If you're under 18, go away! What did I just tell you?
Restless, by Lucinda Gavin (Lostgirl)
I check my mail for the hundredth time. Nothing. I should just get
to work, but I stare at the computer screen. Nothing. It's PMS, I
tell myself, nothing new about that. I walk downstairs to see if
Wynnie is in her office. The office is empty and I don't need to try
the door of her lab to know it's locked. I'll just go outside for a
bit, walk it off. It's only after the fact that I realize that I
don't see what is around me.
I just keep walking. He says I have a short, fast gait. I call it my
cocker spaniel walk, to keep up with my taller friends. He's not much
taller, but he strolls, using as much gait as God was willing to give
him. He's not with me now, so I patter along, taking a direct path to
nowhere in particular. A pretty undergraduate smiles at me as I
pass, I remember just in time to respond in kind. Do I know her? Was
she a student? It doesn't matter, silly, she was just being nice.
Maybe I was looking stressed? Well, then maybe you should just
lighten up a little, huh? I can't wait to get this stupid
dissertation done.
I decide to sit on a bench that faces toward the university green and
watch the students walk past. I have to think about keeping my legs
closed. Not only did I wear a dress, I didn't wear any underpants.
I've been feeling sensitive down there. The fresh air feels good.
What I need is to go home and tire myself out with a nice orgasm, or
two, or eight. It's definitely PMS. I'd call him, but he has to
work. Besides, he's on this Christian kick, he wants to live a chaste
lifestyle. I don't know how long I can hold out. Is it really worth
it?
Maybe I should give up and run errands. I'm never going to get any
work done. Might as well be productive on some level. I walk back to
the building, I should be enjoying the sunshine, but it doesn't sink
in. It's October and the oppressive heat is gone. I can't even
imagine living in the weather up North anymore. I press the button
for the elevator and find I'm too impatient for even that. I walk
over to the stairs and take them slowly. Everything feels like it's a
bother. Shit, Charles is in the office, he's going to want to talk
about work. What do I say? My hormones are on overdrive and I
haven't gotten a lick done the past few days? Fortunately, he
doesn't seem in the mood to talk. Maybe he hasn't accomplished much
either. Small comfort.
I walk to the parking lot. The walking is helping. I see a former
student and we talk, they smile and talk about getting accepted to med
school. They seem happy to have run into me, which is gratifying
since I was just a TA for one of the big weed-out courses. It's a
nasty job but someone has to do it. We walk together to the lot by
the medical center. I look around for my car. Then I remember I
found a spot in the commuter lot right across the street from the lab.
Shit. It's late afternoon and it's getting hot as I walk back, I can
smell myself without the panties. I wonder if anyone else can. That
would be so embarrassing, but I could bathe several times a day during
this time and still that aroma between my legs would be strong. It's
not a dirty smell, but a sexual one, I'm pretty sure...
I get to the car and I drop my umbrella as I look for my keys in my
purse. Then I stand up and drop my keys. Geez! I bend over again,
suddenly aware that I might be exposing my backside to anyone that's
looking. I stand up suddenly, pulling the skirt down. I look behind
me and see a turn away quickly. I see him blush as the heat rises
up from my own neck. Oh well, what are you going to do? A quick
thought runs through my head, suggesting that I knew exactly what I
could do. Yearite, that only happens in stories... In stories, they
don't tell you that the increased sex drive is accompanied by all
these nasty side effects that make you completely unattractive to the
opposite sex, like bloating and irritability. Actually, retaining
water also affects one's state of mind. It's like having 'water on
the brain,' which is why women get easily confused and irritable. I
compare women with PMS with Grandpa Simpson... 'Leave me alone!'
'That's not funny!'... 'I don't understand...' We cry in plaintive
tones, never getting the joke. I'll be glad when Aunt Flow finally
comes to visit.
I let out a breath when I get in my car. The only space I can truly
call my own right now. Please, God, let me graduate and get a real
job. Don't get me wrong, I love my roommates, you couldn't ask for
better. I need more space that is just mine, that's all. I turn the
key and the engine turns over... thank you, thank you, thank you.
It's getting and all my spare money is going into repairs. Please
let me get out of this place. Please give me my brain back so that I
can work, so I can get on with my life.
I find myself in the grocery store parking lot. I can't even remember
driving there. I get out and walk inside the air conditioned
building, unlike my car. It's too cold now. My nipples crinkle up so
tight they hurt. Maybe I should just relax and enjoy it, instead of
fighting it. In a grocery store? Why not? Let 'em wonder what
you're smiling about. I take a cart and begin walking down the
aisles. I don't know what to buy, I've lost my appetite and nothing
appeals to me. This was a mistake. I can't even remember what I have
in my refrigerator. Just walk, just try to relax.
I leave the store empty handed. Maybe I can get some costuming stuff
done before rehearsal tonight. The thrift shops should still be open
at this hour, so I brave the afternoon rush hour to get to the part of town. I have one eye on the TEMP light or worse, the CHECK
ENGINE light. My car doesn't like idling in the heat. I've got a new
alternator but you never know. I visit the Salvation Army, Friends of
the Library, and the little second hand stores up and down Main
Street. I search and dig and none of it is really 'period.' Just a
bunch of cheap, graceless stuff from the '80's. If I could find
anything with any character, I would buy it for future use... if I
could afford to lay out the cash... I find a hat and an interesting
prom dress that could be modified. Not too bad.
I drive to the theatre, I feel so tired when I get in. I can't do
anymore tonight. I tell the producer; he's not thrilled because we
don't have much time left. I tell him he has me for the weekend, I
promise. He seems satisfied. I call my boyfriend. I've started
calling him that for lack of a better term. When the tow truck came
for my car the last time, I said I needed to wait for my boyfriend.
Once you start using the word, it's hard to go back. I tell him I'm
done here. Can I come over to his place? Sure, he was done with
bible study. Bible study. Oh, I think to myself, that's great, my
man's restraint strengthened by a will greater than our own. I've
tried to respect his choice, but it's difficult, oh so difficult.
He's moved to a new apartment, I've only been there a few times. I
ask him to give me directions again, but in the dark I lose my way. I
turn and back track and become angry with myself. Why can't they
light the streets better in this one-horse town? I wander at this
intersection of three streets knowing that I have to take the second
left from somewhere. I finally turn into the ABC liquor store and
call him from the pay phone. I'm at the ABC, where do I go? Keep
going from the direction you came... I don't know which direction I
came from! I'm all turned around... Well, where is Rte number...?
That's on my left... Okay then go to your right and take the first
right past the Little Champ. Okay... and then I can find it. I'm
sorry I snapped at you...
I drive up to his apartment. I knock and hear him say, Come on in.
It's dark and there are candles and soft music is playing. I see his
shadowy form nestled in the recliner. I close the door. I'm sorry I
snapped at you on the phone. It's okay. It's PMS, it's the evil
ovary this month. Huh? Some months it's worse than others, I'm sorry
for being like this. Just sit down with me for a while, relax.
He moves to the sofa. I nestle against him and let his warmth sink
into me. I've never had a fondness for new age music, but the quiet
melodies wash over me gently, slipping through the brambles that
abrade my spirit. He strokes my hair over and over. He brushes his
fingertips across my cheek and my neck. I am unaccustomed to any
man's tenderness and his is overwhelming. He rubs my arm, up and
down, light enough to arouse me but heavy enough to transmit warmth
and comfort to me. I am indeed aroused but not excited. I lift my
head to let him kiss me, and immerse what's left of my drowsy
attention in his full, soft lips. These are not invasive kisses, it
is clear that is not his intention. This evening is not about what he
desires, I can see. He does not tell me of his temptations, perhaps
they would be strengthened if he gave them voice. I have not asked
him what he dreams of doing, I have lured him too far and too often
before.
I out, wanting to press my body against his. He accommodates
me, but only briefly. Instead, he kneels beside the sofa and lays his
head between my breasts, his torso rests on my belly and hip. His
arms are wrapped around me and it's unclear whether the comfort is
given or received. I am beyond caring. But... When all is still, I
feel the restlessness build within me. It's not fair, he's worked so
hard to soothe me. I have an ungrateful mind to continue whirring and
clicking. I move to stand up, stand away from him. I don't deserve
this beautiful, lavish attention if I'm just going to continue tapping
my fingers or grinding my teeth. I look at him, he's so calm... he's
almost asleep. I'd be better off going home and masturbating until I
fall asleep myself.
He walks up to me and brushes my hair from my face. His hands rest on
my shoulders and his heat softens me a little more. He rubs my arms
again, he seems willing to repeat this nurturing ritual for as long as
necessary. I circle my arms around this extraordinary and let him
squeeze the tension out of me. I ask for a backrub and I out
on the carpeting. My skirt rides up and I feel foolish knowing that
I'm only inches away from showing my bare bottom. I sense a gentle
tug pulling my dress lower on my thighs. I guess he noticed the skirt
as well. We're an odd couple, the two of us. Sitting beside me, not
over me, he begins rubbing the palm of his hand over my back, like one
would to settle a child down. He takes his time, massaging my
shoulders, kneading up and down my spine. My body finally gains
substance and the heaviness of imminent slumber. I let him continue to
caress my arms just like at the beginning. That was nice, I tell him,
thank you.
We return to the sofa to cuddle, his head at my breast. I run my
fingertips over his short hair. I hear him begin to snore softly.
The weight of him on top of me brings to my attention my unsatisfied
arousal. I consider returning to my apartment, but I'm too tired to
drive. I recall a self-designed exercise I used as an undergraduate to
fall asleep and soon follow my companion into the darkness.
In the morning, there was a light blanket over me and I heard a
familiar soft snore from the direction of the bedroom. I wrote a
quick note and drove home. I finally satisfied my desires in the
shower before heading to work. You may wonder at my choices, staying
with a who wants to save himself for marriage. But if made to
choose between sex and nights like that, what would you do?
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