The kind that you used to have late at night in college, the kind that inevitably led to one or the other saying "please, don't leave, stay the night", the kind that always led to the bedroom.She took him to her house, of course. Bohemian, spartan, the books of a woolgathering student and intellectual. Herbal tea. The first kiss in the kitchen, the second in the hall, the third in the living room. Sprawled on the couch, hands grasping for each other. Lips joining passionately, slightly desperately. His hands cupping her breasts, hers framing his face, then drawing his shoulders closer.And inevitably, the clothing is no longer comfortable or convenient. She shucks off his jacket, he drags her blouse out of her skirt. Shirts open. Her skirt hikes up higher and higher. Then the couch is no longer comfortable. She stands, takes him by the hand, and heads for the inevitable bed.One by one, pieces of clothing fall away. With only underwear, they dive under the covers. She's panting,. Jon hesitated until Barbie, for that is what he thought her name might be, convinced him it was okay, he wouldn’t bite. He stroked the animal, amazed at the softness of its fur and the warmth that the dog radiated. A look of sheer bliss came into its eyes when Jon scratched it between his ears. He concentrated so much on the giving of pleasure to the dog and liked the feeling of calm that he received in return, that he failed to notice the appraising stare he was receiving from his bench companion.“What’s you name?” She asked after a few minutes.“Eh? Oh! Jon. Sorry I got carried away stroking Buster here.” He stopped the stroking and returned her gaze.“His name’s Brute; I thought it apt; my name’s Cindy.”Jon almost, but not quite, commented on the aptness of her name, remembering the dolls his sister used to have. He managed to stifle the words before they left his tongue.“Fancy a coffee Jon?” She asked; her head tilted to one side as if she were waiting for sand to fall out of her.
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