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When I met Jon he was just past chubby, melted down into a lithe boy who was starting to show signs of man. He was a young man the way a colt is part gangly animal and part magical apparition. He wore his awkwardness like a beetle wears its shell, to cover up the soft inside.

He was my highschool friend. He sometimes flirted with me, just to practice. I watched him hesitating on the cusp of growing up. If he had been more self-assured I would have been smitten, and if I had been any more self-assured I’d have taken him — easy, the way his hormones were trembling and threatening to spill over, like water from a glass. But I was not the one he chose for his first affair.

Mr. White had just been hired to teach at the highschool. He was on a three-year contract, and that was all the longer he would stay, because teachers like him are never hired back. He must have interviewed in his one regular suit — he’d never have gotten the job dressed the way he usually did, in old, old clothes, antique three-piece suits and wire-rimmed glasses and a watch and chain. He was hired to teach drama, of course — that’s probably why they let him slip by — and English.

He looked English, actually, like a headmaster at a shabby third cousin of Eton. He had bright, lavishly-lashed eyes and a mustache that curled. No one in our remote little town had never seen anything like him. He was like a time traveler who had taken a very wrong stop. He could not have been expected to have anything in common with a bunch of ranchers’ sons and daughters. Nevertheless a few of us had determined that we were not going to be hicks. We were over him like flies on honey.

Jon was skittish around Mr. White from the start, manic even. For about a week he joined the other boys, raving about what a fruit and a faggot the new teacher was. But by the end of the second week of school he had arranged to join three extracurricular clubs — the Thespians, the school paper, and a modern novel study group — so he could be near him.

On any given day Jon could be found before class, after class, and often at lunch in Mr.White’s room. I knew that because I was in the habit of dropping by at those times myself. Of all the students who clustered around the new teacher, I was the closest to understanding just why he seemed so odd. He was so completely different from any other man I’d ever known, in his eccentricity so sweet and strange, that of course I began cruising him almost right away. I was just learning that having sex with a person could teach me things about them and about myself, and I was sure Mr. White was a wealth of things I wanted to know.

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She was small, and somehow childlike even though her eyes were wise and her gait determined. A casual observer would notice the grace in her step, and admire the resoluteness in the pose of her head; she seemed to be searching for something, but gave the impression its find would be unexpected. Like a sleepwalker, perhaps, or just a solemn little girl playing hide-and-seek with an imaginary friend. Soft, shimmering folds of cloth fell in a swirl from her almost too-high Imperial neckline. She was long-limbed but short-waisted and favored this style for its complementary treatment of this imperfection. Her grey eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of herself in the glossy surface of the domed metal corridor, and her pensive look spoke volumes on her self-esteem. Her lips were next to widen as a tall figure moved into view directly behind her.

“Oh, sir, I hadn’t expected to see you…you startled me,” she lilted delicately in a surprisingly mature tone.

“I can see that.” smiled the older, silver-haired man whom she turned to face. “I’d been told you were looking for me, so I decided to shorten your trip. Would you prefer the lounge, or is my office more suited to the matter?”

“The lounge would be alright, I suppose. It’s nothing of any real urgency, but I thought you might like to hear this from me, first; it is my assignment, after all.” she smiled in return.

“Cut! Okay, we’ve been here long enough for tonight, and that’s a wrap for this scene. We’ll pick up at 9 am with the re-shoot of scene 2 — that footage doesn’t look as good as it could. Remember, everybody, plenty of sleep and be ready for another full day of shooting tomorrow. We’re doing good and we’re staying on schedule, let’s keep it up!” The director stood as he said this and the crew began breaking up the equipment. The actors gathered belongings, hoping to change in their trailers and have enough time to beat the late traffic; the two on stage allowed their characters to leave them, slowly.

“Amelia, you’re doing a wonderful job. It’s amazing to me that you’ve never filmed before! Stage actors are rarely this poised when it comes to making movies.”

“Yes, well, it’s new but it’s fun. I’ve been told I’m a natural,” she replied with the nonchalance of someone who’s not sure she’s really been paid a compliment, “but I think it’s just luck: good luck to have my foundering ego boosted by some of the best actors in the business.”

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I’ve spoken with other people about their “first time” and asked questions like when, where, how it happened, what was it like, etc. Talking about those types of things is guaranteed to keep my attention. But I’ve never gone into detail about my own experience. I’ve talked about it in a general sense, but have never described the whole experience the way it exists in my memory. I’d like to tell the story now. Although I could start at the point where everything actually happened, it is necessary to back up so that you can understand what happened and also see why. For this reason I need to relate the sequence of events that led up to my story:

I had known Amy for years, ever since I was about five or six years old. She lived across the street from myself and my mother, and used to baby-sit me. I would stay at her house from the time I got home from school until my mother came home from work. Amy was able to do this since she didn’t work. She was fifteen years older than I, and our relationship was almost like that of a little brother/big sister. We touched each other; hugs and kisses were exchanged frequently. As a single parent, my mother had very little spare time to spend with me. After she came home she had to get supper ready, and there was always housework or laundry to do. My bedtime was 9:00 until I turned thirteen, which meant that I might see my mother for two or three hours at most. Since Amy had no children of her own back then, she was able to spend a lot of time with me.

I can remember sitting on her lap while she helped me with my homework. We played games together. I learned how to throw and hit a baseball in her back yard. We wrestled all the time; the kind of stuff a kid does. When I was twelve her son was born. Two or three years later she and her husband split up. She received some child care support from him, but not much. Because of that, she went to work. At that time there weren’t any day care centers, and I don’t think she could have afforded them anyway. She worked part time on the evening shift in a hospital (from 4 to 10) but had to work every other weekend.

After she went back to work my job was to baby-sit David, her son. I was paid $3.00 a night, which was a bargain for her and a lot of money for me. I got home from school around 3:00, changed my clothes, and walked across the street. She would get home a little after 10, and I would then go back home. Often I would stay there and we would just chat. If she went out after work (or stayed out late on a weekend night) I would sleep in the guest bed at her house, sharing a room with David.

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I turn the corner and walk through the doors into the library. I stop and listen for any familiar voices in the general area. No one. Pushing the button on my watch, I listen for what time it is. “Seven twenty-four, p.m.” Good, I’m early. I walk to an empty table, fold up my cane, sit down and wait.

Five minutes later, I hear someone walk up to my table. “Hello, Tom. Been waiting long?” It’s my study partner, Christine. I’d recognize that silky voice anywhere.

“No, I just got here.”

We get out our books, and I put my tape recorder on the table. After about a half hour of studying, I hear noise coming from one of the small public rooms. I ask Chris if she could see what it was, and she leaves the table to check.

“It’s a science fiction club. They meet here every Thursday,” she says upon returning.

“Oh. Well, their movie is too loud for me to concentrate. Perhaps we could find somewhere else to study.”

“Hmmm. Well, my roommate has her boyfriend over tonight. Not the best atmosphere for studying right now, How about your place?”

I think for a second, trying to remember how clean my apartment is. “I guess that’ll work. I live three blocks from here.”

“Ok, let’s go.” We pack up our stuff and leave. “Would you like me to lead you?” she asks as I start to get out my cane. I gladly accept, and we begin walking down the street.

The feel of the skin on her arm under my fingers is strangely stimulating. I’ve never felt such soft smooth texture. She quickly notices the way I’m touching her.

“Ooh. What are you doing? That feels good.”

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I was happy, a little excited even, to provide a night of lodging to Rod, the fellow from the home office, upstate. We had been working together on the new facility design for months. He was gorgeous and I enjoyed the few opportunities I had to be with him outside of the office — lunches and on one occasion a late-night cocktail at my apartment.

Not wanting to put him off or give him the wrong idea, I offered to sleep on my couch. Rod laughed looking at the loveseat that I called a couch. Not necessary, he said.

I didn’t dare assume anything from his casual observation that my king size bed looked like it could easily accomodate more than just the two of us. I crashed early, freeing the bathroom for my guest and creating what privacy I could by my sleep.

I lay quietly for over an hour before I heard him snap off the t.v. and come in to the bedroom. He stood in the doorway, framed from behind by the light in the bathroom and gently illuminated from the front by the lamp near my closet. I feigned sleep, watching him closely through thin, veiled slits.

I don’t know if I was hoping to see him undress, maybe, yes, that was a hope but one that I wouldn’t let get too high. He peeled off his slacks, shrugged out of his shirt and stepped out of his sleek briefs. My throat tightened. God, he looked terrific.

He pulled a dacron night shirt over his head adjusting it around his hips. After a few moments in the bathroom the light went out and he padded across the room. I felt the bed adjust itself as he lowered himself gently, even cautiously, into bed. It was clear he though I was asleep. Minutes passed, maybe an hour, I couldn’t tell. His breathing slowed, went deep and more quiet. Eventually I drifted off, too, full of notions and feelings that I refused to try and articulate for fear of what I might find.

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