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Hard to Get

Patrick Fealey

    She lived in a dorm. She was cute. She thought I was cute. I fucking hated to be called cute, but she looked worth it. She had a nice body and the sweetest, most patient smile, an unabashedness from which I naturally inferred experience and willingness. She was sexy. We walked on the beach. I went with her to the dining hall. We hung out with her roommate, a small beautiful Jewess with a frantic social life. Christina was also Jewish. She was also catholic. She talked about Judaism and she talked about Catholicism. I listened and did not believe her religions had anything to do with me.

    Christina was less available than she could have been. Her last boyfriend had been her first and only love. He had dumped her and moved to Israel to join the army. He had felt it was his duty as a Jew. He was out of her life until his two years were up. She showed hope about him, was thinking about their chances when his military duty was done. I imagined this guy, who once truly cared for her, reading backwards and forwards while Christina tended the idea that so long as she did not fuck me, he would not get blown up. I hung in there because I had nothing else going on and I didn’t care. She was okay. She did not talk too much. I don’t remember kissing her for the first time or the day or night which led to this kiss. It came too late to burn. These were the days when I was trying not to discard girls. When Christina asked for assurances, I lied and gave them to her. She needed to hear that I was serious.

    Early on, I saw that to get anywhere with Christina, I had to convince her I would set the mantle clock ten minutes fast so we could get the kids to bed in time for I Love Lucy. I acted, and acted well – like a guy without a dick. I was patient and let her convince herself. I was slow. Unfortunately, it was time enough for me to start disliking her. It was becoming a prolonged courtship behind which I heard the voices of her rabbi and her priest arguing for my soul. I realized what a liar I was becoming. But it was intriguing. I liked her, but not her restraint. I guess that means I did not like her. But I liked her ass. I was back to the same old cynicism. She was an obvious dead-end on religious, psychological, and sexual grounds, but I still wanted to fuck her. And to think I had first seen her for a fun time. How I missed it I don’t know, other than I was misled by a friend’s confidence in her interest. I was pretty experienced at foraging three-hour relationships. My judgment would have been sharpened by an eight-ball and a twelve pack, but those days were behind me. I needed to get used to my new eyes. Or maybe I had called her right and she knew it, got insulted and was going to learn me. My friend Cody talked to her enough and probably had told her all about my past, and what I might have said about her. Maybe she had cornered the prick, plied him with milkshakes. “Tommy’s fucked more women than you’ll ever know.”

    After three weeks of discussing how we would see one another during the summer to plan our wedding, we were in her top bunk. It was very nice up there. I remember she came out of her clothes when I pulled on them. I did not pull on them until we had kissed the appropriate duration. She could kiss. She had full lips, the taste of patience rewarded as I took off her shirt. Her breasts were more than I had expected, they converted me. These were not for the street or the home. To cover my surprise at seeing them, I buried my face. Her cunt was tight. I moved down and she allowed herself to become wet. Her odor was as a sifting of sweat and soil, harmonic. She made beautiful unexpected sounds my balls had ached for. I rose onto my knees and unbuttoned my pants. I do not remember how we or she or I got them off. Maybe they stayed around my knees. I leaned onto her and my cock touched her. I felt her hand on my cock. She grabbed so hard my eyes popped wide.
    “Do you have a condom?” she said.

    I did have a condom. I never had a condom, but in fact, this one had been given to me earlier in the evening by Cody’s roommate, Randy. Randy was an optimist. A tall and handsome kid from Connecticut, he drove a red Burt Reynolds trans am and had a curl of hair which hung over his forehead into his eye. He constantly was pushing it up or flipping it back with a snap of the head but it always fell back. That lock was his key. His easy smile and that curl disarmed and impressed. Girls chased him and he acted disgusted, but he kept putting gas in his Trans Am, maintaining his lock of hair, and buying condoms. Randy talked more sense than all of us together. I had not asked for the condom. He just offered it when he heard I was seeing Christina that night.

    I found my wallet. I tore the wrapper and discovered the condom. I rolled it down my cock. my cock bound and blinded, robbed of its senses. Penicillin is more sensual. I wanted the journey, the contact and presence. After Christina had let go of my cock, the erection returned without her help. Protected by my consent to her request, I moved in for a second pass. There was momentum, but abandon had been lost when she had choked me. There was the pre-condom hard-on and the condom hard-on. Christina was quiet under me. She seemed to have her nerves, most of them. I went slowly. the outer skin of the rubber touched her. Before heat transferred through the latex, she seized my cock again. I broke her painful hold on me.
    “How old is it?” she asked.
    “What?”
    “The condom.” she said.
    “I don’t know.”
    “Where did you get it?” she asked.
    “Randy,” I said.
    “Is there an expiration date on it?” she asked.
    “I don’t know. I can’t see it, here, now.” I was on my knees. my cock wilted. the rubber hung down, stretched and loose.
    “I’ll get a new one,” she said. She climbed naked out of the bed and put on a robe. She left the room. The door was open a crack. She was gone, into the bathroom across the hall. I sat and waited with the rejected condom. This cunt was out of her mind. Never before had I been told my condom was not good enough. Did she think it was used? how old is it?

    Did she think Cody or Randy had stuck a pin in it? Made a passage from me to her? If she thought that, she did not know guys    if they had done that, then I did not know them. Randy, dean of bachelorhood and non-commitment, and Cody, who was so paranoid about disease he put on condoms for hand-jobs, which he consented to only twice a year    besides, this one came from Randy spur of the moment and he was the least likely of the two to mess around. If I imagined a plot, I saw them both arguing against it. Sabotaging condoms happened, among the dim and deranged. During my five years of school, including my time as a gentleman, I never heard a story of, nor saw, a guy sabotage a rubber. We were immature, disrespectful and disrespectable. At times we were inhuman and brutal to one another and we had a limited view as to who women were, but we were smart and we were selfish. It could be you. Pregnancies and abortions, kids? Pissing razor clams    if some moron put a pinhole in a condom and a girl became pregnant, who would know? The idiot would, the idiots he laughed with would, everyone would. A crime like that would ruin him. he would have two black eyes, a bloody nose, and would be unable to walk.

    Christina must have feared the condom would break, and if she at all believed what Cody had surely told her about me, she was not just fearing that her string of near virginity might be broken by pregnancy, but that my ugly and distressed cock would never leave. I had no diseases, but I understood. there was a fear of AIDS. I remember thinking about it while I was at the frat house. I did nothing about it. That means the women did nothing about it. I must have had good sense about women, because statistically I should have been blind. We did not take AIDS as seriously as we were being told to. As it turned out, we were right. It was lies. Heterosexual AIDS cases were low. Meanwhile, we heard little about the ones who were dying. That was the 80’s, the decade of big lies. If you were Christina, your chance of contracting any sexually transmitted disease was zero, even though condoms were only 99 percent effective. It was the grab and stop method and it prevented physical contact and pleasure more than any republican propaganda. The only fluids around were the guy’s tears. This must have been a church technique. Or maybe she feared my cock itself. She was small and had some lingering virginity. I now was not sure if she wanted to at all. She could not speak. We had a disconnection.

    I sat on the wrong bed. Christina was in the bathroom. I climbed down off the bed to see what was keeping her. I looked out the door and saw the light under the bathroom door. What was she doing in there? Hiding? Sick? Reading the Old Testament and expiration dates, holding them to the light, filling them with water? I drifted back inside, nakedly waiting on her preciousness and paranoia was an aggravation I had not trained for. Preparations are for the dying and royalty. I found my clothes and pulled them on. I walked out while she was in there. She was hopeless. Slipping out of the bedroom, I looked at the light under the bathroom door. Perhaps she was on the can reading Consumer Reports. I limped back to Randy’s and told the story to him and Cody. They laughed until they passed out. My balls hurt all night and I couldn’t walk the next morning. I should have jerked off in Randy’s bathroom.

    I saw Christina again two years after she had turned the head of my cock into an aneurism. It was on graduation day. The seniors were all lining up by the quad before the commencement. I had already graduated and was there working for the newspaper. The crowd of students was trying to make itself into a thing which could proceed. It was in this disorganized mob that I came eye to eye with Christina. Robed bodies moved and there we were, four feet apart. Her mother was fussing over her hair and cap. The last time I had seen her was in the dark, my cock pressed against her cunt. She gave me the look for shit and turned away without a word. A lot of time had passed since our night of cock squeezing and maybe by now her Israeli soldier was waiting for her, out in the audience with a fresh pack of junior size Trojans scanned by Doppler lasers at the college of engineering. She was slightly heavier. Her face showed wear, a decline. Maybe she was realized. Her face made me jealous of the men who had finished her off. She looked older, like she had been roughed up by acceptable mistakes. I had missed out on the days when semen flowed, but I had played a role in her education, showed her the things you do and don’t do to a guy, but I had gotten there too early for the easy part. I believed this after considering whether I was once again mistaken about her, seeing cocks where there remained only candles. It was possible, but I knew her and here she was, bitterly sexy and looking like she had used a few guys herself. You might have expected her to be grateful towards me, but her eyes spoke this:
    “Fuck you, even if you were right.”
    And I said: “It’s too late.”

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