Chasing Marcie

*Warning* TASTEFUL adult stuff in this post.

So, when we left off, I was walking away from Marcie's house after our first (if platonic) sleepover with my jacket tied around my waist. Classes went by in a blur. I decided to call Marcie after a quick workout at the gym. When I got no answer, I headed back to my little hotel room.

"Hey, Frank-o!" the front desk clerk called to me as I entered.

His name was Gus and he was a retired Navy man with a drinking habit that had outgrown his pension but not his spirit. He always had a salty comment to make, usually to a greatly mirthful reception. I stopped.

"Somebody left you a message," he said. "Marcie called and said she'll see you in class tomorrow, she's working late at CVS."

"Thanks, Gus," I said, taking the message from him and pocketing it. "She's really cute, man."

Gus looked at me funny. Then he shrugged a little and spit his New York accent at me with a little barb. "Huh. No shit? You like girls, then? Hell, I thought you were a queer."

"Sorry to disappoint, Gus, but I like the ladies," I said.

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "Until one of them finally drives you into bad habits, too, huh? We're not so different, you and I."

Gus went back to reading the Reader's Digest, one of the little lodger hotels' subscriptions, pressing the button to buzz me in as if to dismiss me. He was a quirky old guy.

The night passed slowly, and the morning classes seemed to go on forever. Then, when speech class began, she was not there. Stood up! I knew angst for the first half hour of the hour-and-a-half class, wondering where she was.

She floated in while Ken discussed rhetoric and persuasive speaking. I turned and watched her walk in, shooting her a win. She rolled her eyes and slid into her chair, giving me a critical look.

The class dragged but we were let out early because we had had no break.

"Stop it," she said as I tried to hold her hand. "Hold on."

We were out of sight of the classroom when she finally let me take her hand. But she set her book bag down and slipped into a deep, wet kiss under the City College bridge that doubled as a plaza above B street.

"Come on," she said. "Let's catch the 7 and go to Balboa Park."

I picked up her bag and she held my free hand. We both had passes and within 15 minutes were at the Balboa Park Fountain. We strolled through the park and stopped in various places to kiss. we ended up making out for a long while on the western end's soft, unkempt grass.

"I have to eat," she said.

"What would you like?" I asked. "Some French food?"

"No, no," she said. "Just something simple. Are you hungry?"

I was less interested in nutrition than she was, but I nodded. "Sure."

We covered the ground between her house and the park in no time. She sat me down on her bed and turned on her television to the news.

Within 15 minutes, we were eating Macaroni and Cheese, the Kraft kind. It was a lifelong favorite of hers, thought not mine by any means. Some red wine helped wash it down, and we enjoyed a cigarette afterward. She told me we were being "very French."

She handed me the toothbrush I had used before

"Go brush your teeth," she said. "Close the door, too."

I did, and brushed giddily. There would be more kissing, at least.

I was on the right track. When she opened the door as I still brushed, she was in her robe. She slide it against me and I got the feel of her nipples against my back. She hugged me from behind and whispered, "Go finish out there," before she kissed my nape.

I was completely turned on and just threw the toothbrush into the sink and rinsed my mouth. I half expected her to shower or something, but she came out of the bathroom and turned off all but the nightstand light.

She stood silhouetted in her clingy bright green baby doll, massing her hair on her head with her hands, then clipping it in place.

"Well, do you need a written invitation?" she asked me.

"No," I remember I said. "But I do enjoy the view."

"Oh, that's cute," she said. "But you're sure talking a lot, aren't you. Are you nervous?"

I most certainly was not, but decided to show her, not tell her. My clothes practically flew off me and in seconds, I had slid my hands around her little waist and kissed her.

She giggled in our kiss but broke it and handed me a condom from a fresh pack in her purse. "Now," she said. "Or no way."

"Now" sounded really good.

Marcie was an amazing lover, even the first time. Before we slept, I remember holding her in my lap as I sat "Indian-style" on the bed in a gently rocking straddle as we talked and kissed playfully, somewhere between an afterglow and another go around.

"So now we have to slow down and get to know more about each other," she said. "I don't completely trust you, I just want you to know that."

I nodded and kissed her lips, smiled at her. "Okay, we'll do that."

She bit her lip and shuddered a little, then smiled at me, "But that doesn't mean we stop or anything. That just means there are strings attached, mister."

I nodded, looking up at her with what had to be a pretty sated, stupid, dopey smile. "Uh huh."

She laughed a little and kissed my neck, then set her elbows on my shoulders and nuzzled me. "Oh, my god, this is so fast."

I whispered in her ear, "No, it's ten o'clock. I think we're taking out time."

She laughed and kissed me, and sometime later that night we went to sleep in a tight, comforting spoon. I remember waking up to the smell of her skin, and sex, and golden, dust-stained rays of sun over the building's eastern side.

I kissed her neck and she slid against me. I remember feeling, secretly, that I was in love already, and I remember feeling great comfort in her little studio, tucked away together.


I am grateful that it was not the last time, but the first of many mornings like that, and I am pained that I wake and look for her still, until my mind remembers and my heart, and eyes, burn yet again.