our silent audience as we made love.

She held my face in her hands, bringing my lips down to meet hers and we kissed. I picked up the cadence, thrusting harder into her, feeling her react beneath me, building up her pleasure even as I felt the familiar tightness within my core, that ache behind my balls.

"I'm not gonna last," I gasped.

"Me neither," she whispered.

It was all I needed. My hands slid under her shoulder blades, gripping her shoulders as I bore more forcefully into her. She closed her eyes and began to gasp in the tell-tale way that I knew so well. I felt her squirm beneath me and stiffen, making almost no sound as her orgasm crested. I slammed into her hard, feeling my body answer hers, my rhythm becoming erratic as my balls clenched and I erupted inside her.

I flopped down, pinning her to the table beneath my bulk, burying my face in her hair, feeling her arms wrapping tightly around my waist, holding me inside her until I began to soften and my knees ached from the pressure of the wooden surface. I withdrew, finding my feet again, and we dressed hastily, giggling like kids, retracing our steps with an unreasoning fear of being caught that wasn't there when we entered. We got downstairs to the back entry and slipped out into the night.

---

Despite having nothing, we had each other, and we had our friends, and we were happy. I started to prepare my dissertation and conversation turned to what our next steps were. She had an opportunity to take the postgraduate route too, which would once again have us two years out of synch with each other, but it seemed like a no-brainer. Two more years didn't seem too long to wait for our lives to begin.

Each summer, once the year had finished, she would go back home. It was a long train ride, and that meant that we were separated, but it gave her the chance to get a summer job to help with the finances. She got a job as an office junior, and I made the trip to pick her up from work one Friday, so that we could spend the weekend together. She came downstairs in a little top and a skirt, which was a first, since she usually wore jeans. The skirt showed off her legs, pulling tight over her hips, giving her bottom a little swish as she walked. She ran over to me and enfolded me in her arms.

"Missed you," I told her.

"Missed you too," she replied, nuzzling my ear and planting a kiss on my cheek.

I wrapped her up in a hug, squeezing her tight after weeks apart. Finally, I released her and we began to walk, hand in hand.

"So, how's the job?" I asked her.

"Oh, it's good. I just do the paperwork, so it's pretty dull, but everyone's so nice."

She flashed me a smile that made my heart leap, but there was also a little stab of envy.

"Who you working with?" I asked.

"Oh, Mr. Hargreaves. He's nice."

"What does he do?"

"He's the office manager."

"You getting up to speed?"

"Yeah. He was only too happy to show me the ropes."

She grinned at me again. I stared into her eyes, but the only thing I could see was her excitement at seeing me. Of course he was happy to show her the ropes. She was beautiful, twenty, in a short skirt, with a lovely smile. The newest addition to the office floor in the little accountancy practice would certainly be turning heads. Still, I could see no reason to doubt, and I was certainly not going to plant the seed by discussing it. We had the entire weekend together, no point poking at shadows.

We had a good time together, making plans for her return. The train was expensive, so over the summer break I'd only get one visit, but it seemed to be enough as I held her in my arms again. We'd be back to our old antics in a few short weeks, and as they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder. When I got home and unpacked, I found a piece of paper in my bag. It was cut into the shape of a heart, and on it she'd written, 'I love you, very much'. It brought tears to my eyes.

We passed the point that year where we'd been together long enough to be considered a de-facto couple under the law. It didn't really mean anything different in our lives, but it meant something more fundamental. It gave us the same recourse in terms of property and assets that a married couple had, without the wedding ring. It felt like growing up, a milestone that told us we were a proper couple and that this wasn't just some fling.

I say it didn't change us, but things were changing around us. I was into the pointy end of the dissertation, and the money had run out. There's a valley of death waiting for postgrads, the distance between the end of the funding and the date of submission for the thesis. Getting a proper job pays the rent, but it reduces the hours required to get the chapters completed, and you can end up chasing a finish line that's moving away from you as fast as you're trying to catch up to it.

We dug in though, the two of us, with me going down to the dole office to keep my side of the arrangement while she took teaching hours for her postgrad, working now in her doctoral first year. Together, like we always did, we made ends meet and I managed to complete the thesis and turn it in.

Suddenly freed of the burden of that work, I was left at a loss for a while. We started to talk about the next steps, what we'd be doing in two years. We'd lived a hand-to-mouth existence until that point, never planning more than a few months in advance, trusting that the money would show up somehow. Finally, the future loomed large ahead of us.

She was two years behind me, so it made sense to start looking for jobs in the local area. I felt good about it, the idea of getting a proper salary in, moving out of our tiny place huddled in the converted attic of one of the grand townhouses that lined the main road into the city. It felt like a new chapter.

I could see other things too, further down the line. A couple of years, then we'd both be free, able to go anywhere we wanted with the qualifications we'd worked for. From the tiny apartment, I could see the world laid out at our feet. Then what? A career, then a house, then a ring. It was as simple as that: get ourselves onto a more secure footing for the next two years, and then we could go wherever we liked. I wasn't too concerned. We had all the time in the world.

But, it wasn't like that. I scoured the newspaper and went down to the employment office, applying for a number of jobs in my field of expertise. They were all entry-level and nowhere near as well paying as they were in the more affluent parts of the country, but it didn't matter. I just needed to get something local.

The problem was demonstrated to me point-blank in an interview. They took one look at my qualifications and told me that I wasn't suitable. They were looking for someone who would turn up and do the work, month-in, month-out, for years. The kind of work I was looking for wasn't here. It wasn't anywhere in the region. I'd have to look further afield.

One night after dinner, I broached the subject.

"I didn't get the job," I confessed as I tidied up the plates.