The same warning to family on the last post applies to this one as well. All “Family of Bluz” should close this page and check back for the next post. This is a story about yours truly doing the Freak-Nasty with his roommate all over town and trying not to get caught. While it is not necessarily explicit, graphic mental images may ensue. You have been warned. I promise that the next post will be fit for general consumption. (As much as any of my posts are…)
In the last post, I told how after several years of quiet lusting, I finally got it on with my hot blond roommate, “Diane,” (so named because her demeanor often reminded me of Diane Chambers from “Cheers”) once my girlfriend and I had broken up. Of course the fact that the Ex-Girlfriend still lived there did complicate things a bit. (If you haven’t read the last post, you should probably do so before reading this one.)
Now that the ice was broken, Diane and I went to town every chance we got, meaning, “whenever the Ex-Girlfriend was out of the house.” Lucky for us, that was most of the time. If she wasn’t in class, she was working with her Community Theater group or Children’s Theater. Even though we were broken up, (and I mean really broken up, not “on a break” like Ross and Rachael), we really didn’t want to cause any bad feelings or pain.
So that meant we had some anxious moments. Diane loved teasing me when other people were around. Like I’d be in the kitchen with the Ex-Girlfriend, and she would walk through wearing nothing but her nightshirt. When the Ex-Girlfriends back was turned to her, she’d pull up her shirt and flash me the beave. Then I’d have to try and keep my composure, lest I have to explain a reaction to the Ex.
We didn’t tell anyone at work what was going on either. Everyone knew we were roommates, but no one knew anything else. So sometimes, we’d both be up in the cash register island, and if I were standing in the passageway, she’d pretend she had to squeeeeze by, so she could rub her ass against my crotch. She’d walk away, tossing a smirk over her shoulder.
Our shared commutes to and from work were unbelievable. Most of the time, whoever wasn’t driving had their hand in the driver’s pants. Other drivers nearby must have thought it was strange to see someone looking so happy to be going to work.
One night, on our way home, she said, “Turn left over there,” pointing to a small road leading off the 4-lane highway. As we drove down the narrow road, the pavement turned to gravel, which then turned to dirt. Next thing I knew, we were in the middle of some farmer’s field. I don’t know what he was growing there, but I knew what I was growing. She said she knew this place from her younger college days. I didn’t doubt it.
So there we were, in the middle of some field, getting it on atop the hood of her car, about 200 yards from I-75. I don’t know if the passing trucks were laying on their air horns for us, or to warn errant drivers in front of them. All I can say is that there was a lot of honking going on.
We visited that field a number of times throughout that summer. And if we were home late, we could always chalk it up to a problem with balancing the registers when we were closing up.
One night when we were all home, Diane asked me to go with her to get some cigs. I agreed, so off we walked to the gas station down the block. On the way back, she said, “Lets go this way,” motioning for us to take the long way around the back of our block. Then as we were going along, we passed a hedgerow in front of a large house.
She said, “Let’s see what’s behind here,” so we walked around behind the hedges. She dropped to the ground and pulled me down with her, where we proceeded to have some wild, front-lawn nature sex, about three feet from a public sidewalk.
By the time we got back home, the Ex-Girlfriend was about to start calling the hospitals. Diane made a beeline for her room, so she could check her pants for tell-tale grass stains. I told the Ex that Diane was having a tough time at work and we needed to talk about some things, so we took a long walk around the block. (Remember, cell phones weren’t invented yet. People actually left the house and you couldn’t contact them until they came home again.) Knowing I’m such an awful and awkward liar, I tried to work as much truth into the story as possible.
But what I was learning with Diane was that danger-sex in public places was an awful lot of fun. The risk of getting caught made the act so much hotter and irresistible…
There was one time, though, that I came thiiiiiis close to getting caught with my pants down.
Diane and I were having a go at it in her back bedroom while the Ex was at rehearsal. Now let me describe how our place was laid out… If you came in the door, the living room was in front of you. If you turned right immediately, you’d go through the kitchen into a hallway. My bedroom with the Ex was on the left. The bathroom was the next door on the right, then Diane’s bedroom was the last door on the left, adjacent to my bedroom.
So we were right in the middle of some hot monkey love when the front door is flung open and the Ex announced, “I’m home… stop fucking now!”
That wasn’t the alarming part because that’s what she always said when she came home. But this was the first time that it applied. But she almost always got a ride home from rehearsal and we were counting on hearing the car pull up. This time, she walked home.
Immediately, I yanked out so fast I’m surprised the Ex didn’t think I was opening champagne in there. We were under the covers and I had my shorts around my ankles. I desperately tried to pull them back up and get out of bed. I could hear her approaching, but my shorts were caught up in the covers and my ankles and they weren’t moving.
This was very bad, because while the Ex wouldn’t think twice about our being alone on the bed, being under the covers with my pants down would be another matter. But try as I may, I was unable to quickly get myself right and all I could do is resign myself to the huge commotion that was about to be unleashed.
Except… instead of coming all the way down the hall, the Ex turned right into the bathroom to have a pee. With the precious extra minute, I was able to pull my damned shorts up, get out of bed and get myself, er, presentable. I was walking down the hall right as she came out of the bathroom. She never suspected a thing.
I, however, damn near had a heart attack. It was so much easier just to screw behind the bushes.
At the end of August, 1985, we all moved out and went our separate ways. I still saw Diane at work, of course. I had my own apartment about a mile away. It was cheap, primitive and low-rent, but it was all mine and I loved it.
Diane made it over only once, where we tore one off for old time’s sake. By then, she was starting to get on my nerves at work, with the “pretentious” stuff. I also started sniffing around this other girl who was much younger, so Diane and I kind of drifted away from each other. Eventually, she left the store to go and get a real job, befitting her degree. By mid-1986, I moved to Cleveland for the opportunity to manage my own store.
I ran into Diane one more time in the 80s, at a wedding of a mutual friend. She was with a guy about 15 years older than her. I heard through the grapevine later that she had been engaged to some other guy who had left at the altar. I felt terrible for her. I was really hoping she’d found some stability and happiness.
Then in 1991, I was working in Albany NY. Out of the blue, I got a phone call from Diane. She was living in South Carolina and she’d gotten my number from a mutual friend. I was thrilled to hear from her. By that time, I’d had a couple of disastrous relationships while living in Cleveland before moving to New York, where I knew exactly no one. I was bored and lonely and not really loving my new life.
After a couple of phone conversations, she invited me to come visit her in SC. I didn’t have a whole lot of cash, but I had enough for an occasional plane ticket, so I jumped at the chance to go on an adventure.
Thinking about it right now, 5 years doesn’t seem that long, but at the time, it seemed like a whole lifetime since we’d last seen each other. Maybe it was because we were both light-years away from the lives we used to lead.
I really had no idea what to expect when I got there. Would she still be smokin’ hot? Would she still dig me? Would there be hot monkey love? Would she still be annoying?
When she picked me up at the airport, I thought she looked good. She’d put on a little more weight, but she wasn’t the only one. I sure wasn’t the long, lean kid I was back in the apartment anymore, either. Still, I wondered what was in store that weekend.
I got my answer at Burger King.
I hadn’t eaten since lunch, so she stopped by the BK drive-thru on the way home. While we were in line, she asked me to get a coupon out of her glove compartment. When I opened it up, I saw a long strip of condoms, all attached together like lottery tickets.
From my point of view, that’s exactly what they were and every one was a winner. We spent the weekend sexing each other up just like we used to, albeit with a couple more rest stops. When I floated back into my store on Monday, my staff was unanimous.
They said, “If we knew a weekend like that would make you this easy to work with, we would have gotten you laid months ago.”
Diane and I spoke only a couple more times by phone after that. I know she moved out to Colorado for a while, then I heard she went back to South Carolina. I’d moved around a lot since then too, so neither of us had each other’s contact information. I’ve never heard from her again.
One of the things she told me when I last saw her was that she had multiple sclerosis. She seemed perfectly fine to me at the time, but I wonder a lot about her now. Annoying or not, she’s always had a fond place in my heart.
In fact, while Brill was still alive, whenever I’d go out to visit him and Rik and John, someone would invariably bring up her name. Long ago, we’d all compared notes and found that we shared many similar experiences with her. And it was all good. It was like a bond between us. Then Rik, Brill and I would raise a toast.
“To Diane!” we’d say, and smile slyly to ourselves; each of us recalling some nasty little tidbit from our memory banks. (Because he was married so young, our buddy John was the only one of us that was never with her, so he’d sit that one out.)
You know, when one girl has been with each of three guys who are lifelong friends, and there was never any bad blood about it, you know she must have been pretty special.
Cheers, Diane. You’re one unforgettable girl.