Going Back

"O.K." She stood and walked to the bathroom to freshen up, and I did the same in the mirror over the desk. Vanessa returned, a few minutes later, hair perfect, lightly made up, and ready. We donned our crazy blazers, I grabbed my bag with one hand and Vanessa's hand with the other, and we left the room.

June 2, 1990 1:27 a.m.

The band was blasting away, and the dance floor was packed. The whole courtyard was packed with people ranging in age from kids up past their bedtime, drunk teenagers who snuck in, sometimes by crawling through windows, graduating seniors trying to medicate their way past the fear of leaving campus, and alumni of various seniority and inebriation. Although there didn't seem to be any way that I could still drink as much as I had—what would have been a normal night just a few years ago—and still feel lucid, somehow, I was. Almost as if being back on campus ignited a muscle memory allowing greater capacity. Not that I would have wanted to take a sobriety test, but I felt pretty much in control of my faculties. We had gotten beers and were heading away from the dance floor so we could try to talk.

"Still hard to believe," said Al. He gestured broadly at the scene. "Fifth Reunion already. All of this."

"Seriously," agreed Steve. "They look so young."

"Some of them are," I pointed out. "Have any of you seen Benji?"

Al replied, "He decided to head back."

"He was always a fucking lightweight," Steve added, holding his beer up as if toasting, and taking a long drink.

"How's Maggie handling it?" Al asked.

"Surprisingly well." I took a drink. "She's great, and I think she's having fun. But it was getting late, so she decided to bail."

"Mary, too. But that was what she was like when we were here."

We nodded and drank, remembering the nights when Al would have to decide whether to follow Mary back to her room or hang out with us. Of course, he always went with her, and we always teased him, jealous of his good fortune.

My head snapped around, as a tall, slim blonde walked by.

"You know that she isn't here," Al said.

"Who?" I responded.

"Seriously? Vanessa Carson. Your stalkee."

"What are you talking about? I saw a hot blonde and took a look. I love Maggie, but I'm not dead."

"You would be, if she saw that," Steve pointed out.

I nodded. "True." I had learned my lesson from Amy Kantor.

"Anyway, Dave, I call bullshit. You've been looking for her all weekend."

Taking a drink, I shrugged. "Old habits die hard, I guess." I finished my beer and turned the cup over, letting the last drops fall on the muddy ground. "I'm done. I'm going back."

Saturday Night, 11:17 p.m.

"Still nothing?" I asked.

Vanessa put her phone back into her blazer pocket. "Nothing. Not that I expected anything."

I took a swig of beer. We had spent the evening hanging out together. We had spoken to a number of people, including my good friends, some other acquaintances, and a few of Vanessa's college friends, although that seemed somehow awkward. We did nothing to indicate anything other than that we were hanging out together at Reunions, which is what I still believed to be true, but only my friends were aware of my mostly one-sided history with Vanessa.

We were sitting in the auxiliary tent, far enough away from the blaring band and the writhing mass of humanity in front of it that we could have sort of a conversation. But mostly we sat quietly, drinking, looking at the crowd and thinking. Vanessa finished her beer, and slammed it on the table with a satisfying click. "Dance with me?"

To say that I don't like dancing is an understatement. I'm not good at it, and I feel terribly self-conscious. It took a bunch of drinks, and typically Maggie's good-natured chiding, to get me on the dance floor at weddings, bar mitzvahs and even Reunions. I was probably two beers from that level, but Vanessa seemed to really need it, and she was, for god's sake, Vanessa. I was powerless. I drained my beer, hoping that it would get me drunker than I might have otherwise wanted, took her proffered hand and let her lead me to the floor.

It was a great band—rocking, loud, funky and with a horn section, which makes everything better. Finding a way on to the dance floor, a series of dirty wooden platforms under a huge tent that kept in all of the sound, heat and smell, was nearly impossible. It was a riot of orange, white and black, with members of what seemed like dozens of classes trying to move in the confined space. Yet, Vanessa's innate Vanessa-ness somehow caused people to step back and provide her—us—with enough space to join the craziness. And I found myself dancing, after a fashion, and enjoying myself. It didn't hurt that occasionally we were thrown together by the writhing crowd, and I got to feel her body against mine, even briefly.

And when the band played something a little slower, she grabbed me around the neck, and I had no choice but to pull her close to me. I could feel her breasts pressing against my chest, and was thankful that we didn't press our crotches together, because it would have been uncomfortable. The song ended and we disengaged as the band cranked up the tempo again. I looked at Vanessa, her hair plastered to her head with sweat, and I felt guilty. Guilty that I was here having fun, with another woman, and my Maggie wasn't here. Guilty that despite myself, I wanted her, and worried that I was being used.

I turned to leave the floor, and pushed my way through the crowd, heedless of the mayhem I was causing and that I was leaving Vanessa behind. Even though it was still warm, the contrast with the air inside the tent made it feel tolerable. Beer and water were my quests, and I started toward the taps, when I felt a hand grab my arm. My head whipped around.

"What's going on, Dave?"

"I was hot. I needed a drink."

She looked at me carefully, then wiped a lock of her wet hair off her forehead and behind her ear. It was damn sexy, and I suspect she knew that. "Sure. Is that all it is?"

By that time we were at the taps, and I ordered a beer. I looked at Vanessa, but she shook her head. I followed her toward the side tent, and we sat down at an empty table, covered with empty cups. "I'm sorry, Vanessa. I miss her."

"What are you sorry about? Enjoying yourself? I didn't know your wife, but from what I hear, she wouldn't want you to be miserable for the rest of your life."

I put my head down on the table, the orange plastic tablecloth somehow slightly cooler against my sweaty forehead.

The sound of the band and the voices of my fellow partiers rang in my ears. I knew Vanessa was right. Not only because of who Maggie was, but because she specifically ordered me not to wallow in self-pity after she died. It was early in what turned out to be her last week. She was in the hospital, hooked up to all sorts of tubes and wires. A mere shadow of her once vibrant self. She asked me to come close, and I put my ear to her mouth. She kissed me with her dry lips, and it still sent a chill down my spine. "David," she whispered, "promise me that you will go on with your life. I know you too well. Please try to be happy. I love you too much to want you to be miserable for the rest of your life just because I won't be there."

I turned to her and kissed those parched lips. "I will, my love. I promise." At the time, I was lying, just telling her what she wanted to hear. I knew that I'd never have another happy day in my life. But I wanted her to feel peace, and not worry about me. And yet, here I was, actually enjoying Reunions, and feeling something for another woman. Maggie was usually right—I rarely made a mistake when I followed her advice—and so I had to trust her now. I looked up at Vanessa, and saw the concern on her face. Concern for me. I didn't know what to say, so I took a sip of the beer.

Despite the blaring of the band and the hubbub of chatter, I felt like everything had gone silent.

"David, let's get out of here," Vanessa said, standing and reaching her hand out to me.

I grabbed her lifeline and stood up. Holding hands, we walked, silently, through the crowds, the staggering orange and black masses, down the road to Vanessa's Lexus. Without thinking whether what was happening made any sense, I got into the passenger seat and sunk into the leather. The car was warm and stuffy, but the air conditioning started to blow hard, the cool breeze drying the sweat on my face. My ears were ringing, and my heart was pounding. My head was spinning, from the heat, the beer or Vanessa, or some combination of all of that. I thought to myself how ironic it would be if I had a heart attack now, on the way back to the hotel with my unrequited college crush, and smiled, involuntarily. Apparently Vanessa noticed.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing. Just amused by the situation."

In the reflected light of the dashboard lights, I could see a brief look pass over her face. Maybe questioning whether this was a good idea? I hoped that it wasn't regret.

We drove in silence, down Washington Road to Route 1 and to the hotel. She parked the car and we entered the hotel, happy to be back in the climate controlled lobby. As if we were a real couple, we got into the elevator, I pressed the button and we climbed, standing next to each other, weighing what was about to happen and the consequences.

Before long, we were standing in Vanessa's room, staring at the bed. We approached each other, and I leaned down to kiss her. She tasted like beer and salt, and she kissed me back, reaching her hands under my blazer and resting them on my back. It was a very good kiss. She stepped back and removed her smaller version of the jacket and tossed it on the chair, revealing her tanned shoulders and neck. In the half-light of the room, it was impossible to tell that she was a mother, in her 50s, and my mind flashed back to the girl that I had tried desperately just to glimpse around campus.

"Dave, you should take off your jacket, I think, assuming that you want to stay a while." She smiled.

I returned the smile and shrugged off my jacket, tossing it on top of her much smaller version. She approached again, and this time, she instigated the kiss, pressing herself against me, and allowing me to pull her close by her hips. I could feel my heart pounding and my cock stiffening when she pulled away. I could see the passion in her eyes, and that turned me on even more.

"What do you say to a shower? I feel sweaty and dirty."

"Works for me."

She turned, and walked toward the bathroom. But before she entered she faced me, reached down and pulled her dress over her head, giving me a quick look at her matching black bra and panties. She smiled, threw the dress in my direction, and slipped into the bathroom. I could hear the water start, as Vanessa waited for it to come up to temperature, then heard it change as she switched the flow to the showerhead. I laid her dress over the chair, took off my shirt and my t-shirt, my shoes, socks and shorts, but for some reason, I kept my underwear on.

"O.K., Dave, c'mon in," she said. I wasn't sure if I heard hesitancy in her voice, or uncertainty, but we were rapidly reaching a point of no return, and with Maggie's admonition bouncing around my brain, and with more than 30 years of pent up lust, I wasn't going to hold back. I walked into the now steamy humid bathroom, somewhat happy that the mirror was fogged and I didn't have to look at myself, took off my underwear, pulled back the white shower curtain a few inches and stepped in.

It was not a joke. Vanessa stood before me, nude, water dripping down her body. I saw her quickly appraise me, as I was doing to her, and hoped that she wasn't too disappointed. But I was quickly distracted by the curves of the form that was displayed before me. Her breasts were full, with some sag that gave away her age, but still seemed firm, with small, fair areolae and small nipples. I could see some freckles on her upper chest that I had never noticed before. Her waist was still surprisingly small, although she had some meat on her bones that probably wasn't there in the 1980s, and her hips flared out slightly, leading to the long, tanned legs that I had been admiring all weekend. Her blonde pubic hair was sparse, and seemed to be slightly trimmed. The vision, not surprisingly, affected me in the expected way, and I could see Vanessa smile at the affect she was having on me.

"You need to get wet," she said, and began maneuvering away from the water, leaving a small space for me to try slide past her. It was, of course, impossible, considering the small space, our size and the erection jutting out from between my legs. But I have to admit that having to press against her soft, warm curves felt incredible. As did the hot water flowing down my body. And when I had gotten suitably soaked, Vanessa stepped toward me and hugged me, pulling me tight against her, my cock wedged between us. We stood there, her head resting on my upper chest, water pouring down over us, for what seemed like minutes, until she pulled back and smiled, grabbing the soap and lathering herself up.

It had been a very long time since I shared a shower with Maggie, and I had forgotten how sexy it was to see a woman do that. I think that Vanessa could see the lust in my eyes, and she fixed me with a hard, hot stare as she continued cleaning herself. She turned, displaying an ass that, like her breasts, betrayed some evidence of her age, but was not in any way poorer for it. "Can you clean my back?" She asked, reaching back to give me the small, yellow bar of herbal scented soap.

I didn't need much convincing, and I began to rub that bar on her smooth, warm back, creating lather, and drawing some sighs from Vanessa. When she was fully soaped up, I stepped forward, pressing myself against her and reaching around for her breasts. She pushed back against me, pinning my cock between her ass cheeks, and allowed the back of her head to rest on my chest as I used my slick hands to knead her breasts, and feel her nipples harden.

Using my chest hair as a brush, I rubbed the soap into Vanessa's back, something that I remembered doing with Maggie, and Vanessa laughed, turning around and taking the soap from me and lathering me up, making a quick pass over my quivering cock.

"Turn around," she demanded, and I did, turning into the spray. I could see the steam hanging in the air as Vanessa's strong doctor's hands rubbed my back. She then returned the favor, pressing herself against my back, and rubbing her breasts against the suds. It was exquisite, and it was getting painful. She reached down and her soapy hands grabbed my throbbing cock, and, draped on my back, she began to stroke it. Not surprisingly, I was quick to reach the point of no return, gasping and cumming hard. I watched it go down the drain, and felt weak in the legs. The water washed the suds off my receding member.

I turned to face Vanessa, and she had what could only be lust in her eyes. She dropped to her knees and used her mouth to bring me back to life, and somewhat shockingly, I was able to respond. When I was fully erect, she turned, bent over, placing her hands on the corner of the tub and raised her ass. "Take me, David," she almost growled.

It was not the biggest shower in the world, but I was determined to make it work. My hand moved first to her ass, and then under her. Her pussy was slick, and my finger slipped in easily, causing Vanessa to moan. I stepped toward her, aiming my cock at its target, and when it neared, she reached back and guided me inside her. She pressed against me, and I was quickly buried in her warmth. Vanessa's need was palpable, and I began to move in and out as she moved her hips, occasionally grunting and sighing. My motion sped up, and she started to meet my thrusts. I thought briefly that her position could not be comfortable, but my focus shifted immediately to pounding into her harder and harder, desperate to give her the release that she seemed to crave. The shower continued to spray hot water on my legs as I kept up my barrage, and Vanessa was thrusting back, faster and faster until I could feel her tighten around me, and her legs shuddered and collapsed as she gasped. My cock popped out of her and I immediately came, some of the viscous liquid dripping onto her glistening ass cheek. I could hear her panting, and I was having trouble catching my own breath.

After what seemed like a long time, Vanessa stood and faced me. She was smiling, and I realized I was, too. She put her arms around me and rested her head on my chest. Looking up at me, she said, "Thanks."

"Thank you," I responded, and we stood together, allowing the water to flow over us.

She disengaged, and pulled back the curtain. I watched her leave, dry off and wrap herself in the towel before turning off the water and stepping out of the tub. Vanessa handed me a towel before walking toward the door. Cool air cut through the steam as she left. I finished drying off, wrapped the towel around my waist and started toward the door. But I stopped and took a moment to appreciate what had just happened before heading out into the chilly room. Vanessa was already wearing a simple nightgown, with the towel wrapped around her head.

"Please stay, Dave."

"But I don't have anything to sleep in," was my first, stupid response.

Vanessa smiled. "You really don't need anything, you know."

She was right. "There's still some wine from before," I said, noticing the half full bottle on the table.

"I've had enough booze for the night, I think," she said, pausing before continuing, "and you know as well as anyone that even back in college, I couldn't drink too much."

I smiled at her attempt at self-deprecation. "Fine with me. What should we do?"

"I'm exhausted. Let's go to bed." She turned toward the bathroom and I could hear the water running as she presumably brushed her teeth. When she came out, I went in, used my finger to brush my teeth, turned off the light and went back out. I could see that Vanessa was in bed, the covers drawn up to her neck. Taking the towel off, I slid, naked, in next to her.

Vanessa turned off the light and I could feel her roll over toward me. I could feel her naked skin against mine, and realized that she had removed her nightgown. I wrapped an arm around her, and she snuggled against me, my nose buried in her fragrant hair. Her "good night" was muffled by my chest, and my response was directed at the top of her head.

Sunday morning

Old habits die hard, and I awoke, sleeping on the edge of the large, king sized bed. The clock on the night stand said 6:48. Suddenly, I had this weird feeling in my gut, as I realized where I was, and what I had done. I turned suddenly toward the other side of the bed, expecting to see Vanessa, but she wasn't there. I knew that last night happened, and I smiled remembering the intensity of our sex, which is what it was, not love making, just pure animal sex between two people who needed it and needed each other, but I was disappointed that she wasn't there. Not that I expected more, although I certainly would have liked it, but it was disappointing. I listened to hear whether she was in the bathroom, but it was silent. Just the humming of the air conditioner. I got up to pee, and was amused that my legs and hips were a little sore. As expected, the bathroom was empty, so I did my business, took a drink of water and decided to get dressed.

I needed coffee, badly, and remembered seeing that there was some in the lobby, so I put on my shoes, left the room for the somewhat warmer hallway, walked to the elevator and descended. It was an effort not to think about last night, but I tried, as I tried not to think too much about how Vanessa again ran off. Turning right from the elevator into the lobby, I could see the tall metal canisters of coffee beckoning, and as I approached them, there was Vanessa, sipping on a cup of coffee and staring into space. She was not wearing any orange, or any other college or Reunions related clothing, as if she had already moved back into the real world. She looked relaxed and happy, and I hoped that last night contributed to that.