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Three Kisses, One Past

By: YDB95



I know everyone has their Christmas rituals, reading A Christmas Carol or watching It's a Wonderful Life and so forth. Mine is reading the last few pages of The Great Gatsby, where Nick waxes nostalgic about the "thrilling returning trains of my youth". From the first time I read that, when I was a kid from the slums trying to fit in at my ritzy private school, the blend of holiday cheer and vanishing effortlessly into the rural landscape far, far away delighted me. I always loved Christmas, you see, but the harsh realities of my childhood had not made that easy -- who wants to hear about peace and goodwill when you have never known much of either? -- and the idea if getting on a train headed deep into the Midwestern hinterlands was delightful. 

By the time I read that, my escape from the harsh life of Pelham Street had begun; that wonderfully snooty school was the first step. I was starting to learn to trust people and appreciate that there were others my age who were nothing like the monsters I'd had to grow up with back in my own neighborhood. But I was also coming to learn that just as Nick and Gatsby and Daisy and their gang were all Westerners and never quite at home in New York, so was I a kid from the slums and never quite at home among the upper middle class friends into whose presence I had been lucky enough to be thrust. And so there were many December nights I lay in the same bed I'd slept in all my life on Pelham Street, imagining greatness and never quite sure what I would do if I found it. But it did beat the bad old days of coming to the school Christmas party and finding snotty notes and teasing in the place of Christmas cards. 

Which brings us to Christine. She was from the slums just like me, like it or not. Maybe she and I had a little too much in common, or maybe her past couldn't quite be exorcised. Or maybe it could and I was the one who couldn't put the past behind me. Either way, she taught me a lot that Christmas, for better and for worse. 

Judge me all you want when you get to the end of this story, but please remember that you can only understand so much of what came before the second kiss. That happened on Thanksgiving afternoon and the third kiss came just before Christmas, so we're really not talking about much time. As for what came after the third kiss, all I can say for myself is what I've just said already: my past is a reality I've had to deal with, and Christine was -- is -- a part of that past. 

What can I tell you about that reality? Not much, because I've blocked a lot of it out -- at least where I was able to. What haven't I been able to block out? Thoughts of suicide at age twelve, that's what. You don't forget a thing like that no matter how well you bounce back. And it stings, especially at Christmas and especially if you're a guy like me who loves Christmas. But that year, Christine made it all flood back for me. 

And that's where our story begins. The fun part of the story -- if you want to call it that -- begins on Thanksgiving, like I said. I was nineteen and, I was often told, mature for my age. Growing up lonely in a lousy neighborhood can have several different effects on you, and maturing fast is one of them. Maybe I was lucky in a really backhanded way. In any case, by that Thanksgiving, my mother and I had both escaped from the cruddy old duplex on Pelham Street where I had grown up: I to an elite college out in the countryside where I was a sophomore at the time, she to a big house out on the edge of town thanks to the big promotion she had finally scored at work. She was very proud of the hard-won success that house represented -- I could hardly blame her for that, of course -- and so she often had friends and neighbors over for special occasions. Thanksgiving was a favorite of hers. "We'll have about a dozen people over, honey," she had told me the day before when I arrived from the train station. "You'll have to help me set up the card tables in the dining room so there's room for everybody."

"No problem," I'd said. "It'll be nice to meet your neighbors."

"There's one in particular I think you're going to love," she'd told me with a knowing smile. "The girl next door. She's really your type, I think."

"You always say that," I'd reminded her. But my mother was right, she did have a knack for spotting girls who had a lot in common with me. 

"No pressure, honey," she'd said. "I just think it's a shame that you have no one your own age to spend time with when you come home. It'd be great for you to have a friend in the neighborhood."

"Especially this one, I take it," I'd said, and I couldn't help saying it in that wry tone my mother had always resented.

"Yes, Jack," she'd told me a bit more firmly. "Especially this one. She's a nice, well-adjusted girl, and she has an outlook a lot like yours. It'd be good for you to have more friends like that. A lot of people in this neighborhood are like us, Jack, and it'd be good for you to spend some time with them." I didn't know just what she meant by "like us" -- probably something about adjusting to my ritzy private college after growing up in the ghetto -- but from her tone I judged it was best not to push the issue any further. So I didn't. If only I had known then just who this girl next door was!

A word about my mother is in order here, I think. She's a saint, simple as that. She made one tragic mistake early in life, and that was trusting the jerk who got her pregnant with me (you will note that I do not call him my father, because he wasn't), and after he abandoned her she spent years pulling her life back together. And shielding me from any knowledge of how poor we were back then. At that at least, she succeeded: I had no idea until years later how close we were to being thrown out in the street for the first several years of my life. 

And what a street it was: Pelham Street. Not the worst neighborhood in our town, but within a nice short walk of there. The druggies and troublemakers and teenage mothers were always out and about, setting a lousy example for anyone unlucky enough to be growing up on our block. But I was lucky -- thanks to Mom, that is -- and I was scarcely aware of any of that in my youngest innocent years. No, my earliest memories are of the nursery she set up for me in the master bedroom of our walk-up apartment. The living room was Mom's domain -- she slept on our fold-out couch -- and the tiny second bedroom was where I slept from the day she brought me home from the hospital. But the master bedroom was my kingdom, painted in cheerful pastel colors on the wall and lined with toys all across the worn but clean white rug where I romped and played nearly every day until I was old enough for school. My imagination ran wild, from beaches to mountains to picturesque small towns right out of some Disney movie, often within a few minutes of one another, day after day throughout my earliest years. If the urban decay of Pelham Street was just outside, I never saw it for what it was. If I'm ever well-adjusted in this lifetime, you can thank my golden memories of the nursery for that, and you can thank Mom for them. I'll never know how many meals Mom had to skip to make that wonderful room full of toys possible, and I don't think I want to know. 

I was aware that Mom got awfully tired and angry now and then, and of course that sent me packing to the safety of the nursery! But it wasn't until years later that I understood just how much frustration and misery was causing that anger. By the time it did start to dawn on me that Pelham Street was a rather nasty place to live, Mom was already well on her way to pulling herself out of the gutter, and me with her. Years of night-school classes (with the old lady downstairs keeping an eye on me) eventually landed her a sweet job at a software company downtown. By the time I was in high school, she was a manager and, because she had prevailed upon me to always do my homework when I was safe back home in the nursery, I was off to a swanky private school out in the suburbs. Although we still lived on Pelham Street, I got to spend six hours a day in my nice clothes, making friends with the kids from uptown and out in the exurbs who actually liked school and respected their classmates, and learning from teachers who knew and liked their jobs for a change. And oh, the girls in their school uniforms! But I digress, again. The point is, I arrived at that school a punk with a chip on my shoulder from Pelham Street, and the positive atmosphere made me want to be a better student, have a better attitude, be a better kid. And if I do say so myself, I succeeded! 

That, of course, threw Pelham Street into relief for me, as the high tuition meant Mom couldn't afford to move just yet. So after days spent in opulent classrooms with my well-dressed and well-mannered classmates and lots of trees and grass, taking the bus back into the deepest reaches of the inner-city at night made me realize for the first time that I was from the ghetto. Although the worst was already behind me by then (more about that in a bit), home was a rather nasty reminder of it all in those otherwise-great years. But that just made me all the more determined to do well in school and do my part to escape, just like Mom had done her part. And I did. By now the room I'd called "the nursery" no longer looked like a nursery, but it was still my space for playing and, now more often, working. I worked my fingers to the bone for good grades, and I got them. Which is why I'd made my escape out to that elite little college from which I was home for Thanksgiving when the second kiss happened. 

As for Mom, shortly after I'd graduated from high school -- about a year and a half before the Thanksgiving of the second kiss -- she had finally made her escape. Another promotion meant a big pay raise and she could finally put away enough money for a down payment on her very own house, in a great neighborhood out on the outskirts of town. Coming "home" to that house could be rather bittersweet for me sometimes, since those well-kept streets and beautiful houses were such a stark contrast to Pelham Street. Of course I sometimes felt cheated out of living in such a nice neighborhood when I was younger. But I was always very careful to avoid letting Mom know that. She had earned the nice change and so very much more! 

I've gone on longer than I intended to about my mother. But I do think it's important, dear reader, that you understand just who she and I are and where we came from. Now you see why she was so eager to open her home to the neighbors on that chilly but bright November afternoon. And maybe you can also see why she was so excited that the neighbors included a young woman my age who was -- Mom believed -- unencumbered by the scars that came with clawing one's way up to the middle class like we had. We didn't talk much about the bad old days, as the memories were just as horrible for her as for me; but Mom knew I still bore the scars of Pelham Street and she wanted me to get over it. I'd have liked to forgive and forget too, truth be told. But some things are easier to let go of than others. 

I, of course, spent the morning in a state of cautious curiosity about the mystery girl while I helped Mom prepare for the feast. I didn't ask Mom any further questions about the guest of honor, figuring why spoil the surprise? This way I could imagine anything I wanted about her. And imagine I did, for I hadn't had much luck in dating lately and I was certainly ready for a bit of fun!

A few other neighbors and friends arrived well before dinner was to begin, to watch the parade on TV and just socialize. These included a family down the street with two teenage daughters, but I could tell at first glance that neither one was the one Mom was so excited about. I knew what Mom liked, after all. I mingled with the guests, sipping my ginger-ale (I may have been mature for nineteen, but I was still only nineteen, and Mom had her rules) and getting to know Mom's friends. 

When the other guests did start arriving just before one o'clock, there was no question as to which one she was. I was engrossed in a discussion with an older woman from across the street about our favorite nineteenth century authors when I saw her coming in the front door in the corner of my eye. A lovely brunette with big eyes and a pleasant smile that she seemed to flash at me the moment she was in the door, she was accompanied by an older man (I would later learn he was her uncle, and she lived with him), and from the very first moment she looked familiar to me. I just chalked that up to the fact that Mom had been so excited about my meeting her, and put it from my mind as I continued my conversation with the neighbor. 

I could see immediately why Mom was so fond of her: everything about her gave off a sense of being cut from the same resilient-yet-gentle cloth Mom was. She wore a long floral print dress that offset her shapely figure perfectly, and her long hair was perfectly coiffed as well, and from my vantage point across the room she seemed to have a quietly pleasant disposition to match her appearance. As the pre-dinner mingling continued, I was busy with small talk with Mom's friends and helping with last minute preparations for the meal, so for the time being we didn't meet. But I did notice her smiling at me from across the room several times, as if she knew me. 

As if she knew me. I probably even said those exact words to myself as I finished setting up. 

Now, she was beautiful, but I have a thing about being pushed into anything serious, especially dating. And as you've probably already gathered, I do have a bit of a chip on my shoulder about my hardscrabble childhood and mixing with people who wouldn't understand it. Besides, I wasn't crazy about Mom's attitude about her young friend the night before. I was also a bit jealous when I noticed her uncle -- I didn't yet know that was who he was -- handed her a glass of wine and Mom made no objection to her drinking it in her home. So I admired her from a distance only as the meal got underway. 

Mom noticed, I knew, and she clearly wasn't happy when she saw how I made a point of seating myself as far as possible from the young woman and her older escort. But it was time to eat, and there was etiquette to be dealt with. So Mom kept her annoyance with me mostly to herself as she stood at the head of the table and held up her wine glass. "Welcome, everyone, and happy Thanksgiving!" she said. "I have an awful lot to be thankful for this year, especially calling this wonderful new neighborhood home and sharing it with all of you. But most of all, I'm pleased to have my son, Jack, home from college to join us!" She gestured at me, and everyone gave me an embarrassingly warm welcome, which melted my resolve a bit. 

I nodded my thanks and waved -- rather than raising my silly ginger ale glass -- and acknowledged as many of the friendly faces as I could. Inevitably I couldn't ignore the mystery girl completely, so I allowed myself to make quick eye-contact with her. When I did, I saw she was grinning at me like an old friend. Again, that sense that we knew each other from somewhere...or maybe Mom had talked me up to her like she had talked her up to me? 

I didn't dwell on that as I tucked into the turkey and stuffing. Instead I made a point of keeping up the conversation with my immediate neighbors. Mrs. Kawalzyc, the mother of the two girls I mentioned before, was on my right and wanted to hear all about my college in case her girls wanted to go there. On my left, Bernard -- old enough to be my father, but he insisted I call him by his first name -- was from down the block and also an escapee from downtown, so we compared notes on our favorite hangouts there. (I had to pretend I had some, other than my nice safe room on Pelham Street.) The meal passed agreeably enough, and for a while I thought I might escape from Mom's schemes altogether. 

It wasn't to be. When dessert was over and a few guests were insisting on helping clear the dishes while others headed for the TV to watch football, I of course made no effort to avoid helping to clean up. On my third trip back from the kitchen to collect more dirty dishes, Mom finally cornered me by the door, and her young friend was beside her looking as radiant as ever. "Jack! Meet Christine from next door. I've been hoping to introduce you all afternoon." Her firm smile added an unspoken but unmistakable "and you know it."

Smiling through my irritation, I shook her hand. "Hi, Christine. Nice to meet you." 

And in a way, it was. From up close -- so close I could smell her perfume -- I couldn't deny that she was beautiful, and her warm welcome put me further at ease. "Your mother's told me so much about you, Jack, it's great to see you." (That's right, she said "see" rather than "meet". You'll see why shortly.) 

"Christine is taking classes at the junior college and working at that bowling alley out on Route 4 that you spent so much time at last summer," Mom continued. 

"Oh, I thought you looked familiar," I admitted. "I must have seen you when I was bowling. I'm the one who always threw a tantrum when I got a seven-ten split, you know."

Christine laughed, and Mom turned to her and said, "See, I told you he had a great sense of humor!"

"And you were right," Christine said, "But you know, that doesn't narrow it down very much. We have so many drunks throwing lousy games and they get so wound up about it!"

"I remember that," I admitted. Mom took her leave of us then, as I knew she would at her first chance, so I continued. "Not that I ever got drunk there. I had to drive home, after all."

"Your mom also said you were really responsible," Christine said. "I could see that, too, the way you helped her out with the dishes and everything. That's sweet. So many guys would have just let the women do all the work."

"Well, I grew up watching her bust her ass for me -- sorry, pardon my language!"

"No, it's okay!" Christine said, touching my hand. I had to admit it felt good. "I grew up surrounded by people who used much worse language than that!" She said that with a knowing nod, but I had no clue what her point was -- yet. 

"I take it you're not from here originally either?" I asked. "We're from Pelham Street, you know." Embarrassing to admit, but I refused to be ashamed of where I had come from.

"I grew up on Malvern Street," she said. "So I get it."

"Wow," I couldn't help saying. Malvern Street was just a few blocks from Pelham, and just as run down. Not the kind of place I'd have expected to find anyone like Christine.

"There's nothing too spectacular about it," she said. "You know what that neighborhood is like."

"That's what I meant," I said. "No offense, but you don't look like you're from Malvern Street. But I guess I don't look like I'm from Pelham either."

"Jack, I had a really bad, um, I guess you could call it a 'crash' about halfway through high school. I'd been mixed up in all sorts of things a kid my age shouldn't have had to deal with, and my mother didn't know what to do about any of it. No one ever does in a place like that. So I got sent away for a few years, and when I'd cleaned up my act, my uncle offered to take me in. That's the guy I came in with, if you're wondering. I have my own little apartment now, over his garage. He's been a godsend, really! I'm hoping to switch to a full-time college after next semester and really get my life back on track all the way."

"Wow," I said again. "I mean, I hope this isn't getting too personal, but it sounds like you've already really got things together."

"Thanks!" she said, and she looked like she wanted to hug me all of a sudden. To my surprise, I was not averse to that idea. 


Three Kisses, One Past



"So where'd you go to elementary school?" I asked. "I went to Third Avenue, I'd have thought you would too if you lived on Malvern."

Christine looked surprised. "You mean you really don't --" Her voice broke off then when her uncle appeared in the doorway. Though they'd only been apart for a few minutes, she greeted him with an arm around his back and a peck on the cheek. "Uncle Eric, meet Jack! He's Elaine's son, and he grew up just a few blocks from me."

"Hello, Jack," he said, and we shook hands. "Thanks for a lovely afternoon."

"It was mostly my mom's work," I said. "But you're very welcome."

"So are you and Christine catching up on the old neighborhood?" he asked. 

"Well, I don't think either of us misses it much," I said.

"He's got that right, Uncle Eric," Christine said. "Getting out was the best thing that ever happened to me!"

"To me too," Eric said, apparently to me. "Used to break my heart seeing the mess my sister got into and not being able to help her own daughter avoid the same problems. We're all very proud of Chris for overcoming all she has."

"No one calls me Chris anymore, you know that!" she announced. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, Jack, I meant Christine. It certainly sounds more grown up. I guess I'm still just getting used to that, though, she was always such a rough and tumble tomboy before, if you can believe that."

"No kidding," I said, looking Christine up and down in her very feminine attire, while she blushed and smiled. "I wouldn't have guessed that. But I also wouldn't have guessed she was from my neighborhood."

"Oh, we get that a lot," Eric said. "Every now and then we have to go into the city for this or that, and when people she or her mother used to know hear her name, you can just see the reaction. 'Christine Moller?! Well I used to know a Chris Moller, but you're obviously not her,' and they never know it is her."

Chris Moller. All at once I felt like I'd been punched in the gut, and I knew I had to get out of the dining room instantaneously. I didn't want to look at Christine right then -- that was the last thing I wanted. But of course I couldn't help it, so I saw her own look of panic and embarrassment as we were both aware of the missing piece of the puzzle all of a sudden. Uncle Eric was no doubt completely oblivious to what he had just revealed, so I didn't want to be rude with him. As soon as I was sure I could speak in an even tone of voice, I said, "Excuse me, I just remembered something I need to get out of my suitcase upstairs." I waited just long enough for Eric to say okay before I bolted for the stairs. 

Although the room was one big inarticulate cacophony to me in that awful moment, I was pretty sure I heard Christine call out, "Jack, wait!" as I made my retreat through the mingling guests. But I didn't wait. I raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and shut myself in the nondescript guestroom that Mom had set aside as my bedroom before anyone could see the tears of rage that just might have erupted at any moment right then. Then it was time for a very deep breath.

No one had seen me cry in a long time, not since seventh grade to be exact. But the last time it had happened, the most indelible memory was one voice that would always stand out as predicting my tears -- "Watch him start crying,  now!" -- and that voice belonged to Chris Moller. Across the years, and all the success Mom and I had had in moving up in the world, there were some nasty memories that never faded away. They just sat there in my memory, a constant nagging reminder that no matter how successful I was, on some level I would always be a loser from the slums. And that particular taunt from Chris was among the most enduring. 

At this point, I have to go off on another tangent from the Thanksgiving dinner. There are some things I haven't told you yet about life back on Pelham Street. I told you about the nursery, and how it turned into a nice study room as I got older, and about getting into my beloved private school out in the suburbs for high school. But I haven't told you much about what came in between, and I must do so now if you are to understand what comes next. 

Remember how I said the nursery was a haven for me, how it shielded me from the harsh realities of where Mom and I lived? Well, that memory stuck with me long after I was too old to have anything to do with a nursery of any sort. Even into junior high, when I was too old for any of the few toys that were still kicking around in our apartment, the sweet memory of my long happy days in the nursery was a godsend. The room itself was still there, of course, and by then it was filled with books for the most part. I'd fallen in love with books, probably around the fourth grade, and spent countless hours hiding out from the world -- and from Mom when she was struggling with her own homework -- reading about anything that could make my mind fly away from Pelham Street. When I needed a break from reading, just a look around the room and the way it had looked so full of toys when I was younger was a welcome breath of the joy of my earliest memories. Recalling how happy those days had been kept me sane and gave me a nice quiet place to do my homework, and an incentive to do it so life could once again be that happy someday. 

The reason why that room was of so much importance to me? You've probably already guessed it: school was hell in those days. Bullying was rampant, and quiet and shy boys like myself were at the bottom of the food chain, or at least close. It didn't matter that we were poor, since everybody else was poor too, but a shy bookworm with an overworked mother and no father didn't stand a chance in the halls of Third Avenue School! I won't bore you or depress you with the details; suffice to say I had few friends and many enemies, and plenty of recesses ended with me in tears for one reason or another. Merciless teasing, getting punched or kicked when the teacher wasn't looking, being reprimanded by the teacher for crying again without her ever wondering why...you get the idea! So the beloved room back home was always a welcome refuge when I finally got home -- and it wasn't unusual to get beaten up on the way home either! 

It all reached a low point one rainy day in sixth grade when I'd finally had enough and hit a bully back. That was the day I learned that bullies always know to strike when the teacher isn't looking. I hadn't thought of that in the heat of the moment, so I'd been caught and screamed at by a teacher -- right in front of all the boys who had just gotten away with beating the shit out of me. I hadn't heard the end of it all day, of course. And after yet another round of picking my coat and gloves up off the closet floor where they'd been tossed and having to take a roundabout route back to Pelham Street and keep an eye out for the boys and making a run for it back up the block when I saw any of them and even the girls taunting me about what a wimp I was, locking myself in the safety of the nursery was cold comfort indeed. As I looked around the room at my beloved books and the few toys I still bothered with, the cheerful memories of it all were the last straw. I shut myself in the closet and wished I could disappear, and imagined myself crying in the nursery with a gun to my head and Mom pleading with me to put it down. 

I don't know how long that went on before I fell asleep right there in the closet. I do remember I didn't feel a whole lot better when I woke up shortly before Mom got home. But I sat down at my desk and forced myself to get started on my math homework, and eventually I forced the morbid images from my mind. 

That, my friend is why I've blocked out so many memories of those years, and it's also why I can't block them all out!

And among the ruffians -- girls and boys alike -- who made those years so unhappy, Chris Moller was high on the list. Nearly always clad in raggedy jeans and work boots and a gray ski jacket back then -- the exact opposite of the beautiful young woman I had failed to recognize -- she was just as tough as any of the boys and just as quick to smack a nerd like me when the mood struck her. And she did. If she found out I got an A on a test she'd flunked? Whap! If I said my mother voted for Clinton? Smack! The one and only time I caught her team out in kickball? Bam! One time she even followed me into the boys' room and kicked me into the wall, laughing as she did. For years I did my best to stay out of her path, but I rarely succeeded, for there were only so many places to hide. That didn't really set her apart from anyone else at our school, to be fair -- but no one else from our school charmed her way into my mother's good graces years later!

As I stood alone in my bedroom now, taking deep breaths and working to get my emotions under control, two horrible memories roared through my mind and wouldn't go away no matter how I tried. One was the day in sixth grade when I had, for once, managed to find a bit of privacy for myself during recess in the woods behind the school. I can't recall if this was before or after that day I hit rock-bottom in my closet, but it doesn't really matter. Far from the violent football game that always held sway among the other boys, I was perched on a snowy log, reading my latest library book and enjoying the peace, when I heard someone else coming through the woods. I didn't look up, hoping perhaps ignoring a bully would work for a change. As usual, it didn't. As the steps drew closer, Chris' harsh voice ripped through the air with her usual tormenting ring. "Jack! What are you doing all alone out here?"

"Reading," I mumbled, not looking up. 

"You're always reading!" she yelled. "You need a break. How about a snowball fight?" And I felt a harsh plop against my book that pushed it into my face, and melting snow dripping from my hair.

I finally looked up. "Cut it out!" I said -- even worse than ignoring her, of course, for she knew she'd gotten under my skin again, and she scooped up another handful of snow and whitewashed me. I slammed my book shut to prevent it from getting any wetter, but that only trapped some snow on the pages I'd been on -- it would never be the same, and I figured I'd be lucky if the library didn't make my mother pay for it. In a panic, I stood up and looked around for something to throw back at her, only then I remembered what happened to any boy who ever hit a girl. That would have made my life even more miserable. 

I turned to run, but she was blocking my only way back to the playground. "Where you going?" she teased, pushing me back onto my log, which I tripped over and fell backwards, dropping my book in the snow. "Don't you want to play, Jack?" She leapt on top of me at that point, and leaned down and kissed me on the mouth, to the delight of several of our classmates who were by then lining up on the edge of the woods to watch the altercation. "Now you're my boy, Jack!" Chris sing-songed as she stood up and sauntered back to the playground, the others cheering her on. 

That's all you need to know about the first kiss, I think. After that, Chris actually became a bit friendlier with me -- perhaps she felt she'd won some victory there in the woods and that was good enough -- and on into seventh grade, I almost considered her a friend. I couldn't very well forget what she'd done, but in those days even an ex-bully was better than nothing for a friend. So we were on halfway-decent terms for a while. Until the day of the second horrible memory, which was the one that really wouldn't leave me alone now. 

That incident was about halfway through seventh grade, when Mom was already talking about sending me to the private school if I kept my grades up. So I had hope that I'd be out of this hell soon by then. That had made a lot of things easier for me, but not everything. I don't remember much of anything else about the day that gave me the most humiliating moment of my life -- what else does one need to remember about a day like that? I don't even recall exactly what had come before during lunch period that day. What I do recall is that it was at the tail end of the period, when the vice principal, Mr. Jordan, had called for quiet. When that happened, everybody knew to shut up. Getting Mr. Jordan angry at you was the dumbest thing you could do, for reasons I am about to illustrate. Not wanting to rock the boat, for I really was a good kid, I had my books stacked in front of me on the table and was waiting for the call to stand up and file back to class. My stack of books made for an easy target for the jerk sitting next to me -- I can't even recall his name -- and in a split-second while Mr. Jordan had his back turned for some reason, the kid whipped around and yanked out my math book from the bottom of the pile. All the others promptly toppled over and spilled everywhere, the noise echoing throughout the silent cafeteria. 

I knew better than to do anything but clean up my books, of course, and so I did. Mr. Jordan heard the noise and saw me leaning under the table to retrieve a couple of my books, and when I sat up again he was glaring at me. "Jack!" he called out, and pointed at the ledger by the cafeteria door, meaning I had to come up and put my name down for detention. 

"Me?" I asked, dumbfounded -- surely he'd seen I hadn't done anything wrong.

"Mm-hmm," he grumbled. 

And I made a serious mistake. I asked why. 

"WHY?!" he screeched in a voice loud enough to wake the dead. "BECAUSE YOU'RE PLAYING AROUND UNDER THE TABLE, THAT'S WHY! I'LL GIVE YOU WHY!"

There was no point in my arguing anything then, of course, so I got up and marched up to the detention list. Every other kid in the cafeteria -- including the one who had knocked over my books and knew perfectly well that I was innocent -- was glaring at me every step of the way. Out of the muffled snickers and gloats, I heard Chris loud and clear as I walked by her table: "Watch him start crying,  now!"

And of course, I did cry. So much for ever thinking we were friends! At least it was the last time anyone ever had seen me cry: from that day to this, no one had ever gotten my goat like that again. Even my mother never saw the tears of joy a year later when I learned I'd been accepted at the private school and could leave Pelham Street behind, at least during the day. No, I cried alone in the nursery on that day. I've actually come to think of that day as my last in the nursery, even though I continued to study in that room for four more years. My miserable childhood was over on that lovely day!

Now, most of my wounds from those days had long since healed. But one does not forget a humiliating moment like that, or a moment when you discover a friend isn't really a friend at all. So of course an incident that combined the two was never to be forgotten completely. And it hadn't been, despite the success I had enjoyed in putting those horrible days behind me. And of all the little monsters I'd had to share my childhood with, which one ended up living right next door?!

I was still sorting all this out in my mind and trying to get control of my emotions when I heard a knock on the door. "Jack?"

It was Christine. Not Chris, but Christine. Her voice had changed just as much as her appearance had, with her raspy local accent gone in favor of a neutral and much more gentle-sounding lilt. 

"Jack? I'm sorry. About everything. Please let me in, Jack." I'm not sure why, but I did let her in. There she stood in the doorway, with a contrite look on her face (which was suddenly completely recognizable in spite of all the changes, now that I knew who she was), and a glass of red wine in each hand. She handed me one of them. "I told Uncle Eric everything, about what a pig I used to be to you, and he distracted your mother so I could pour these for us."

I took the wine and stood aside. "Thank you," I managed to say in my still-shaky voice. "Does your uncle always let you drink wine?" If I recalled correctly, she was a year older than me (thanks to staying back in first grade), so still a year too young to drink.

"As long as he's there to supervise me," she said. "This is an exception of course. Jack, my uncle knows all about what a little punk I used to be. He had a lot to do with my getting cleaned up, actually. So I didn't have to do a lot of explaining about why you ran off. I just said, 'I need to apologize to him for some things,' and he understood. And he told me some wine would be a nice touch. He knows your mom, after all." I was sitting on the bed by then, not sure if I wanted her to join me there or not. In any event, she didn't, not right away. She stood just inside the now-closed door, and began pacing slowly. "Jack, I don't even know where to begin apologizing. First, I didn't realize at first that you didn't know it was me. I thought maybe your mother had told you about me, actually, because she tells me about you all the time. I think she might even be trying to play matchmaker for us." She grinned at that, and I saw all too clearly that Christine thought that might not be a bad idea. 

"She did tell me about you," I admitted. "But she doesn't know we knew each other before."

"It took me a while to put the pieces together too," Christine said. "It first occurred to me that it might be you when I heard your mom mention her last name for the first time, but then I thought if she's divorced, it's probably her maiden name and her son has his father's name."

"My mom never married that scumbag," I said. "I'd have taken her last name if she hadn't given it to me in the first place, but she did."

"Good for you! Anyway, I was wondering if it might be you, and then when Uncle Eric and I came in today, I knew it was. I mean, you've grown up and you've cleaned up a lot too, but I'd know that face anywhere, Jack."

"I'm sorry I couldn't say the same for you," I said.

"Oh, no, I understand!" Christine assured me. "I doubt anyone we knew back then would recognize me. I mean, you remember Heather and Dara? I'm still friends with them, so they know me of course, but every now and then I'm downtown shopping with Uncle Eric and someone from our class passes by, and you can tell they have no idea who I am."

"It is quite a transformation," I admitted. 

"Don't I know it!" Christine chuckled, looking down at herself as she continued pacing the floor, the wine sloshing in her glass but never spilling. "I can still remember the whispers at school when I had to dress up for something, you'd always hear the other girls saying, 'I can't believe Christine's wearing a skirt!' Nowadays, I get that reaction if I'm not wearing one. Heather and Dara tease me about it all the time, actually. They're still a couple of tomboys like we all were back then, especially Dara. But they're great. They've grown up a lot too, you know."

"So what happened?" By now I was more curious than angry.

Christine stopped her pacing for a moment and turned to look out the window. "You don't remember because you were already off to your private school, but...freshman year in high school, my mom was off on some kind of bender for about a week. I don't even know what she was up to. In any case, she wasn't around and I found some of her pills that she liked, and I brought a few to school. Me and a couple of other girls from the soccer team, we took them just before lunch, and they knocked us out. We were still rolling around on the girls' room floor when the cops showed up. My friends got off with a warning, but since I was the one who brought the pills in and I was already a troublemaker, I got expelled. And they wouldn't let my mom take me back, since it was her stash I'd dipped into. She still hasn't really gotten her act together, by the way, that's one reason why I still live with Uncle Eric." 




Three Kisses, One Past



She paused and took a long sip of wine, and then started her pacing across the room again. "Anyway, that's when Uncle Eric stepped in. He and my mom, you'll never find two people who love and hate each other at the same time so much as they do. He was already sort of like a parent to me before then. Anyway, he had a friend who ran a progressive rehab camp out West, girls only, and he pulled some strings with the cops, I guess. I don't know how he did it, but he got me sent out to Montana instead of juvie hall. That's where I finished high school. Felt like prison at first, but once I'd cleaned up and started trying in class for a change, I loved it. The woman who runs the show, Uncle Eric's friend, said I was one of her greatest success stories. They take grooming seriously out there, all part of learning to respect yourself, so that's how I got in the habit of dressing like this."

"I was wondering," I said.

Christine laughed. "I don't blame you. Sometimes I still barely recognize myself in the mirror! But yeah, I've been out for a year and a half, and back here staying with Uncle Eric, and I could have gone back to wearing jeans and sweatshirts all the time, but I really didn't want to. I just feel more confident when I dress up now, like I've left my bad old days behind. I guess this is all so representative of how I've changed." She stopped and took another swig of wine. "I hope you can believe I've changed, Jack. This isn't just a matter of putting a tomboy in a skirt and tights and hoping the sugar and spice will rub off on her. I mean, I am still kind of a tomboy underneath it all, but I'm not the jerk I was then."

"You don't seem like it," I admitted. "But you've got to admit this is awkward."

"For me too." Christine did look nervous standing still again by the door. Actually she wasn't standing still, but rather wiggling back and forth like she was waiting for the bathroom. She gulped down the last of her wine -- I was still only sipping mine -- and set the glass down and once again began pacing the floor, a bit faster this time. 

"For you too?" I asked. "Why?"

"Because I know you remember me as the little monster I always was to you, Jack, and that's humiliating. I think of my childhood now and all I can remember is what a bully I was, the way I picked on anyone who wasn't like me, and I wish I could go back and undo it all! The crazy thing is, with you especially, I always wanted to be friends."

"With me especially?"

"Oh, Jack, come off it!" She burst into a nervous-sounding laugh as she said that. "You know I was crazy about you! You were nothing like the other boys, all noise and bragging and showing how tough they were, and you were so quiet and nice. I adored you, Jack, but I picked on you because that's how I treated everybody back then if they weren't just like me. And now look at us, Jack, we actually are a lot alike. We both cleaned up awfully well, don't you think?" Christine was now walking back and forth faster than before, and with both hands free she was gripping at her skirt and tossing it about again and again. I would come to learn that was a nervous twitch of hers that she engaged in all the time; she was lucky short skirts were out of style that year if she valued her modesty at all. 

"We sure have," I said. "I mean, you do look beautiful..."

"Thank you, Jack." She stopped her pacing and once again stood looking down at me with one leg curled around the other. Maybe she really did have to pee? But she didn't mention it.

"I remember all too well," I began hesitantly. "I remember...when I started at my new school, you had to wear a coat and tie, and the girls had to dress like you are now, and all through the first couple of weeks I kept thinking, isn't anybody going to notice I'm a poor kid underneath this? Isn't my hair too greasy to look any good even with these clothes?"

"I remember that feeling!" Christine agreed. "Totally. I think it took me more than a few weeks to get over it, too. Maybe that's why I still stick to getting dolled up most of the time. It still feels like I'm growing into my new self or something. And I like it!"

"So you had a crush on me, did you?" I finally finished my wine, and set the glass on the windowsill by the bed.

"You really didn't know!" She was finally standing stock still before me, and then at long last she sat down beside me on the bed. "Don't you at least remember that day in the woods, sixth grade?"

"My first kiss," I said. "Of course I remember it. And I remember there was nothing loving about it, Christine."

"I know, I know!" she put one hand over her face and touched my arm with the other one. "Heavens, I know, Jack. And I'm sorry about that too. I'm sorry about everything! The thing I remember about that kiss, though -- and I didn't know it was your first kiss, that's kind of sweet that you remember that, in spite of everything -- the thing is, I knew for once I'd gone too far, and I tried to back off on you after that. I thought maybe then we could be friends after all, if I treated you a little better. And for a while it seemed like we were, but then you got really cold with me and I never knew why."

"You never knew why?" I repeated incredulously.

"I'm guessing I must have slipped up and done something pretty lousy to you, Jack, but I swear I don't remember."

So I reminded her of that awful day in the cafeteria, capping it off with her big line -- "Watch him start crying now" -- her exact intonation still branded on my mind as if it had been the day before instead of seven years ago. I didn't add anything about what had come after, figuring there was no need to.

I was right, there was no need to. Christine looked at me throughout the tale, then stared down at her hands in her lap, and then it was my turn to watch her start crying. "Jack," she sniffled, "I don't remember that, but I believe it. I promise I believe it. I'm sorry."

"Thank you." I didn't know what else to say. 

"I'm so sorry." She stood up again, not trying to hide her tears, and I had to appreciate that. "I can only hope you believe I've changed," she said again. "But there's one other thing. I've been taking psychology courses at the community college, I'm thinking of majoring in psych when I get into a real college --"

"A community college is a real college," I interrupted.

"That's nice of you, but you don't have to say that. Your mom told me where you're studying."

"I'm not a snob, at least I hope I'm not," I said. "There's nothing to be ashamed of getting your start at a community college. And I really am impressed with what you've made of yourself from what you were before."

"That's sweet," she said. "Anyway, the psych courses, one of the things I've learned is about how we deal with other people when we're jealous of them or we don't know how to tell them how we feel, sometimes you lash out at people." With a sad smile, she looked me in the eye and said, "I hope you can understand that's one reason why I was so nasty sometimes. It's true what they say about bullies, sometimes we tease you because we like you."

"My mother used to tell me that," I said. "But I didn't believe her."

"Your mother's a smart lady," Christine said. "I've gotten to be pretty good friends with her, really. Jack, I wish things could have been more like that all along, honest I do." She sat back on the bed, keeping a respectable distance this time. "Do you forgive me?"

"You're kind of putting me on the spot, here," I told her. "But it's been nice clearing the air and being so honest with each other."

"Can I give you a hug?" Her eyes were dry, but pleading now. "Please?"

A gentleman doesn't refuse a request like that, and she did really seem sincere in her apologies. So a moment later we were lying comfortably together, entangled in one another's arms and laughing with relief that we'd crossed the line successfully. 

"God, I wanted this so many times back then," Christine said, squeezing me. "And you never knew?"

"And I never knew."

"Are you comfortable with it now?" she asked. 

To my own surprise, the answer was yes. "Yes," I said. "Thanks for the apologies and everything." Then I couldn't help adding, "The new you really is a nice change. Beautiful." 

She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek once, then again, then our lips met. A long kiss, lasting at least a minute before she came up for air and lay back on the pillow gazing happily at me. "The second kiss," I declared, "Eight years in the making, huh?"

"And worth it," Christine added. I sat up then, and she got up and sat in my lap just as naturally as if we'd done it a hundred times before. "Totally worth it," she said. I slid my arms around her middle, not pushing too hard for anything more intimate just yet. But Christine had other ideas. "Come on, Jack, don't be shy now of all times!" She took both my hands in hers and slid them upward to her breasts. "Careful, they're a little tender right now, but if I know you, you're always gentle with these."

"It's been a while since I've had a chance to be," I said. But they did feel lovely in my hands, and she seemed to enjoy my soft stroking. 

She didn't say anything for a while as I played with her breasts, but her breathing grew heavier and she began to wiggle pleasantly in my lap. I nuzzled her neck a bit here and there as well, but concentrated mostly on her breasts. Finally she spoke up. "Just a little bit more," she said. "This isn't nearly enough." She leaned forward and gathered her hair out of the way. "Unzip me," she ordered. I did as I was told, and she pulled her dress down to reveal her bra clasp. "Undo that too, please," and I did. Then she tossed the garment aside happily and once again placed my hands on her now-bare breasts. "Just like before," she requested. "Your touch was perfect, but it wasn't intense enough through my clothes." And so I was back to caressing her breasts carefully, and she began moaning ever-so-softly. "Ohhhhh, that's good, Jack. Ohhhh yes." I was rock hard by now and I was sure she could feel me bulging against her backside, but things didn't go any further. 

After a few minutes she stopped guiding my hands and clutched at my legs on each side as I rubbed, and continued voicing her approval. A few minutes past that, she twisted around and lay back on the bed, and gave me a come-hither motion with her fingers. I got my first good look at her breasts then, small but supple and with the outlines from her bra still visible; but it was a brief look before she pulled me down to them, and soon I was suckling her into a happy ending. I didn't have to kiss her breasts for very long before she came, and that moment left no doubt that she had: a quick, sharp shriek and she bucked her hips up before melting back onto the bed.

She followed that with a deep sigh. "Thank you. You're really good at that." Then she sat up and set about putting her bra back on. "Know how to clasp these?" she asked, turning her back.

"I'm better at undoing them, but I'm sure I can figure it out," I quipped. She laughed, and I followed up by also zipping her dress back up.

"Thanks," she said, standing up. "I'd let you go further, but believe me, you don't want to touch me down there today."

"Period?" I asked. 

"Yes. That's another reason why Uncle Eric lets me drink wine. I guess he heard somewhere it helps with cramps. It doesn't, but why should I tell him that?" She laughed, collecting her wine glass from the bookcase where she'd left it. "Anyway, Jack, that'll be out of the way in a few days, you know."

"I have to go back to school in a few days," I reminded her. "Of course you could come visit me. I'm sure I can get my roommate to get lost for a few hours."

"I'd like that," Christine said, opening the door. "Wonder what your mom and Uncle Eric will think when we go downstairs?"

"I don't think they'll be surprised, to tell you the truth," I said. 

I was right. They were on the couch watching the football game with a few other hangers-on, and when Christine and I appeared together, they definitely exchanged a knowing look.

I didn't see Christine again before I went back to school three days later. Mom insisted I join her for her Black Friday shopping, and then on Saturday Christine's uncle dragged her off to some family reunion off in another town. I knew this because she called me late that afternoon to grouse about it, as we had exchanged phone numbers and e-mail addresses under the approving eyes of Mom and Uncle Eric. "My cousins are so annoying!" she bleated at me. "I just begged off for a few minutes to get some air because some of them are smoking in the living room. I'm on the back porch now. It's frigid out here, but at least the air is clean!"

"You used to smoke, didn't you?" I asked. It was a question, but I definitely recalled Chris sneaking cigarettes in the woods after school.

"Exactly, Jack. You know how hard it is for an ex-smoker to stay that way when you're surrounded by them?"

"Ouch. Hadn't thought of that. I've heard it's damn hard to quit."

"One of a lot of 'damn hard' changes I went through in Montana, Jack. I'll never go back to all that, I promise, not after all I went through to get straight, but my family isn't making that easy now. They're the ones who fucked me up in the first place, you know. All that shit I pulled on you when we were kids, I had to learn it somewhere!"

"You can do it," I said, glad she couldn't see me grinning on the phone as I imagined her in another pretty dress and yanking at it again and again. I was tempted to ask what she was wearing, but I didn't want her to know I was that interested just yet. "I saw the change yesterday, after all."

"Thanks, I needed that," she said. "That's why I called you, I knew I could count on you to say a thing like that."

"You knew all that after just one conversation yesterday?"

"It was a very intimate conversation, wasn't it?"

"Can't deny that," I admitted. 

"Listen," she said. "I really liked your idea of me coming out to see you, if you'd be okay with that. We still have a lot more to catch up on after all, and I'd like to get a look at your college too."

And for all my consternation that day after dinner, I found I liked that idea a lot. So it was very much on my mind on Sunday when Mom dropped me off at the train station. With Thanksgiving over with, the Christmas decorations were suddenly everywhere at the station -- always a joyful development for me. I won't deny anything here: I love Christmas. The decorations and the well-wishing and even the cheesy songs and movies...to me, they were always a symbol of another year accomplished and the promise of a better future. Since that future had now arrived, the holiday season was all the sweeter to me. Those last few weeks of the semester were always super busy and stressful and the weather was colder and the days shorter, but that just added to the magic as far as I was concerned. 

So too did Christine, to my amazement. From the moment I arrived back on campus and knuckled down for the homestretch of the semester, I found I could scarcely await her visit, even before we knew for sure it would happen. Was I really so sure she had left her former self behind? Was it the sense of danger that came with falling in love with an ex-bully? Was it a sense of solidarity between the both of us for having escaped into the world of nice clothes and hope for the future? I wasn't sure. But the memory of that tender moment in my room back home made me thirst for more all the same. 

My roommate, James, picked up on the change in me nearly as soon as he got back later that evening. James was from Harlem, so like me, this upper middle class small-town stuff was all new and a little alienating -- all the more for him since he was black -- and despite our very different backgrounds we shared something of a bond about being outsiders. As we discussed the holiday over dinner, it occurred to me that Christine would probably be able to identify well with him too. 

That thought must have showed on my face, for halfway through dinner James asked, "What's up with you, Jack. You met a girl or something?"

"It shows?!"

"Sure does. What's her name?"

"Christine. She might be coming to spend a weekend here."

"Cool, man. Can't wait to see what kind of girl would finally get through to you!"

"Yeah, I'm a bit surprised at that too," I said. Truer word was never spoken!

After that, it was pedal-to-the-metal academics for the rest of that week. I spent most of the week in the library or my room, nose buried in a book, but of course I thought of Christine whenever I had a free moment. My free moments that week mostly found me in bed and eager to go to sleep at last, but along the way there was plenty of daydreaming about Christine and going all the way this time, and just what making love to my worst enemy might actually be like. By Friday I was wishing I had invited her for that weekend. As irresponsible as it would be to spend a weekend with her rather than studying, I reasoned a break would be healthy at that point. And I loved the idea of walking around our lovely little downtown with her on my arm amid the fresh snow and the Christmas decorations on every telephone pole and corner store. A holiday sweetheart was just what I needed. 

So I was more delighted than bewildered when I got back from dinner on Friday night and found James on the phone. "Hold it, he just walked in," he said, and handed the phone to me. "It's for you."

"Hello?"

"Jack? It's Christine!"

"Hi! Listen, I'm sorry I haven't called but..."

"No, Jack, I'm here!"

I already had my coat and boots on from the walk to the dining hall, so in minutes I was rushing to the train station. There was little time to be angry at myself for not having bothered to invite her, or at her for inviting herself, and I could only hope she would be okay with sharing the room with James. To my surprise, I didn't much care about all that. I was just delighted to be seeing her, and I could scarcely believe that! Through the festively decorated streets of town and the light snow that was falling, my anticipation grew -- our weekend together here was going to happen after all. 

She was looking just as adorable as I had anticipated, holed up in a booth at the train station's little coffee shop with the warm glow of the dim lights and the aura of the Christmas music setting the perfect scene, and she jumped up to greet me when I arrived. "Jack! I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was coming. I was super busy all week just like I know you were, and this morning I checked on the Internet for train fares and there was a last-minute discount."

"That's great," was all I said as she threw her arms around me and squeezed me. I knew she was lying about discounts -- I knew the fares home and back by heart, and they were never on sale -- but that just added to the thrill of it all. "Let's get you back to campus. I'm sorry, we won't have any privacy just yet."

"That's okay," Christine said, hooking her arm through mine as I held her suitcase with my other hand. That, of course, left Christine with one hand free to grab at her skirt; even the chilly air didn't put a stop to that. "I guess I didn't give you much time to make other plans." Her voice dropping to a whisper, she added, "But I'm sorry we won't be able to make love tonight after all."

Hearing her say it gave me the creeps -- this was still Chris after all -- but as we stepped out into the snowy nightfall, I knew just what to say. "I was thinking, Christine, I'd like that to be really special, you know --"

"Me too!" she interrupted.

"Good," I continued. "So what do you say we don't do it until after we're both done with finals? It can be our reward for surviving the end of the term."




Three Kisses, One Past



"Jack, that's brilliant!" she said, kissing my cheek. "I'll be wound up like you wouldn't believe by then, but think of how much fun it'll be to finally let go after that! Wow."

"Can't wait to see," I said, though I wasn't sure of that. At least I had bought myself two weeks to decide if I really could forgive and forget. 

We hadn't even made it to the end of the block past the train station when a passing car stopped for us. It was one of the cafeteria ladies I had worked for the previous semester, offering us a ride. So Christine got to see the holiday decorations of the town from the warm back seat. "You can see why I love college in a small town," I said.

"So thoughtful," Christine agreed, thanking my ex-boss when we got out by my dorm.

"Yeah, thanks a lot!" I agreed. 

James was off at a party elsewhere, I knew because he had invited Christine and me as I'd been on my way out the door before, so Christine and I had our second taste of intimacy as soon as we were in my room. I had barely set down her suitcase on the floor before she had me pinned against the wall in a fierce embrace. It took a minute or two before she let me go long enough to take my coat off. "Sorry, I've been dreaming of that all week," she said nonchalantly, also unbuttoning her coat. She looked like she wanted to kiss me, but we both recalled our deal back at the station. "So, mind if I take a shower?" she asked instead. "I'm kind of sweaty from the trip."

"Sure," I said. "You can borrow my bathrobe, and I'll give you some privacy." I turned for the door, but I hoped she would tell me I didn't need to leave. 

Sure enough, she did. "It's okay, Jack. I've got nothing to hide with you now." I turned around to ask if she was sure she was comfortable with that, only to see she was already sliding her skirt down around her legs. She let out a shy-sounding laugh, which had me thinking I ought to at least turn my back. But, perhaps sensing that, she said, "Jack, it's fine. In fact, this feels good. Makes me feel like we're closer, you know?"

"Yeah, I guess I do know," I admitted. I sat on my bed and tried not to stare as she pulled off her stockings and top. I tried, but I couldn't resist. She just looked so naughtily beautiful in her underwear, muscular as the Montana cowgirl she had been for a while, yet still undeniably feminine in the abundant lace adorning her panties and bra. 

"So now you see, Jack, I'm a girly girl through and through as far as my clothes are concerned, anyway."

"But still not someone you'd want to mess with after dark on Malvern Street," I said with admiration.

Christine had reached back to undo her bra, but now she drew her arms forward and flexed her muscles with a grin. "That's right, I'm a gentle giant," she said. With that out of the way, she finished undressing. When she had at last removed her panties, she stood unabashedly nude before me. "Surely I'm not threatening to you now, am I?" she asked with a smile, not seeming to mind at all that I was ogling her intensely. 

"Nope, just beautiful," I said, and she was; her body was taut and groomed and graceful, and I longed to caress her all over. But that would have made it awfully hard to stick to our deal. 

She appeared to be thinking the same. "Thank you for being such a gentleman, Jack. And I'm glad you like the view. You're welcome to join me in the shower if you want."

"Thanks," I said. But I didn't. Once she was off to the bathroom, I turned back to the books I had left on my bed, for I had a feeling I wasn't going to have much time for studying again that weekend. Of course I had no luck concentrating on my studies even for those last few minutes, though, as the memory of my first unencumbered look at Christine's body was as fresh and robust as the hard-on I had no time to address. Then there was the knowledge that I would no doubt get another look in ten minutes when she returned. 

On her return, Christine wanted to talk about the train ride. "I can see why you like it so much," she said. "I loved the countryside and all the little towns we went through. Can you believe all this was so close by when we were growing up? Even Montana didn't have scenery like that. They have beautiful mountains out there, but that's all they have, no charming little towns to roll through or anything. It was a really serene ride, all right!" She had removed her robe -- or rather my robe -- and hung it up just inside the door as soon as she'd arrived, and then gone on to rummage through her suitcase for her nightgown. So she was stark naked for most of the time it took to go on about the train ride, and evidently perfectly comfortable with it. Finding her nightgown at last -- a nice pale blue one -- she looked up and grinned at me before putting it on. "You look happy," she said.

And I was, for the most part, throughout the weekend. Notice I say for the most part, though. 

I offered to sleep on the floor that night and let her have my bed to herself. But she wouldn't hear of it, and I fell asleep that night in the arms of my ex-bully. We awoke the next morning to James studying on his bed and trying to give us some space, but he later told me we'd looked adorable there together. He joined us for lunch and just as I had hoped, he and Christine got along terrifically. I also got to introduce her to my buddies from the informal study group I'd been mixed in with on the second floor of our dorm, and even brought her around to my bio lab group at the student union to work on our final project that afternoon. Through most of it, Christine seemed to hit it off with them all. If some of my buddies were surprised I was joined by a young woman I'd never mentioned before -- and most of them were probably wondering why she was dressed like she was fresh from the office while everyone else was in sweatshirts and jeans -- there were few signs of trouble all through Saturday. 

Few signs -- but they were there. The first was with Salemberger, the alpha male of our bio lab group. He was throwing his weight around as usual that afternoon, but the others knew how to deal with him. Christine, though, didn't know how his attitude was all bluster and nothing else. "So, since I did all the preliminary research, guys, I think it's best I farm out the parts of the report you're gonna type up," he announced shortly after we had completed our outline. 

"Real funny, man," said Laura Rudin. 

"Yeah, Laura, but wouldn't you rather not have him type anyway?" added Jon McComb, the joker of the group. "Think of all the mistakes!"

"Good point," Laura admitted, while she and I went over some last minute notations. Most of the others laughed. Christine, sitting uncharacteristically quietly by my side, did not. 

Neither did Salemberger. "Jack, maybe you'd rather type it all yourself? I mean, I was doing Laura a favor farming part of it out to you when everyone knows typing is a woman's job."

And out of nowhere, Chris piped up -- not Christine, mind you, but the nasty old Chris, only in grown up clothes. "Who the fuck died and made you boss, asshole? You ain't the professor, you shut your mouth about who does what!"

Laura and the other guys looked shocked at first to hear that mouthful from my demure looking new friend, and then they broke into cheers and applause. "You tell him, girl!" "Yeah, what she said!" Salemberger glared at her, and then slunk off with a fuck-you under his breath. Christine squeezed my arm and winked at me, and I realized the glimpse at her old self had me panicking a bit. 

But only for a moment, since Salemberger had certainly deserved it. The others -- who didn't know her history or all that had supposedly changed -- loved Christine from that moment on. "Jack, your new friend is definitely joining us for dinner tonight," Jon announced. "Pizza, in town?"

"Sounds great!" Christine said. "I was hoping to spend some time with Jack's other friends anyway."

Now that the ice was broken, I noticed Christine's vulgar old self bubbling to the surface quite a bit more that evening. I didn't mind at first, mainly because her fresh-from-the-streets attitude went over great with my friends. We got done with the bio report and were off to the pizza place just after dark, and the small talk was of lame school Christmas parties back in the day. "Oh, tell me about it!" Christine hooted. "I got so sick of those, the way you were supposed to give cards to all the kids in your class, even the worst of the nerds!"

"Hey, I was a nerd!" Jon told her. 

"So was I!" Laura added.

"And you know damn well I was," I said jokingly, though it was true. 

"And now you know how crazy I was about the nerds, then!" Christine said, and that mollified me once again -- mostly. But she wasn't quite done. "Yeah, you used to have to write one out for every kid in the class and they were all supposed to have some little message about what you liked about the kid. The teacher made you do it, but she couldn't make you actually put them in the kids' desks like you were supposed to. The ones I didn't like, I hid them in my book bag and then tossed them in the sewer on the walk home!" She laughed heartily at the memory, not at all apologetic. 

"So that's why I never got one from you," I added, drawing laughs from all around and a kiss on the cheek from Christine. 

Since playing her nastiness for laughs went over well, I continued to do it all evening, through the pizza and later the three pitchers of beer we all shared at the bar. As the stress back on campus faded away and the others got to know Christine better, the talk got raunchier and looser. Soon I realized my well-to-do classmates were delighted with our tales of Third Avenue School and Pelham Street, and Christine and I regaled them with all manner of tales from the ghetto. "Remember our version of 'Deck the Halls', Jack?" she asked as we stumbled out of the bar. 

"We sang it behind the teachers' backs at Christmas every year," I admitted. "Our principal's first name was Michael," I explained to the others. "And..."

Deck the halls with balls of Michael, fuck-a-la-la-la, la la la la! Tis the season to be fucking, fuck-a-la-la-la, la la la la!

"And you never got caught?" Laura marveled. 

"Never," Christine confirmed. 

And our bastardized version of "Nuttin' for Christmas" was an even bigger hit with the gang.

I stuck a tack up my teacher's ass, Somebody snitched on me! I made my sister take off her dress, Somebody snitched on me!

Halfway back to campus, we walked past the town square. There had been another snowstorm that afternoon and the park was glistening with fresh snow. Along with the aluminum Christmas trees on every telephone pole, it looked like something straight out of a movie. It was too much for Laura. "Guys!" she called out. "Snow angels!" Before anyone could agree or disagree, she was on her back in the snowdrift and waving her arms back and forth. The guys all followed, and so, to my surprise, did Christine. 

"You sure you want to do that in a skirt?" I asked. 

"I can do anything in a skirt now," she laughed, once again in her haughty old hometown accent, and then I saw she could indeed play in the snow just as well as the rest of us could in our jeans. So I joined in as well, lying just past Christine and exulting in the dark beauty of the night sky just above the Christmas lights of town. 

"So romantic," I murmured, enjoying the colorful glow against the night sky.

"Don't you get all sappy on me again, Jack," Christine said. "That's why you always used to get your ass kicked back home, don't you know that?"

And I kept my mouth shut to enjoy the last few minutes of lying in the snow. 

I couldn't very well take Christine to task over her nasty comments in front of her friends, of course. And by the time we'd made our way back to the dorm, she felt too delightful on my arm for me to keep up my irritation. If her wet stockings were uncomfortable in the chill, she made no complaint, and once we got home we were holding onto one another comfortably in our tipsy fog. When we finally got back to my room, we enjoyed our first shower together, but still nothing too hot and heavy. We had agreed to wait, and we managed to stick to that. But she certainly looked beautiful in the steamy hot water. And so once again I had seen behind the curtain but allowed myself to be lulled back into submission. 

Sunday was less eventful, if only because we both had to study, and Christine was once more her demure new self through the long hours of sipping coffee at the student union. So my reservations about the day before were mostly forgotten -- mostly -- by the time I walked her down to the station to catch the last train. But she sprung another unwelcome reminder of our past on me just as I was leaving her at the platform. "So," I said, "Two more weeks until I'm back and then, you know what!"

"I've been meaning to ask you, actually, you remember my friend Heather, don't you?"

"How could I forget?" Heather and Dara had been Chris' best buddies. Dara was the toughest girl in class and all the boys were a bit afraid of her. The worst she ever did to me was mouth off a bit now and then, but I was always aware she just might slug me and make me cry in front of everyone yet again. Heather had never been violent, but her own trademark had been always telling me I was ugly. Which stung especially hard coming from her, because I had once had a crush on her. She'd always been beautiful -- plump and blonde with big eyes -- but she'd been as nasty as she was attractive. "Yeah," I continued, "I remember you said you still saw Heather and Dara now and then."

"Right! Good memory, Jack. Anyway, Heather works at a spa downtown now, and sometimes after they close she lets Dara and me join her in one of their Jacuzzis. So relaxing, especially when it's cold out like this! Anyway, I told them I've been seeing you, and -- "

"No!" I interrupted. "Christine, they were always so nasty before."

"I know, I know, Jack, and that's just it. They'd both love to see you again and apologize." Her serious face now curled into a smile. "And they'd like you to join us in the Jacuzzi. You'll be totally welcome, and I think they'd both like to tell you in detail how they know they were wrong about you, just like I did."

"Talk about entering the lion's den," I said.

"Were we really that frightening to you?!" Christine looked like she wanted to laugh, but to her credit she didn't.

"You have no idea," I admitted.

"I think I know how we can set you at ease, then," she said. "So can you take the train out next Friday, after classes? Be there by six or so?"

"Just how are you planning to set me at ease?" I asked.

"That'll be our surprise," Christine said with a grin as the train pulled in. "Trust me, you're going to love it." She kissed me on the cheek and picked up her suitcase. 

There was little time for me to obsess about Heather and Dara for the rest of that week. Finals were coming. But when the thought did bubble up, I had to admit the chance for a reconciliation like I'd had with Christine was appealing. Something about getting up close and personal with a couple of other ex-bullies was a turn-on of sorts. I wasn't sure why, but that didn't stop me from buying a ticket back home. (Mom had no suspicions about the timing; I think she figured I just wanted a breather before finals, which I did. Neither did Christine give me a hard time about spending the night at home instead of with her. We had our deal.)

I also wasn't sure what Christine's planned "surprise" for making me feel safer with her friends would be. But though I had my guesses, I certainly never imagined what the answer turned out to be. I'd have scarcely allowed myself to even imagine that!

There was no inkling yet of all that when Christine met me at the station that Friday evening. "Welcome home, baby!" she said, throwing herself at me in a fierce hug. "Ready for the surprise?"

"Well, no," I confessed. "Halfway here on the train, I remembered I hadn't packed any swimming trunks. Maybe we can go by K-mart and buy a pair."

"No need," she said hastily. "I, uh, have a pair in my bag here."

"You have a men's swimsuit handy, do you?" I couldn't help laughing, a nice antidote to the nagging nervousness I'd been feeling about venturing this close to my old neighborhood. 

"Long story," Christine said. "Don't worry, I'll explain everything if you don't figure it out."

"I don't see how I'd figure that out," I said as we stepped outside and got in line for a taxi. 

Christine only laughed and squeezed my arm as we settled ourselves in the cab, and I concentrated on her rather than the too-familiar streets that were soon going by. She was wearing a lovely black sweater and full skirt, and the demure act was back in full force for the time being. "You okay?" she asked as we delved deeper into our old neighborhood.

"Well, it's a bit creepy," I admitted. "I haven't been back here since Mom left, and I can't say I missed it."

"I know the feeling," Christine assured me. What she said next was supposed to ease my nerves I'm sure, but instead it made things worse: "Heather and Dara can't wait to see you!" 

"Are you sure about that?" I asked as the taxi pulled up by a building that had once housed my favorite drug store when I was a kid. 

Christine wasn't fazed by my concern. After we'd paid the driver and entered the building, she took my hand and guided me into the elevator, and reluctantly I let her do it. "They've changed just like I have, Jack. I'm telling you, one reason why they want to see you is to apologize."

"As well they should," I said bluntly.

"I agree, Jack. Trust me, they want to make things right. And just think, you'll be getting to share a Jacuzzi with three women who were always nuts about you!"

"They liked me too?" I wasn't as surprised as I probably sounded, though. "Was that your surprise that you mentioned last week?"

"I think most of the girls did," Christine said. "You really were such a sweet kid, Jack. But no, that's not the surprise."

"Dara was always such a tomboy," I said. "I'm having a hard time imagining her in a swimsuit."

Christine responded only with that naughty grin of hers. 

"What's that mean?" I asked when she didn't say anything.

The elevator doors opened, and Christine stepped out. "Let's just say you still won't be seeing what Dara looks like in a swimsuit. Or Heather or me either." With a shy laugh she led me down the hall, and I had only seconds to ponder what she had just revealed before another woman emerged from a doorway at the end of the hall. 

She was a cherubic blonde with an eager grin on her face, dressed in a white bathrobe and, from the look of it, nothing underneath; and she hugged Christine and then turned to me. It took a moment to place her, but I did. "Hello, Heather." I said it politely, but that did not come without effort. 

"Told you he was cuter than ever, didn't I?" Christine said. 

"You sure did," Heather replied, eyeing me with what appeared to be a hungry look. "Jack, it's great to see you again!" She opened her arms for a hug, but all I could recall was all the times that same voice had addressed me with "You're ugly!" and all the times she had backed away if I had walked within three feet of her.

"I..." I stammered. I don't know what my face might have looked like at that moment, but from the change of Heather's expression, it couldn't have been a very pleasant look. 

Heather dropped her arms, and didn't look put out. "I'm sorry, Jack. I can understand if you don't want me to touch you. I was such a little shit with you when we were younger."

"We all were," Christine agreed. 

"Thanks," I said. "I mean, I'm sorry, too, Heather. It's just that, for so many years, every time I heard your voice, you were saying..."




Three Kisses, One Past



"'You're ugly'," Heather recalled. "I know, and I'm sorry, Jack. It was never true! I was jealous, just like Chris was. I can't even remember why I settled on 'you're ugly', honestly. Just another way to push you away, I guess."

"Everybody had a way to do that," I said. "But...thanks for the apology." Remembering what Christine had just revealed about our plans, I said, "Are you so sure I'm not ugly now that you're ready to...you know?"

They both laughed. "Jack," Heather said even more gently now, "Hasn't Chris told you how we all had a crush on you back then?"

"If only I'd known..." I said.

"Then you'd have known just how immature we were to act the way we did," Heather said. "Wouldn't that have made it all worse?"

"Depends on how you'd have reacted if you knew," I said before I could stop myself.

"Knew what?" they both asked in unison.

"That I -- Christine, I'm sorry -- that I..."

"Had a crush on Heather?" Christine asked.

I nodded. "Until about the nine-thousandth time she called me ugly."

Heather put her hands to her face and looked like she wanted to cry, but Christine wasn't put out that I could see. "It's fine, Jack!" she said. "We were just kids, after all. Besides, we noticed the way you looked at her in school."

Then it was my turn to laugh. "Okay, thanks. Are you sure you still want us to all go in the tub, you know...?"

"Of course," Christine said. "It was always meant as a treat for you, Jack."

"And you can wear your trunks if you want to," Heather said, I suspected reluctantly.

"Well, that wouldn't be fair, would it?" I asked. 

"No indeed!" Heather said. 

"She's been waiting a long time for this, you see," Christine said with an easy laugh that set me more at ease as well. 

"Me too," I admitted.

"Really?" Heather looked pleased.

Seeing as it appeared to be safe, I nodded. "Sometimes at school, if we had a test or something, I used to imagine I could pause time and work longer on the test, and just because I could, I would also line up the girls and teachers I had a crush on at the front of the class, naked."

"And I was one of the lineup, was I?" Heather looked tickled rather than offended. "I guess we're both about to see how good our imaginations were, then." She turned and directed us all to the changing rooms. "Dara called, she's running a little late, so we might as well get in now. I've got the tub all filled up and everything. Jack, since we're closed, you can even join us in the women's room if you want. Nothing to hide tonight!"

And I saw no reason not to. 

In the locker room, Christine and I set about undressing with no fanfare; by then we were used to it. Heather, of course, needed only to pull her robe off, and she stood naked before us nearly as soon as I had my shoes off. "So, what do you think?" she asked with a grin, hands on her bare hips. Just as I had imagined, her curvy body was delightful: heavy breasts that hung enticingly down but not too far, peaked with small perky nipples, and a robust belly that swooped gracefully down into a light sprinkling of pubes the same pale shade as her head hair; her vulva was enticingly only just visible behind them. The same face that had scowled at me so many times when we were younger now showed no sign of embarrassment, but rather welcomed me to look all I liked. And I did. 

"Looks like I imagined right," I finally said, and the three of us shared a laugh. 

"Me too," Christine added. 

"You too?" I asked. "But hadn't you already seen her?"

"Usually we all wear swimsuits," Heather explained. "But tonight is special."

"I'll say!" Christine said. She was down to her bra and panties by then, and I turned back to see Heather admiring Christine just as intently as I had admired her. "This is a treat for me too," she told me. "When she first got back from Montana, Dara and I couldn't get over the change -- so beautiful! But I haven't seen underneath before."

"Underneath is beautiful too," I said.

"So I see," Heather concurred as Christine now slipped off her panties and set them atop her other clothes on the shelf. "He's right, Chris, you do look beautiful." The two of them giggled like their younger selves at the intimacy while I set about getting my own clothes off. Of course I was harder than a rock, and I fully expected them both to laugh at that. But -- perhaps recalling all the put-downs way back when -- they didn't. Instead, Heather only admired it as I stood up. "Wow," she finally said. "May I touch it? Just this once?"

I looked at Christine, and she nodded her consent. 

Heather stepped up and took it in both her hands. She squeezed it, gently enough to feel good, and rubbed up and down lightly. "You can touch me too," she added, "Anywhere you want." And so I finally got a feel at the first breasts I had ever taken notice of, now fully grown and pleasantly heavy in my hands, and I stroked her just as gently -- I hoped -- as she stroked me. She heaved a deep sigh of contentment while I breathed heavily at her lovely touch, and our eyes met in an intense look of mutual enjoyment. 

This went on for a bit -- time stood still for me as I was aware of the wonderful awfulness of it all -- until Christine finally ran out of patience. "We don't want the water to cool off too much," she reminded us. 

"True," Heather said, and she gave me a final, harder stroke on the head with her thumb. "Thank you, Jack. Chris, you're really lucky."

"I'm looking forward to finding out how lucky," Christine said as we stepped into the dimly lit room with the Jacuzzi brimming with steamy water. It was well-stocked in oils and towels and there was new-age music being piped in from somewhere -- you'd never have guessed what neighborhood we were in. 

"You mean you two haven't done it yet?" Heather looked bemused. 

"We're saving it for after finals," I explained. 

"Sort of an early Christmas present," Christine added, as she stepped into the water. "Oooohhhh, this feels great, Heather! Thank you so much."

Soon Heather and I were settled in the deep water as well. "You're right, it feels lovely," Heather said. "We should go nude every time."

"I wonder how Dara would feel about that," Christine said, sidling up beside me and hooking her arm through mine. "You know how macho she is."

"You remember Dara, Jack?" Heather asked. 

"And how," I said. "I was scared shitless of her."

"So were we!" Christine exclaimed, and they both laughed. 

"All the boys and most of the girls were," Heather agreed. "But she doesn't hit anybody anymore."

"Anymore," I repeated. "Well, that's a relief, isn't it?"

"For us too," Christine said. 

"What do you mean?" I asked. I'd never seen any of her gang hassle one another.

"We didn't always treat each other much better than we treated you," Heather said. "No need to go there, though. We're grown-ups now, aren't we?"

"We all certainly look like it," I said contentedly, admiring both their bodies in the shimmering water. 

"What's on your mind, dear?" Christine asked. 

"Just that it's hard to imagine the two of you as bullies anymore when I see you like this," I said. 

Christine kissed my cheek, and Heather looked at us like she wished she could join in. 

Just about then, the door to the locker room cracked open, then shut just as quickly. Heather turned to look. "Dara?" she called out.

"Be right with you!" called out a voice -- unmistakably Dara's, and hearing it for the first time in years made me want to guard my balls with both hands. Christine seemed to realize what I was thinking, and she took my hand in both of hers with a sympathetic grin. A moment later, the door opened again, and there stood Dara -- once my most-feared bully -- now all grown up just like us, and just as naked and vulnerable as we were. She also looked just as delighted to see me as Heather had been. "Jack!" she said, blossoming forth into the room. Except for her thick sandy blonde mane, which was shorter than I remembered it, her female body looked almost boyish. I know that sounds absurd, but I can think of no other way to describe her. She had the smallest breasts of the three, but the biggest nipples, looking almost like a man who'd been out in the cold too long, and her pussy was freshly shaven from the looks of it. Her arms and legs were just as muscular as ever, but following her friends' lead, I no longer found them so frightening. 

She splashed a bit awkwardly into the tub, and without asking for an invitation she leaned forward and threw her arms around me. "Welcome back, kid!" she said. "Great to see you! Chris told me you were gorgeous these days."

"You're looking great, too," I said, enjoying the sense of danger that came with her strong arms hugging me instead of hitting me and not sure what to make of it. 

"Thanks!" With a giddy flair, she flung herself back alongside Heather and took her turn admiring all our bodies as we had done with one another. "Wow, this is hot," she said. "Or did you two have Jack thinking we do this all the time?"

"We've already told him we don't," Christine admitted.

"But we've been thinking maybe we should," Heather added. 

"I'll say you should!" I added, drawing laughs from the three of them. 

I spent the next half hour or more shamelessly enjoying the view as much as the water, and the three of them admiring me as well. It was lovely, of course, but soon enough I saw warning signs of the old Chris once again coming to the surface. Christine had promised they wouldn't be anything like their younger selves. And they weren't -- with me. Dara and especially Heather seemed interested in hearing all I'd been up to and how I was getting on at my snobby college and what it was like going from this neighborhood to that, and I was more than happy to talk about it all. But although Heather never aimed her cattiness at me, it was still there: she went on at length at one point about a nasty older woman she'd met at the hairdresser whose only apparent crime was being ahead of her in line for a trim. The woman was fat, a cow, thoughtless, a bitch, and -- yes -- ugly. Dara was unfailingly polite with me, but she did seem to drop a lot of by-the-by comments about how she'd like to slug various coworkers at the grocery store where she worked. Usually these were accompanied by punches in the air. Christine thought all this was hilarious, and as time went by her laughs sounded less refined and more like the old neighborhood all the time. 

And there were the fond memories of their good old days when they were the terror of the school. "Remember Michelle Jorgensen?" Christine said with a throaty laugh? "That bitch always hung her coat where I wanted to hang mine, so finally I had to start tossing it up on top of the cubbies where she couldn't reach it 'cause she was so short!"

"And remember that time in the bathroom?" Dara chimed in.

"God, yes, I do!" Heather commented. To me she explained, "We ambushed her coming out of a stall once, 'cause she'd annoyed us in class or something, and we yanked her dress up where the other girls could see when they were washing their hands for lunch. And Chris told her..."

"You do that again, we'll do it in front of the boys," Chris -- not Christine but Chris -- said with a grin. 

"And now Chris here wears dresses all the time," Dara said. "Can you believe that, Jack? You can tell she hasn't learned anything from herself, huh?"

I had to agree, for different reasons. And I remembered Michelle Jorgensen too. By eighth grade she'd been so fed up with the bullying that she'd swallowed a bottle of her mother's sleeping pills. She'd been found just in time and survived -- maybe that was why Christine and her friends did not appear to remember that part of the story. 

Still and all, sharing a hot tub with three naked women can never be completely unpleasant, and it wasn't. So I once again swallowed my reservations about Christine, and rationalized it away -- of course she'd be like that occasionally with her oldest friends, I told myself. Nevertheless, I was somewhat relieved when it was time to get dressed and leave. Finals were coming up, I had brought studying home to do, and my mother wouldn't be happy with my being out too late. And so I begged off on joining the three for dinner after the soak, and thanked Christine for the surprise and the others for their numerous apologies, and then I was off to Mom's. 

The lovely sight of Heather and Christine putting their bras on at the same time in the locker room (Dara didn't have one, and clearly didn't need one) would serve as a final prurient moment for the weekend, and I made good use of it on my studybreaks through the weekend. To Mom's delight, Christine came over for lunch on Saturday afternoon and we studied together for a few hours afterward, neither of us letting on that we'd spent the previous evening or the weekend before that together. 

She did let it slip that we had plans for the following weekend, but not so that Mom would notice. "One more week," she enthused as we both packed up our books at the end of the afternoon. Giving me a sultry look, she added "I can hardly wait!" There was more she wanted to say, I could tell, but she remembered just in time that my mother was nearby. 

"I'm sure it'll be worth the wait, Christine," Mom said. "You're welcome to come join us for dinner next Saturday when Jack gets home."

"Sounds great," Christine said, and I could see she'd gotten an idea from the near miss. "I might have to be away on Friday night, but then I should be back by Saturday."

"Traveling right before Christmas?" Mom asked. "That's a shame." 

"It's a marketing study on hotel rooms in town," Christine said, looking me in the eye as she did. "So I'll be spending the night in a hotel. But like I said, I'll be back Saturday."

"That's lucky," Mom said. "I can't imagine a more depressing place to spend Christmas than in a hotel."

"Oh, I've heard it's not so bad," Christine told her. "The staff is so busy with holiday events and stuff, you can steal all the towels you want and no one ever notices."

She had the smarts to start laughing when Mom and I looked at her. Mom was persuaded that she was joking. I knew all too well that she wasn't. 

The glimpses of Christine's true colors -- the towels, Michelle, the nasty comment in the park -- stuck with me all through finals week. Maybe that's why it finally sunk in for me that my new love was who and what she'd always been. I think it was halfway through the week -- German and history down, chemistry and comparative lit left -- when I came to peace with myself about what would have to happen next. The last couple of finals, though not easy, offered me a certain peace that comes with the holidays. Once again in my mind I was on that beautiful night train off into the heartland somewhere, and the hot apple cider at the studybreaks tasted all the sweeter. 

Now, as for what came next, I'm really not sure what the most appropriate move was. I guess that had gone out the window already when I had let her into my room and my heart back at Thanksgiving. Too late to worry about the right thing, then, when I got on the train heading home on Friday. There was a wintry sun out, reflecting brilliantly against the snow, and the holiday spirit was thicker in the air than ever. Christine had e-mailed me with information on her hotel, and Mom need never know that I was coming back a day early. Not unless I decided to tell her, of course. 

When I got on the train, I still wasn't quite certain just what I would do when I got to the hotel. It really was up in the air even at that late hour. Christine was a beautiful young woman who had overcome a great deal and who understood who I was and where I had come from. But she was also Chris, the obnoxious bully I'd grown up with, and it looked as though Chris would always be bubbling up to Christine's surface now and then. But for all that, Christine was usually worth it all -- usually -- and after all, she was ready and willing to make love in the privacy of our very own hotel room. (Don't underestimate the appeal of that kind of privacy when you're only nineteen!) 

By the time the train rolled into the grungy and old, yet brilliantly decorated train station, I had my mind made up: 'twas the season of joy and love and peace and, yes, forgiveness. Seeing Christine waiting for me in the lobby, looking perfectly demure and almost shy in a crimson dress, sealed it. 

Or would have, at least, had she kept Chris tamped down until we got back to the hotel. 

"Jack! Merry Christmas!" We shared a delightful embrace there in the lobby. "How were finals?"

"Glad they're over, that's all I can say for sure," I said. "Let's get to the hotel!"

"I was hoping you'd say that," she said, and we turned to walk around the big Christmas tree in the center of the floor to the main door. 

That's when it happened: a kid in roller-sneakers came whizzing around the tree, catching Christine's eye just in time. He looked about twelve -- a bit too old to be wearing roller sneakers, perhaps, and old enough to know not to ride them so fast indoors -- but he had seen us and no harm was done. 

Christine didn't agree. As soon as he was out of earshot, she turned and gave the boy a dirty look. "What a loser, with those roller shoes. They're for girls. Think he's a fag?"

"Don't say that word!" I snapped under my breath. "Don't you know how rude that is? Besides, so what if he likes those shoes?"

She laughed it off. "Oh, grow up, Jack. You know I'm not gonna hassle you about that sort of thing anymore. What do you care if I see the humor in it with other guys."

"But he's just a kid, and again, what's wrong with -- "

Christine turned and pulled me to her just inside the sliding doors, and kissed me hard on the mouth. The third kiss. It would have been delightful at almost any other time, but her alter ego was shining through all too well. 

"Now quit being such a politically correct gentleman and let's get you upstairs," she whispered. 

I don't know why I let her guide me across the street to the hotel or upstairs. From the moment she'd kissed me, the spell was broken. Underneath her lovely veneer, Chris was still Chris, the one who'd nearly driven me to despair all those years before. Maybe the prospect of sleeping with the enemy appealed to me. But I knew deep down I wasn't going to be able to do it. 

Chris was still Chris, but she was Christine when she opened the hotel room door and ushered me inside. "Welcome to your Christmas present," she teased as she shut the door behind her. "Ready?"

"I don't think so," I confessed. 

"Aw, don't play that with me, Jack! We made a deal, didn't we? And finals are over!" By the time I turned around to address her, she had already unzipped her dress and was in the process of pulling it over her head. She tossed it across the room with devil-may-care flair and gave me a playful shove that sent me sprawling back on the bed while she reached back and undid her bra. "I know you don't want to wait until after dinner for this, Jack," she said. "Be honest!" Wiggling playfully now, she slid her panties down and kicked them off to the side. Once she had them out of the way, she stood still. "I'm yours," she said with a hungry smile. 

I could feel my inhibitions growing by the second. All of a sudden I felt horrifically, perversely vulnerable, even though I was fully clothed and she was fully naked. I felt myself sliding down off the bed and my feet found the floor, and I could tell the look on my face had changed as Christine reacted. "Oh, Jack, not now! Don't tell me you've got cold feet now." She sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed and looked like she was hoping I would sit beside her. In that moment I wouldn't have done that for anything.




Three Kisses, One Past



"I can't," was all I said. 

"Can't get it up? That happens, and it's okay. We can just cuddle."

"Oh, it's up," I reassured her. "But I'm not. I just can't do this. Not with you, Chris."

Now it looked like it might just be her turn to cry at last. "Jack, I've told you again and again how sorry I am! I'm not the little bitch I was then! Not anymore!"

"I know you're not," I said, forcing a gentle smile. "But I am the same person I was then, and I still bear the scars of what you and your friends put me through. I still remember being tormented and abused day after day after day for all that time and never being able to do a damn thing about it no matter how hard I tried. I still remember the joys of childhood and how you took those away from me just for the fun of it! I still get uptight when people talk about wonderful innocent childhood memories, because stuff like that makes me think of wishing I could shoot myself in the head when I was twelve. And I still remember how miserable it was to have holiday cheer shoved down our throats constantly at this time of year when I was so unhappy all the time. "

"Sweetie, I'm so, so sorry!" She still wasn't crying, and for all my anger at her, I always will respect her for that. Growing up on the wrong side of the tracks toughened us both up in certain ways, and just for a moment I thought once again we must be birds of a feather.

But I stood my ground. "I guess I'm not much good, Christine, because I can't accept your apology. I've tried, but I can't. Sorry. Have a nice life, and take my advice and get away from here as soon as you can, okay?" I picked up my coat and gloves to go. 

"I understand," Christine said, her voice now even. While I was talking she had wrapped herself in the bedsheet, and I was relieved she had. Her body really was beautiful and barely resistible, and I preferred not to have to look at it while I rejected her. "Jack, I accept everything you've said. Really. Best of luck to you too, I guess."

"Thank you."

She stood up, still wrapped in the sheet. "Can I give you one last hug? Just for a peace offering?"

I looked in her hopeful eyes, and then at the door. "No." Without another word or another look, I opened the door and left.