Dancing to the Moonlight Sonata

The final two strong, staccato chords completed, the piano fell silent. A sharp rap-rap sounded on the door to the practice room. The student looked up, annoyed at the interruption.

“Yes,” she replied. “Come in, please!” she called out a little louder.

The door swung open, the janitor leaned in. “I waited until you were finished with your piece.”

At least she thought that he was the janitor. He wore the tan work clothes with the college symbol on the left chest pocket that all the janitors wore. He had a vacuum cleaner in tow and a tool belt hung around his waist. What else could he have been but the janitor? There was something about this young man that did not fit the part. The janitors were older, grizzled men. They always appeared to be in a bad mood and never spoke to the students. This janitor was much younger, and nice looking, in her estimation. He wore long sleeves, so much of his physique was hidden from view. She noticed that he was slender, yet appeared angular and wiry.

“I just need to clean up in here; would it be alright?” He flashed a toothy grin.

“I only have another twenty minutes,” she replied. “Could you come back then?”

He didn’t leave as he should have. He advanced inside a step, dragging the vacuum cleaner along with him. His wide grin remained, but now he was closer to her. His eyes were leveling themselves right into hers. It made her a little uneasy. She glanced down at the keyboard.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m new at this job—part of work-study. I’ll know better next time.”

Of course! She remembered him from the dorm. She had seen him a few times with his friends, or bounding away with loping strides to class. She didn’t know him, not even his name. She didn’t want to. Why wasn’t he going to leave her alone so she could finish?

She pretended not to recognize him. “That’s okay; I’ll just get back to practicing now.”

“Actually, I was standing outside the door during the whole time that you were playing. I shouldn’t have—I should have been working. I hope you don’t mind.”

The statement lit an ember of curiosity. Here was a janitor who was not a janitor. A man who said he was leaving but remained standing in front of her piano, grinning unabashedly as she tried to dismiss him. He was a young man who she should know, but did not. He was popular and athletic, with many friends who must enjoy sports and beer and cars. Yet, he had stood outside her closed practice room door for fifteen minutes while she played classical music.

“Did you like the piece that I was playing?” As soon as the words exited her lips she was scolding herself. This was sure to lead to more conversation, less practice, more feelings to sort through.

“Yes, I did. What is the name of it?”

Now she knew that she had entered into a ridiculous maze! This young boob had purported to enjoy her music, but couldn’t name the piece that he enjoyed so much. He had hidden his identity behind a janitor’s outfit, but his telltale friendliness had given him away. He was killing time at her expense. He would rather idle about than go away and do his vacuuming. Her habit of suspecting all men was paying off as the facts unfolded.

She knew that he had no interest in her music. For sure he had none in her. Although he was standing over her, he could barely see her tiny frame behind the grand piano. It was a good hiding place. It was only there that she felt “special” as music flowed out of her long fingers. Everything else about her didn’t deserve attention.

She was short in stature, possibly five-three. Her slender body had few of the curves or bumps that many young women delighted in flaunting. Her hair was neither jet black, nor light brown. It settled on a shade in between. It had no waves or curls. It hung down to where she trimmed it, halfway between the bottoms of her ears and the base of her neck. She wore glasses. She had considered contacts once, but why bother? She knew that when she graduated in the spring she would have to get some kind of makeover before she went out looking for a job. In the meantime, a cloak of drabness would preserve her reclusivity.

She decided to play along with him.

“It’s entitled ‘Moonlight Sonata’. It’s by Beethoven.”

“I enjoyed listening to it. I think that you did a nice job playing it.”

“This guy is slick,” she thought, “and he’s not giving up.” Well, she would not give in easily, either.

“What did you like about it?” She was certain that he didn’t know an arpeggio from a G-clef.

He didn’t flinch at the challenge. “I was outside the door. It was hard to tell exactly because the sound was muffled.”

“A good parry,” she thought. The challenge of his repartee offered a diversion.

“Sit down in that chair. I’ll play it for you again.”

He seated himself in the corner chair. She proceeded to play the piece, all three movements, for the next fifteen minutes. She was determined to play it well. She used every talent. She played as though in an audition. She could not answer why she took the trouble to do so. She only knew that she felt compelled to give her best to it.

She finished playing. She had done so flawlessly. He stood. The toothy grin was gone, replace by a sincere and pleasant expression.

“Thank you. That was really nice. You did that so well. I appreciate it. I’ve taken a lot of your time. I should go now.”

She felt suddenly remorseful. She had played the piece to expose him. She wanted to embarrass him in his ignorance so that he would cease bothering her. Now, she suspected that she might have been in error. She couldn’t allow him to leave with the last word.

“Well, what did you like about it?” she reverted back to the original theme.

She hadn’t meant to challenge him again. She just couldn’t find any other route of conversation. She had little practice at small talk, and especially with men.

“Sometimes,” he started to answer, “a person just likes something without knowing exactly why. That is what it is like between me and this piece of music. That is what it is between me and some other things, too.”

There was silence for long moments. He had turned the tables on her. The double meaning of his words hung like smoke in a room. She had aimed to pierce him, but his answer showed her that no hypocrisy existed to form vulnerability. She felt guilty at abusing him. He was a very likable person. She needed a recovery.

“What are you studying?” she asked.

“Accounting,” he answered. “I’m getting out this spring.”

The answer puzzled her.

“I don’t know many accountants who enjoy this art form. I’m pleasantly surprised,” she conceded.

The toothy grin returned. He sensed progress, forged ahead.

“Someday, when you’re a famous soloist and rich, you will appreciate the accountant’s art form.” He thought that the joke would compliment and amuse her.

“I’m going into teaching,” she replied.

Oops! A rebuff. She hadn’t meant it. She was so clumsy in these encounters.

It didn’t faze him. “I’m Louis—call me Lou,” he announced, as if it were something that she needed to know.

“I know,” she said. “It’s on the name tag sewn to your shirt.”

More silence followed. He was looking at her expectantly; she looked back confused.

“You don’t have a name tag sewn onto your blouse.”

“Julie,” she said. She was blushing; she was so clumsy in these situations.

“Thanks for playing “Moonlight Sonata” for me, Julie. Sometime maybe we’ll dance to it.”

Her technical instincts took her over. “You can’t dance to that!”

Oh no, another rebuff, issued before it could be taken back.

He wasn’t hurt. He just smiled back at her.

“Have you ever tried to?”

“Well, no. I would never try to. It has no rhythm for dancing. Besides, its fifteen minutes long.” A fifteen minute contact would be worse torture for her than the rack.

With that, he raised his hand to his forehead to salute a “good-bye for now”. He grabbed the vacuum and strutted down the hall. As she was putting her sheets of music in her tote bag she heard him vacuuming another room.

“He never did vacuum in my practice room,” she thought to herself.

On her walk back to her dorm she kept wondering how one could dance to the ‘Moonlight Sonata’.

**********************************

“Moonlight Sonata” is a beautiful piece of music, composed by Ludwig van Beethoven in 1801. He was thirty-one years old when he wrote it. It has three movements. Beethoven did not give the piece its romantic name. In the times when it was written, that task was left to the publisher of the music. Beethoven’s name for his composition was merely Opus 27, No. 2, Sonata Quasi una Fantasia (Sonata in the Style of a Fantasy). Its title adds mystery to the music. What could have been the turnings in his mind as he framed the evocative strains?

A hint might be that he dedicated it to a young woman, Countess Giulietta Guicciardi. The lovers’ ambitions were ruined by her father, who questioned Beethoven’s financial prospects. Beethoven never married. Was he crushed or still hopeful? It is known that at his death a small portrait of his lost love was found in his desk. It is a sad story. Perhaps the composer’s emotions and desires were expressed in “Moonlight Sonata”.

The first movement of the Sonata is the approach of lovers toward each other. It is played slowly, softly, tenderly. At the start the lower notes of the melody approach the higher range of the scale.

“May I touch you?” he asks. There is no reply from above. Again, he sends a plaintive and gentle entreaty, “May I touch you?” Absence of response follows.

How to interpret the non-reply? Is it a refusal or indecision? Has the intended heard him from deep below her? Has she been dissatisfied with his effort?

He is undaunted; he must try again. He will not shed his tenderness. He reaches higher. “May I touch you?”

A reply! “Perhaps.”

He redoubles, reaching ever-higher on the scale. He can no longer merely plead. He declares. “I must touch you!”

She speaks not a word, but extends her arms into his. They dance together, first in her world of higher notes, then down to his of lower chords, and then back again. Around they dance, exploring and touching one another, peering into the other’s range from which the lover has emerged.

They revel in the contact of touching and being touched. It is a tender feeling out, probing the potential of each partner to give and receive. The patient “andante” continues unceasing. She feels his tender approaches. She yearns for the strength of his bass chords. He holds back, wishing to caress her with tenderness, but he cannot disguise his prowess completely.

She takes over their melody; she is tired of waiting. He senses her ardor, returns her entreaties with more force. They have now abandoned all coyness and reserve. Each foray from one of them earns an equal response from the other. They are discovering, probing, pleasuring, multiplying their mutual strokes upon the senses. Each has found the other’s rhythm. They have embraced each other’s harmony.

The second movement is a brief scherzo. It is a cheerful prelude to that which is to happen. It is a connector from the tender entwining to the fulfillment hoped for.

The lovers no longer dance between the worlds of one to the others’. They have created their own universe. Their sounds are neither high now low. They have blended into chords of both of them. That which once was can no longer define them.

They speak in unison, signaling agreement in purpose. They are happy; their happiness invades all around them. They are ready for totality.

Movement three: the lovers are eager and anxious. He sheds all pretexts. He will use his strength of bass notes to rush headlong into her ranges. The tempo is no longer andante, shifting to the more demanding allegro. As he approaches, she welcomes him. He leaps, then again, a little higher yet. Now she sings back a sweet chorus to him, she opens herself; he thrusts his notes into her. She will not stop him. Their tones blend together, but neither tender nor light-hearted. There is urgency in their needing. For every query, there must be an answer. Each action demands a response. They force themselves together; they will not break apart.

The lovers find each other wrapped within themselves. They journey together from high to low, reveling as they pass each chord. They start the trip again, only with even greater embellishment. Now, as one, they have discovered a whirlwind of pleasure.

They pause, refreshing their energy. A staccato questioning: “Are they ready for culmination?”

They embark anew. The finish is short at hand. They cross familiar ground which they regret leaving behind, but the finale beckons them. Their senses are firing at dizzying speed. They can barely continue to maintain unison, but somehow find a way. Finally, suddenly, they arrive at their destination. A frantic acceleration, then two strong staccato chords; they achieve the ecstatic climax of their lovers dance.

Thus, is the “Moonlight Sonata”.

*******************

In the dining hall the next day Lou called out to the slender figure at the salad bar.

“Hey, Miss Beethoven, wait up!”

The voice, spoken with unmerciful volume, was familiar. She spun around and recognized him waving at her from fifty feet away. It was so embarrassing to be yelled out to in the crowded dining hall. Why had he used that name on her?

He saw her look and knew that she had recognized him. “Julie, let’s have lunch together!”

The most discrete thing that Julie could do was acknowledge him. She was planning on a quick meal by herself so that she could get some extra practice time. She had, however, no choice for she was certain that if she ignored him he would yell out once again.

They met midway and walked together to an empty table. She set about unfolding her napkin and arranging her utensils, not looking up. He spoke, not to her but at her, “That’s your whole lunch, just that salad? Won’t you get hungry later? You might faint!”

She couldn’t guess why he should be concerned about her health and hunger. She answered him with a question as she looked up, “Well, where’s your lunch?”

“Actually, I already ate,” Lou said. “I thought that I might get to sit with you while you ate.”

“Why would you do that?”

Julie was perplexed. She had only spoken to this young man a single time when she was practicing the night before and he pretended that he needed to vacuum her practice room. He was treating her as though she was an object of interest. She didn’t believe that she merited it. She felt a little uncomfortable in the role.

“I bought something for us.” He reached inside his jacket pocket. She began to utter an objection, but he was too fast.

Flourishing his hand from jacket, a small manila envelope attached, he blurted out, “These!”

He continued, “Beethoven’s Fifth, performed by the University Symphony, eight o’clock Saturday night.”

Julie’s puzzlement grew. She was completely unable to predict this young man who at one moment was loud and forward, the next sensitive and sincere. She recalled last night in the practice room. She had misjudged him then, too. Before she could stop herself she smiled and said, “Why thank you! That is very nice of you. I had forgotten all about it.”

Lou shot back, with characteristic ebullience, “Great! I’ll pick you up at seven thirty, and we can walk over to the auditorium.” He suddenly rose, “Gotta go, late for a class!” He strode off, but stopped abruptly and turned. “You won’t have to bother sewing a name tag on your blouse,” he yelled back to her

As she watched him stride away a thought dawned on her, “Wait! He didn’t buy the tickets. Students get in for free.”

******************************

As she was preparing for her date with Lou, she scolded herself for being nervous. She shouldn’t have been interested in him. She would have brushed him aside several times, except he always seemed to get his word in faster than she could. Then he would do or say something nice, and she would allow him in her presence a while longer. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him. Julie just disliked complicated personal contacts. They were always so distracting. Ultimately, one party or another would misread things, hurt would follow. Why volunteer for sadness? She had been able to avoid this for a long time.

It was warm enough in the early weeks of school to have the windows open. She could hear students walking below and talking. It was almost time for Lou to arrive. She was sure he would be right on time. He lived in the opposite wing of her dorm, the male section. He would have some surprise at hand, but she could not guess what.

She heard an unknown male voice yell out, “Hey, Lou, what’s with the monkey suit?”

The familiar voice yelled back, “I’m going to be buried in it, but I have to see if it still fits.” A big laugh followed from the inquisitor.

“Oh no! He’s wearing a tux.” That would have been an embarrassment that she would not endure. Most students that attended the concerts wore jeans and a sweater. She ran to the window and found him walking briskly toward the front door of her wing. A huge relief, he had on a navy blazer, grey slacks, shirt, striped tie. “Those boobs,” she thought. “They wouldn’t know the difference between a tux and a pair of pajamas.” At any rate, she scrambled to dispose of her sweater and find a black blazer to wear over her khaki slacks.

Lou stood at the door. She hadn’t noticed before, but he was carrying a small bouquet.

“I thought that you might like these,” he said as he thrust them at her.

Julie couldn’t believe how sweet Lou could be when he tried hard. One of the flowers in the arrangement was a tiny red rosebud. “Would it be alright if I just put these in some water, and put this little red one in my lapel?”

They walked out of the dorm, toward the auditorium. She found herself trying not to like him, but he was seeping into cracks in her reserve.

“It was nice of you to bring me the flowers, Lou.” She could smell the small red rose just inches below her chin.

*************************

They sat quietly at the concert. They said little, just listening to the music. It wasn’t his favorite style, but it wasn’t bad either. At intermission they parted to find the rest rooms.

Lou was detained as he exited the washroom. He had run into one of his Accounting professors, and they made small talk for a few minutes. He finally spoke up, “It’s been nice to see you, sir. I think I’d better get back to my date.” The two men separated with a handshake, and Lou turned to where he thought he would find Julie.

He spied her, back against the wall across the lobby. An older man stood over her. They were talking, but Julie looked nervous. He saw her shake her head “no”. The man reached his hand out and fingered the rosebud on her lapel. Lou disliked the aggressive move of the older man. Julie stepped back a little, but there was no room to move.

Lou strode to where Julie and the man were standing. “Was I missed?” he called out. He heard Julie answer something, but he was not paying attention to her. His eyes were on the man standing with her.

He was tall, wore a van dyke. Some men use the beard as a mask to hide behind when they know that their expressions would portray the ugliness of their thoughts. Lou put him at about fifty-eight. He was taller than Lou, but not as strong and robust. His skin had the color of a man who had known neither exertion nor toil for a long time. His bearing gave one the sense that that did not regret the loss. He wore a tweed jacket with a turtleneck underneath, the uniform of the ruling class of professor-nobility. He undoubtedly viewed Lou’s shirt and striped tie as ‘bourgeois’.

Julie broke the silence as they eyed one another. “Franz … I mean… Professor Hartmann, please meet my date for tonight, Louis.”

They thrust out their right hands, shaking them in a superficial way. The older man looked down at Lou, “Ah, I remember you. You are an employee in the custodial staff.”

Lou answered, unashamed, “Yes, sir, I am.”

Julie spoke up, “He is part time, Professor; it is his work-study job.” She wondered why her explanation seemed like an apology.

“Then, what are you studying, young man?”

“Accounting, sir.” Lou did not like this pasty, condescending man. It was very rare that Lou could not find something to like in a person. He knew the type. He demanded the service of others, but served no one. His position and power forced the yielding up of favors.

“Very interesting, Julie, an accountant.”

Julie grabbed Lou’s hand and pulled him, eager to get away. “Intermission’s almost over. We better get back to our seats.” Lou had not realized how strongly this frail girl could tug on him, until that moment.

As they sat together, Julie felt a warmness sitting next to Lou. After the exchange with the pasty professor, she was glad to be with him.

“Who is that guy?” Lou asked her.

“He’s…just…a professor in the music department that I used to … do work for when I was in my freshman year.”

Lou pondered why Julie had such difficulty with the explanation. He decided not to ask her; it was none of his business.

“He was either going to tell me to empty the trash or do his tax return,” he spouted. “Either way he would have wanted it done for free.”

Julie elbowed him lightly in the side. “The music is starting”.

As they walked back to the dorm an autumn rain was lightly falling. Despite the drizzle, they walked slowly to prolong their time together. She wondered if he would try for an invitation to her room.

They came upon the door to the vestibule that separated the men’s and women’s section of the dorms. She waited for his advance on her bastion. She half-hoped that he would attempt it. She would refuse, but she might enjoy his display of desire.

They stopped and he spoke to her, “Julie, I’m glad that we could have this date tonight.”

She nodded her assent; he went on, “I probably won’t be around very much this week, so I’ll ask you now. Would you like a date with me for Friday night?”

At each of their previous meetings, she had been drawn in by some device of his. Now she had to decide, yes or no, if she would see him again.

“Where are we going?” she asked and answered in one breath.

“I’ll call you next week after I check on something”

There was nothing more to discuss. A long pause ensued, which he broke by gently grasping both her arms at the shoulders. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the cheekbone.

“Good night, Julie. I’ll be thinking about you.”

****************

Her phone rang on Thursday evening. It was him. It would be dinner, maybe a movie. Would that be ok?

Julie was ready when Lou knocked on the door at seven. She had put on black slacks that were neither dowdy nor suggestive. She wore a deep purple sweater of merino. It was her best one. He wore the same navy blazer with the grey slacks and striped tie. He carried the same kind of bouquet. She was touched by it. She released the same red rosebud and pinned it to her sweater.

Lou led Julie to his car, an old Saturn, and they started off. He drove to a part of the city where she had never been. It was not a slum, but not rich, either; more of an industrial area. She wondered why they were there, since so many restaurants abounded in College Town.

The car stopped in front of a small restaurant with dark windows. A neon sign in blue above the door read in two lines of script: “Mr. Dominic’s Italian Cuisine”. “We’re here!” Lou announced.

Julie would never have chosen this restaurant. It was not a comfortable part of town for her. The darkened windows prevented someone on the outside from peering in. There was no way to predict what would be inside. She would have selected a place that was more transparent. It would have been an exchange of plainness for safety. That would have been fair enough. She would not have risked later regretfulness.

As they walked to the door Lou turned to her and said, “This is a very special place.”

In the vestibule they were met by a short, portly, Italian man. He was in his mid-forties, balding, curly black hair. When he saw Lou he approached him with open arms. The two shared a big abrazo, slapping each other’s backs as they hugged.

“Louie”, he cried, “’it’s good to see you. Your table is ready, a nice one in the back of the dining room.”

Lou started the introductions. “Dominic, say hello to my friend, Julie. Julie, this is Dominic, another good friend of mine.”

“Julie, we’re very happy to meet you and to have you in our place.” Dominic took her hand gently.

As they walked past the bar toward the back of the restaurant, Julie glanced around. The dining room was darkened, lit only by the single candles flickering on occupied tables. Each table was set with a red and white checkerboard tablecloth. There were about fifteen tables, about a third full with patrons.

As they arrived at the back of the dining room Lou helped Julie with her chair as Dominic lit the candle. He said, “Lou, what’s with this reservation? You know you’ve always got a table at this place ANY time you want it.”

“C’mon, Dominic,” Lou answered. “You know this place will be packed in forty-five minutes.”

A waiter was passing by. Dominic turned to him. “Rocco, bring up the ’67 Chianti for this table.” Dominic turned back to the couple, “We’ve got your meal all ordered. The veal is extra-special tonight.”

The waiter cast his eyes to the ceiling. “Are you sure that you want the ’67, boss?”

“Go!” he cried, and Rocco disappeared.

The waiter returned with the bottle of Chianti and handed it to Dominic. “Rocco, get these goblets out of here and bring over some real wine glasses.” The waiter brought over three small plain glasses, such as one might drink orange juice from in the morning. Dominic filled each glass and Lou and Dominic raised their glasses. Lou gave Julie a small nod, and she raised hers, too. “Salud!” the two men exclaimed together, The glasses clinked, and they drank the first glass of wine. “Rocco,” said Dominic, “tell Assunta that Louis is here.”

The wine had a dryness that Julie had not tasted before. It could have spoken of hardship and bitterness as it made her lips pucker. To Julie, though, it was a fitting wine to be drinking with Lou and this friendly Italian man. With no sugars laced into it for sweetening, the acidity spoke of realness and sincerity. To her surprise, she liked the taste.

As Dominic refilled the glasses, Julie’s pensiveness grew. She could not understand many things. She felt herself a foreigner, but welcome. Lou should not fit in here; why did he fit so well? She should be uneasy, but she was having fun.

As the empty glasses from the second turn at the wine hit the table, Dominic’s mood became serious. “You know, Julie, Louis, here saved my business a few months ago”.

Lou retorted quickly, “Dominic, that’s not true! It was the Marinara that saved it!”

The more jovial tone returned. “All I know is that before you showed up my books were a mess. Every time I would call a supplier they would pretend that their phone was out of order. Now, I’ve got suppliers around all day wanting me to try out everything!”

Before Lou could answer a rotund woman appeared. By her girth and manner, anyone could guess that it was Dominic’s wife. Lou saw her and stood up to greet her

“Luigi!” she cried, as she hugged him and kissed his cheek. “Why have you stayed away so long?”

“I won’t stay away so long this time. Assunta, meet Julie.”

The large woman reached down and embraced the smaller female. “My God, girl, don’t you have enough money to buy food? You are so thin; I think you’re gonna die!”

“She’ll be alright, Mama”, Lou assured her.

“Never mind, Luigi!” She turned back to Julie, “Giulietta, I’m gonna bring you some pasta and sauce. If you eat it every day…” and she raised her voice much louder, “You’ll grow BIG BAZOOMS, just like me,” she sang out as she stretched out her fleshy arms as though she required a display to prove her point.

The whole room broke into laughter. Julie was confused again, because she laughed as hard as anyone. She should be mortified, looking for a place to hide. Maybe it was this strange Italian wine.

****************

As the two savored their meals Julie asked Lou many questions.

“Why do they call you Luigi?” she asked.

“Well,” Lou answered, “It’s Italian for Louis. It’s a name that gets around. The original is French. There’s Ludwig in German; Luis in Spanish.”

Later, she asked him how he came to be involved in doing accounting for the restaurant. He explained that he signed up for a project in the Accounting School, where upper level students would be loaned out to local businesses that wanted help with their books. He just drew ‘Mr. Dominic’s’ by chance.

“I think that you really did save their business, just as Dominic said.”

Lou’s expression grew more serious. He did not answer her directly, but only said, “These are two of the nicest people that I know. Any good thing that comes their way, they deserve.” It was the only defensive moment that she had ever seen in him.

After that, there was a long silence at the table as they ate.

Over canolis and espresso, Lou broke the silence. “I think that Dominic and Assunta like you.”

Julie blushed. She wasn’t used to people talking about liking her. “I think that they like me because I’m with you.”

“No”, Lou contradicted her firmly, then looked at her and spoke as plainly as he could, “They like you because you’re a nice person!”

Julie cast her eyes down, Unable to speak.

Lou came to the rescue to lighten the heavy moment. He whispered, so not to embarrass her, “I’ll like you, too, after you grow some big bazooms.”

They both laughed. It was more than the humor of the joke. The shared laughter was mutual acknowledgement of what had transpired. It was time to go. Dinner was over; it was too late for a movie.

The bottle of Chianti was empty, except for a little that they saved for Rocco. Lou handed Dominic some money.

“Your money is no good here!” Dominic turned to Julie and took her hand.

“We hope we will see you again, Giulietta,” he said softly. Then he added, “That is, if you ever get this bum to take you out to a decent place again.”

The three laughed and the two men shook hands and embraced.

*************************

It was raining as the two hustled into the Saturn. Lou was not talkative because the driving demanded his attention. The quiet interlude gave Julie a chance to think about what had happened to her over the past two weeks. She had more questions than answers about this mysterious accountant that emptied trash cans to pay his bills.

Julie could not quite say that she was in love with Lou, but she loved a lot of the things about him. How could this young man work so hard, yet always have fun? Why did he have so many friends, fit in so well, yet so comfortably wear his individuality on his sleeve?

Julie had made a habit of not standing out, the better to fit in. Lou seemed to be breaking those rules and winning, while she obeyed her norms and remained a spectator. Was it her, or did her rules not make sense?

Julie asked herself why a person could do great things and then defensively ward off credit for having done them, just to preserve his friends’ dignity. How would he know that he would best a lesser, but more powerful, man just by saying nothing except whom and what he was?

These were important questions, but they were only prelude to the most important of all: what did Lou see in her; why did he think others liked her; why did he not demand more of her?

She knew that she was a plain-jane. She liked it that way. It kept life sterile; easier to avoid contacts that could lead to a sickness in the heart. She had been successful at staying safe for a long time. Why did she seem to value that accomplishment less as each minute passed?

She thought back to that first evening in the practice room when Lou told her that he liked some things without knowing why. As the Saturn pulled into its parking space she chose to be satisfied with that answer to her most private question.

The end of the ride back to the campus meant an impending close of their date. It created a regret of the ending, and some anxiousness. Was the end of the date a finish of a chapter or the entire book?

In the rain they had to run from the parking lot to the dorm. When they reached the dividing vestibule they exchanged the usual thank you’s and platitudes about the nice evening.

Without warning, even to herself, Julie said to him, “Lou, before you go there is something in my room that I want to show you.”

*********************

As Julie unlocked the door she whispered back, “Take your shoes off when you first come in so we don’t track mud in.” Lou complied and she did the same and closed the door behind them. She turned on a small lamp that cast meager, but sufficient light. They stepped deeper into the room, stood silently looking at each other for a few long seconds.

Finally Lou spoke, “Julie, before you get what you want to show me, I need to ask you something.”

Julie stood silent, waiting.

“May I kiss you?”

Julie felt her heart pumping hard, but kept her reserve, “Well, maybe,” she answered. Her coyness surprised her, but she felt a small thrill at the same time.

Lou was undaunted. ”Julie, I need to kiss you!” He said it louder and more insistently.

Julie stepped forward and allowed him to embrace her. The contact warmed her and she tilted her head up to allow him access. The kiss started slowly, but quickly gave way to deeper passion. It was probing and affectionate all at once. The kiss was neither a prelude nor a climax. It stood on its own, a means of passing wordless feelings between them.

Lou gently broke away and stepped back. “What did you want to show me?”

Julie uttered no words. She slowly removed her glasses and set them on her desk. Standing still and silent, with a forthright look into his eyes, she was neither hesitating nor waiting for Lou’s response. She wanted to savor and remember this moment of emergence.

Julie grasped the bottom of her purple merino sweater and lifted it quickly over her head. She stood before Lou, nude to the waist except for her white bra. Her small breasts, matched perfectly to her slender frame, barely showed over the top of it. The delicate details of her slender shoulders and collarbone formed a perfect frame for what promised to be tender breasts that longed for gentle stimulation. It was a small uncovering, but the act was a vital statement. She was a spectator no longer. It felt good to be a player, even if she had compromised her safety.

She watched Lou look at her. It pleased her that he did not ogle her cleavage, mentally assessing the volume and weight. He drank in the totality of the offering. The half-light in the room cast shadows that partially hid, partially exposed, creating an inviting mystery. It was a sight that evoked a call to action, but he waited patiently for the next revelation.

Julie, without relaxing her gaze, slipped the right bra strap off her shoulder. It lay lazily on the side of her bare arm. She did the same to the left. Lou’s eyes widened, but he made no move, lest he interrupt the unveiling. It was Julie’s stage to perform upon. He would not take it from her, now that she had abandoned the security of her indecision.

Julie watched Lou as he savored her transformation. She would continue the performance and weighed her options on how to do so. Would she pirouette and fall into his arms? Possibly, she would continue her solo, testing how long he could endure his inaction? She might invite him onto her stage, become the director, guiding his unveiling? She decided on a different course. He would approach her from his male, bass tones until they connected to her higher, feminine treble. From there, they would explore the universe.

“I thought that you might want take over now,” she said to break the pause.

Lou stepped forward, embraced and kissed her before proceeding further. “You were doing so well, I didn’t want to stop you.”

His blazer was wet from the rain and scratchy against her bare skin. She pushed it from his shoulders and it fell to the floor. She started to struggle with the tie, but he pulled it away and it soon was gone.

Lou turned his attention back to Julie. In a second, the button and zipper of her slacks were undone. He paused a second, testing her resolve. She remained silent, embracing him, her head on his shoulder.

He went to his knees to slide the slacks to the floor. His face was inches away from her mound of Venus that pressed out against her white silk panties. He took in the faintest whiff of her aroma. Her breathing had deepened, but she otherwise changed neither her stance nor her silence. He gently eased the silken guardians to the floor. Her woman’s aroma strengthened. He gazed at her treasure from close range. It was covered in fine straight dark hair that pointed downward to her second lips that he also wanted to kiss. Before standing, he leaned forward and did gently kiss them. Only then did she flinch slightly and exhale strongly, but quickly recovered.

Lou stood up. He reached around her and unclasped her bra. He gently lifted it from her. Her breasts were topped with small nipples that were already hardened to welcome him. They were small, to be expected, but perfect in their roundness. They stood firmly, but with a soft covering like felt on a stag’s new antler. He raised his hands up to caress them, but she stopped him.

“No”, she said, “you first.”

Lou began unbuttoning his shirt and she pivoted around to turn down the bed covers. As he stumbled through the buttons of his shirt, Lou gazed at the back of her. It was as beautiful as the front. It was smooth and soft. Lou wanted to massage every delicate muscle in her back; to dig fingers in gently between every rib and down the length of her backbone. He would hold her round cheeks, not in the grasp of ownership, but cradle them as he would a priceless gift. By the time she was done, he had removed the preliminaries and stood before her in his tee shirt and briefs.

He caught her eying his bulge. She stood nude before her partially clothed lover-to-be with her hands at her sides. She made no effort to conceal herself. A few hours ago she had been a timid girl, afraid of all, a spectator of life as it flew by. Now she had entered the game in full. Soon she would exalt in triumph, or weep in sorrow, but never again accept the old numbness that she had once substituted for feeling.

Lou quickly removed his tee shirt. She admired his frame briefly, but she wanted more. She stepped forward and pulled the waistband out over his erection. Lou guided the briefs to the floor.

They embraced, naked, in the middle of the room. As they kissed their hands roamed the other’s body, to excite, probe, gain knowledge of sensitivities. It didn’t take long. They turned toward the opened bed and eased onto it. Their bodies, pressed together, made covers superfluous.

They lay alongside one another, kissing and caressing. Her excitement was growing. Her breathing increased in pace and in depth. He eased down and grasped a nipple with his lips. She cried out in pleasure. She hugged his head to her with both arms to hold him at his station. He released the first rosebud, attended to the other.

He finally drifted lower. She rolled onto her back. He straddled her and eased his face between her spread legs. Her hands were at either side of his head. He breathed in her musk and reveled in it. He kissed her around her vulva. His tongue emerged from between his lips and into hers. He licked any spot that evoked a reaction. Finally, he found her clitoris. His tongue danced on it as she panted and pressed her pelvis up at him. Without warning, she climaxed.

Lou gave Julie a minute to regain equilibrium. He slid up alongside her; his hard penis pressing against her thigh. She felt a viscous fluid leaking from it onto her. She surprised him by taking it in her hand. He kissed her deeply, then said, “I don’t want to cause you any pain.”

She kissed him back. “You won’t,” was all she said. She pulled at him gently, signaling her desire that he mount her. She released his penis so that he could move on her.

She bent her willowy legs at the knees and opened them. He climbed between them and eased upward until their bodies aligned. To his surprise, she gently grasped his penis and placed it just inside the lips of her vulva. A second later she pressed her pelvis up as he moved forward. She had not lost her wetness and they were locked together completely.

They spent a minute motionless, savoring the feeling of the other. Then they commenced a gentle rhythm, withdrawing and pushing forward. She would ease down on the withdrawal and press back up on the forward thrust. From the gentle rocking, there evolved a gradually harder and more urgent motion. As they traded pleasure to one another, he varied his angle and position. She wrapped her legs around his. They continued that way for some minutes.

Finally, they paused for a moment, refreshing their energy. There was a quick glance of questioning; no word spoken. Were they ready for culmination?”

They embarked anew. The finish was short at hand. They retraced familiar ground, regretting to leave it behind, but the finale beckoned them. Their senses fired at dizzying speed. They could barely maintain unison, but they somehow found a way. They finally arrived at their destination. Lou was the first to climax. As she felt him pour forth into her, Julie tightened around him and crested to her second coming of the night.

*******************

As they lay side by side in the afterglow, Lou contemplated a second round after a short recovery. He felt Julie’s head on his shoulder and her arm across his chest. He marveled at her breaking from the sheltered confines that had so smothered her.

He felt the familiar surge flowing within him again. He started to turn toward her, but as he did he felt her breathing and knew that she was sleeping. He would not wake her. Soon they slept together.

*******************

At seven the next morning Julie woke bleary-eyed to see him standing over her already dressed.

“Julie, I didn’t tell you last night; I didn’t want to spoil the evening, but I have to drive home this morning. My parents called yesterday. They need help on the farm. This rain has them behind and the tractor broke down. I won’t be back until Monday just before class. I’m sorry; I should have mentioned it sooner.”

Julie blinked at him, trying to take in the meaning in her semi-awake state.

He knelt down next to the bed where she lay, still naked under the covers. “Our time together last night meant a lot to me. I wish we could have some more time together this weekend, but I’ve got to get going right away. I’ll call you when I get back.” He kissed her forehead, then, he was gone.

Julie was disappointed, of course, but accepted his explanation. She would wait for him to return. She convinced herself that he would not let her down.

She looked for him on Monday at lunch, but he was not to be found. That evening she sat by the telephone, but it did not ring. “He probably has a lot of catching up to do”, she reasoned.

By Tuesday night she gave up on him. “He was no different, he had taken from her what she could give and then cast her aside.” The familiar hurt returned and she resolved to not let it happen again. Still, she couldn’t help wondering why a nagging doubt remained nestled at the back of her consciousness.

On Wednesday she returned from class at seven in the evening. She went through her routine of checking the mail. The lone item in the box was a notice: ‘package waiting behind counter”.

It was a small box, cube-shaped, about six inches to a side. It had been hand delivered, no return address. She didn’t open it until she closed the door to her room.

The top of the box was filled with packing material. Underneath laid a small red rosebud packed in a glass vial. There was an envelope, which she set aside for a moment. The last item was a CD. It was a recording of Beethoven sonatas.

Julie picked up the envelope. She sensed a resurrection of her hopes, but she had to summon the courage to face them. Finally, in the solitude of her dorm room, she forced her trembling fingers to pry it open.

It was a note from Lou. The words were short and simple, but she has kept it to this day in her private things and will never part with it.

“Julie, I’ve been thinking about you since I left on Saturday morning. I wanted to give you a few days to think things over. I hope that you’re still interested, and if you are, we’ll dance again to the Moonlight Sonata. I’ll call you at eight when my shift is over.”

Lou

One might think that Julie cried out in joy or exaltation, or perhaps in anger and cast the note and gifts aside. She just sat calmly and basked in a glow of contentment. The last of her demons had been slain. She put the CD in the player, relaxed into the strains of the music and waited for the phone to ring.

THE END

Dear readers,

Thank you for reading my stories. I always welcome your comments and questions.

Autumn Writer