4 comments/ 16777 views/ 5 favorites Metro Encounter By: NorthCoastSmart Note: This story is somewhere between an erotic coupling and a romance. I hope you enjoy it. ------------------------------------------------ "Patrick, hi!," she effused in a very familiar manner. She was 30, maybe 35, and grabbed the seat next to me on the Metro subway pulling out of Union Station. I had no idea who was greeting me this warmly. She was attractive in an athletic way, as far as I could tell in a startled first impression. Not beautiful, really, but sexy. "Oh, hi.," I stammered before admitting the obvious—"I'm really sorry, I don't remember meeting you at the conference. It's a serious personality defect—insufficient name-face recognition skills. Or, simply, dorkiness." "You teach at Berkeley, don't you, Patrick?," she asked with an infectious smile. "Yes." I was really reaching into the mental rolodex now. Had I messed up and she wasn't from the conference, but from home. Who was this? Now I was imagining some really nice legs happening under those jeans. "Do we know each other from campus?," I ventured. I was ready for humiliation, as in "I am the wife of your colleague," or "we went to graduate school together and had that wonderful night of love-making and you are the most insensitive lout for not remembering." "No, Patrick, silly. But how are things on campus now?," she continued as if my non-recognition never occurred. "I'm sorry," I said a second time. "I mean, before we keep going I need to say that I can't really place our acquaintance. How do we know each other?," I formally inquired. "We don't." "Uh, but you know who I am, what's up with that...and the familiar manner. Who are you?," I finally got out. "Juliette Shanine," she said and gave me this mischievous and sensual smile that was the perfect complement to her lithe frame. "And I love to play this game with absent-minded folks who leave their name tags on after they leave a conference. In your case, literally an absent-minded professor sort—especially with that big 'Faculty' ribbon hanging on it. I have had half-hour conversations with people who return my pretension of acquaintance. One woman starting telling me about her kids, assuming that I knew them. I had a guy who ended our conservation with a 'come over to our house again soon' invitation. You, obviously, have not been an especially willing subject." By the time she finished, the name tag was in my coat pocket. I really liked Juliette's smile. Her engaging and quirky style. And especially I loved that she left her top three shirt buttons free, allowing me to imagine the remainder of what I could mostly visualize of her B cup breasts. Bad habit of mine, that. "Do you have any other games I should be aware of, Juliette?," as I let go a slight grin that I hoped showed conspiracy in encounter, not annoyance. "Totally. In January, I took off all my clothes in a mall dressing room, stuffed them in my bag and walked around H&M naked to see who would stop me. No one said anything for about 10 minutes, then a young guy asked me if I was OK and did I want his sweatshirt—it was adorable. Lots of times I beg change in front of Kramer's bookstore and then, in view of the donor, I give it to some other stranger." By now the Metro had moved toward my Dupont Circle stop and I only had about 30 seconds with this woman. Was it enough to extend the connection?—I quickly ran through my options: staying on the train past my stop, asking her to join me for lunch, trying to get a number. I said: "Do you ever go to dinner with out of town strangers who are lucky enough to star in these artistic events?" And quickly followed up with, "and if so, here is my cell and name. I'll be here through Thursday evening." I scribbled the essential data on a scrap of paper and handed it to her as I got up to leave. She said softly to me, "I do for men who realize it is an art performance and look OK in a pair of jeans." As I was neared the subway door Juliette said in a loud voice, "Don't let them get you down, Peter, lots of guys with a tiny penis have the operation." I figure at least 50 people kept looked at me from the inside of the car as the train slowly...really, really slowly...moved north under Cleveland Avenue. ---Juliette--- I had another day and a half left at the conference. I checked for cell messages constantly that day and a little less the next. No call from Juliette. I had no right to be disappointed. I was disappointed. June turned into September and the Berkeley campus came alive again with the promise of a new semester. Most of my colleagues burn-out on teaching pretty quickly, but fifteen years later I love more than ever the new year. Students are my drug. Teaching them is their gift to me. "Patrick Wellborne," I twilled into the cell without checking the source of the call, per usual. "Hey, Patrick, it's Juliette. From the Metro in DC." Surprisingly, I didn't need a beat to know who was calling. I even recognized the voice. Sexual attraction will do that to memory, I guess. "Hi Juliette. Aren't you supposed to make me guess or at least suffer in some way before I find out who is calling?," hoping it sounded playful. "I'm reformed," then a pause. "OK, that's a lie. But I'm really hungry and sitting on the corner of Telegraph and Woolsey, and I have a free meal coming with this date from a charming Professor I once knew for about twelve minutes." "Do you still have that beautiful, slightly shy and very sensual smile that haunted me for about a week after I met you on the train and you didn't ever call and that was four months ago? If so, yeah, dinner at Forcea, two blocks down, in about 15 minutes." "Unfortunately, my smile was wiped out by a freak accident involving leaking uranium. Is the offer still good?," she mocked. "No, but my evil brother Sven, who makes a living by defrauding old ladies will be there." "Great, tell Sven it's a date," and she hung up. I didn't know whether my image of Juliette's features was clouded by the intervening months. I re-formed a mental picture of her as I strolled past the coffee shops, pizza places, flowers and bric-brac of Telegraph. I saw her looking the other way on the corner of Woolsey. At first glance I knew the film in my head was real. Her very short, light brown hair sat atop big ears, a slender neck, well-toned arms and a dynamic, sleek build. He arms and legs are disproportionately long, and her facial angles sharp. Her breasts were perfectly rested on her frame. She was dressed in a delightfully odd mix of elegance and funk. A stunning Japanese blouse and unique scarf sat atop ripped jeans and dark red euro-shoes. Juliette didn't dress to obscure her worse features or highlight her better ones, but rather to express some mix of joy, beauty and reserve I couldn't quite grasp yet. She is kind of goofy-looking, with a bit of geek and a large chunk of totally cool that will always elude me. She noticed me coming toward her and gave me a different, warm smile. I reached back with a happy, loopy grin. She held out her right hand for a shake. I grabbed it with my left hand, moved it out a little and gave her a light hug. She hugged back. Better yet, her left hand lingered slightly above my waist. Best, as we separated she smiled her sensual and shy smile that lit her up for me and made me want to hold her closely. Dinner was heavenly. The food was better than mediocre, no more, but Juliette kept me thralled for two hours. Her depth of experience amazed me, but her ability to pull it all together and reflect on her journeys was the part that kept me glued. Just an example. When her grandfather died two years ago, she took a month to travel around and talk to people from different stages his life. She wrote a story about what everyone had said. Real, unsparing, loving. She sent it to all the people she had interviewed and asked them to write some comments and send them to other people she had interviewed, not her. It was a beautiful tribute. "How do you feed yourself when you do these things," I managed the nerve to ask. She brushed me off. "This lifetime isn't about creating money," she said. I wasn't sure what that meant, but I had a notion and dropped the subject. I ventured on to just find out more. "So why Berkeley in September, other than DC is entering its fourth month of summer hell?," I innocently asked. "A friend is dong a theater piece and needed to fill a part. But mostly I have been thinking about you," she said matter of factly. I was just this side of stunned. "Oh." I collected my thoughts and checked my feelings: surprise, flattered, lust, concern. I went for flip and funny, which was easy and a bit of a chicken's way out for the quick-witted. "I've heard of being deliberative, but do you usually take four months to consider a simple dinner offer and then fly 3,000 miles to say yes?," and I quickly added, "because I am thrilled you did that." "No. It's more complicated." Juliette looked at me with a vulnerability that had been missing to this point. I had an instinctively protective feeling. "OK, Patrick, here goes." She looked down at her empty cup and said: "I have only had intercourse one time in my life. I want to try it again and I thought you would be the man. After tonight, definitely. I want to try again with you. Are you OK with that?" Absorbing this was difficult. Trying to do so and act relatively normal was impossible. I decided not to overwhelm Juliette with questions and requests for explanations. I said, "Yes. Of course." A long, really long pause later: "And my erection hiding under the table would fly off and beat me senseless if I said no." Juliette smiled broadly. I offered a happy-to-be-with-you smile back to her. "Juliette, I'm not going to ask you to explain anything you don't want to go into. But can you let me know, was the first time horrible or non-consensual or something of that sort?" "Thanks for not barraging me with questions, Patrick. I would think you would want to know how I got to this crazy place at my age. Despite my nature, you are going to be shocked at this silly explanation. My first time was nothing horrible at all. The guy was sweet, in fact. He was gentle for being so eager, and probably skilled for being so young, as if I knew. But it hurt like hell and I decided never to do it again. Nothing more than that. I mostly but not totally sleep with guys these days, and I do everything, I mean ever-y-thing, in bed. Except intercourse. At first it was just self-protection, then it became a pseudo-political thing, and finally it was just me. But the last couple of years, I'm 36 by the way, I started to think maybe it was time to try again. Also, I want a baby...not from this!, relax...I just want to get comfortable with intercourse before I start down that road. Do you think I'm too nuts to sleep with now?," she asked with a tone of self-doubt that had just started to appear. I thought of saying, "I'm so horny and so attracted that I would sleep with you even if I thought you were nuts." That, however, was not what she needed to know right now, and it wasn't what I really felt. I walked over to her side of the table and kissed her gently. I whispered sincerely, quietly in her ear, "I would love to be with you. Holding hands, fucking you, or anything else that works for both of us." I went back to my chair. "We all carry around little hurts and fears like that, or big ones, I do anyway, and we spend ourselves keeping them hidden. Yours is not so odd and it has the huge advantage of being repairable. I'll come to your performance tomorrow. Check out of your hotel tonight and come home with me for the weekend if you want." "I want," she replied. Then a melting, sensual smile radiating everywhere. Next, the longest kiss the people sitting next to us ever had to ignore in a public space. ---Friday--- God bless, Berkeley. In the countless mall-laden highway intersections encircling America, Berkeley is the crazy lady who swings her big bag down the city street, wears bright colors and sings everything at the top of her lungs. No one in the theater on Friday night would have noticed such a bag lady. The set had so many fabrics hung at various angles that it looked like a dress shop had exploded. The actors were mostly naked, except those that had on Brooks Brothers suits. There was cacophony before anyone said a word. I discovered that Juliette had a self-effacing side, too. She wasn't "filling a part" in the play; she was the star. And she sang beautifully. Juliette walked onto stage naked. I watched her with satisfaction, anticipating the pleasure of lying next to her. She was muscular, taut. Her legs stretched out powerfully, and she moved about the stage with strength and abandon. She lacked self-consciousness, which I admired but didn't possess. My feeling of attraction was gaining an edge of appreciation for the surprising sides of this woman. The aftermath of the show held more revelations. Quirky, daring Juliette was almost shy in the rush of congratulation following the performance. I let her be for awhile, but when I joined her, Juliette integrated me into a group of strangers with a grace that couldn't have been imagined from the brash woman who toyed with me on the DC subway. We went drinking with the other actors, theatre folks and fellow hangers-on, and I kept learning more about Juliette. She was well-educated, articulate, funny and charming in a group. I would have been happy with just the off-beat and in-your-face character I thought I knew. Now I was getting more than I bargained for—all good. Like being happy to find that perfect pair of shoes and then discovering at the register they are on sale. I would have paid retail with Juliette. Juliette extricated us at 1 a.m., and we walked to my house. I was a little worried about this part. Some folks find the house disconcerting. The flowers are wild, albeit with purpose. There is a rough wood and twig sculpture I made and placed immediately inside the front door so as to bring the outside in by tying the flowering shrubs with the hall to the living room. The downstairs was designed to make the kitchen a discovery and a highlight. The herb and vegetable gardens are like an element of the house rather than divided outside. I had spent 10 years making it work for me. Few people understood it. I usually would hear: "This is interesting." "You like nature." Or something more positive, but bland. Juliette got it completely. She said nothing for a couple of minutes, then offered: "This house is why I picked you, Patrick. I sensed that you understood the part of me that needs to express and explore all the spaces around me. That is what you are doing here—speaking a vision of beauty and connection in each nook and unexpected place. We're doing the same thing in different ways." My heart soared. "Thanks. Exactly. Really, thanks." I noticed how she was beginning to slump. "Juliette, it's 4:15 am in DC. By the way, what is someone like you doing in a droll town like DC...don't answer now. Let's get you to bed. We have tomorrow together." Juliette kissed me deeply. It was a passionate kiss—one held for a long time with the power of stored sexual energy. "No, I want you now," but even as she said it I could sense that she was tapping her reserves. "Climb on my back. I'll carry you to your room." I managed the stairs with Juliette dead-weight; I loved feeling her body draped on me. I laid her on the bed and said in a careful, almost parental tone: "I'm going to undress you and tuck you in. You sleep up here tonight and I'll take the bed in the sunroom off the kitchen. Come down whenever you wake up tomorrow. I'm really excited about being with you." I took off her shoes and socks, then lightly rubbed her feet. I unbuttoned her jeans and slid them off. She reached up and kissed me again. I just held her for awhile, slowing kissing her neck and behind her ears. I unbuttoned her shirt, then held her breast in my hand as her nipples stiffened and she put her legs around mine. I leaned her back into the bed as I pulled the covers and brought them over her. She started to protest, but gave in as I sat on the outside of the light blanket. I stroked her hair and said: "Juliette, I was so happy watching you perform tonight, knowing that you were going to come home with me. Go to sleep." She was already starting to doze off as I whispered to no one: "You are a beautiful woman. Thanks for coming to me." I was horny, yes. But also I realized that I was lonely. And that night, lonely maybe was starting to dissipate a bit. ---Saturday Morning--- Despite the time difference, I was up first on that morning. This was definitely a special occasion meriting the morels brought to me by my cousin from Minnesota. I showered and started to make omelets. As I was finishing up, I heard the shower running upstairs. I arranged the omelets, toast, sliced fruit and jam on a large, white plate, and took it upstairs with two cups of coffee. I got to the bedroom as Juliette was in the bath drying off from her shower. When she entered the room, she sat down next to me with nothing on and we kissed. I pulled the breakfast over and she pushed it back after complementing its beauty. "I want to make love with you, then let's eat. I want your erection for breakfast." She undressed me completely. Juliette started kissing my eyes gently, rolling her tongue over my lids. She sucked my ears. Juliette moaned as I ran my right fingertips down her left side, across her hip and through her crack, then lightly grabbed her ass. She started to suck my nipple. I lay back and let her suck me like that forever, first one nipple then the other and then back again, over and over for 10 or 15 minutes. We kissed each other for a while. I was the more aggressive venturing into her mouth and out again. Juliette slid a hand slowly up my leg while we kissed. I moved my mouth over Juliette's right breast. I started at the side and worked over to the bottom and, finally, rolled my tongue up to her nipple. Juliette's nipples were huge and erect. I just circled my tongue around each leisurely and gently, then took half her breast in my mouth and rolled them with my tongue. I could have done this forever. My dick was as hard as it had ever been, yet we hadn't ventured there yet. Now Juliette ran her fingers under my balls and around the space between my asshole and balls. She began to kiss her way down my side as she gently brought her hand around my dick. I don't know what happened next, but she somehow put my balls and about half my lower dick in her mouth at the same time. She twisted her mouth around my dick at the base and let her fingers grasp and explore my ass. She ran a finger near my asshole and I groaned. She sensed what felt great, and slowly pushed in a finger as she brought her head over the tip of my penis. She looked me in the eye and then, over about 10 seconds, inched her mouth down my entire length. I am seven inches and nothing spectacular, and no woman had come close to this type of thing. She pulled and brought herself up to my face. We kissed for minutes that seemed hours. Juliette said softly, "I'm going to suck you until you explode in my mouth." I discovered that my new lover had challenged all that energy from avoiding intercourse into perfecting oral sex. It was unique. She spread her body so that her long arms reached up and stroked my sides and nipples while her mouth worked every angle of my penis. Periodically, her beautiful grey-green eyes looked back at me—not seeking approval or gratitude, but communicating her enjoyment, and that her hunger was being sated, too. Then she would plunge down again. Her rhythm was steady and she increased the pressure to accompany her depth as she continued. It was so intense that I will never forget the feel of her sucking me that morning. Metro Encounter My pressure built toward orgasm after a few minutes of these ministrations. I let her know with my movement that I was getting close, but she had already told me this load was going in her mouth. She pulled out toward the tip as I started to come and slowly deep-throated me as I squirted out one shot of cum after another. I said her name over and over as ejaculations poured out of me. I didn't even notice her swallow. Juliette kept the sucking pressure on, only letting up slowing as she held my shrinking dick in her hand and cleaned it all over with her tongue. We held each in the perfect September air blowing through the windows. I stroked her short, light brown hair and ran my fingers through it. We didn't talk at all, just laid there touching each other. Then it hit me. I was always worried about reciprocity in bed, especially with a new lover (as if I have had that many new lovers). It hadn't even occurred to me that this was all my orgasm. "Juliette, I've never felt so comfortable making love before for the first time. Lay back, it's your turn." "Patrick, I came twice sucking you. I would rather do that than anything else in bed. I was rubbing on your leg while you were groaning. You and I are just a good fit" I was overwhelmed. Not that she had cum, but that she loved to suck me so much. That is what I love. To be sucked, yes. But also to lick a lover to orgasm. When I am in love, or falling for someone as I was with her, I would rather suck my partner than anything else you could name. I said, "You have no idea what a good fit we are...but you are about to find out." Being a professor has its drawbacks. I tend to be objective and analytic, even about my erotic feelings. I think I actually have a decent sense of how I am in bed. (OK, sure, but maybe a little). On the positive side, I am in the top 100 head-givers on the east side of the Bay. I enjoy it so much I even had a gay relationship for two months so I could try that program. Mostly I discovered that I love women physically, but my cooking improved. I kissed Juliette on the left side of her neck and down to her breast. Her nipples were erect again, and I started to harden again, as well. Juliette fingered my hair as I kissed her arms and her side. I reached to stroke all around her pussy. I lightly touched the skin that rises up from her pubic bone and then slides into the valley toward her ass. I kissed down her stomach slowly and around her thigh. She tasted of shower clean and smelled of desire. I ran my fingers around her pussy lips and started a rhythm that included a slight touch on her clit. Her moans grew in volume and intensity as I ran my tongue up and down each side of her vagina while increasing the pressure on her clit at the same rhythm. After awhile of this, I put my entire mouth over her pussy. My nose was in the space between her ass and the bottom of her vagina. My tongue was concentrating on Juliette's clitoris. She was moaning and grabbing my head now and then. I was rack hard and thrilled and loving the moment. As I slid two fingers into Juliette's vagina and moved a little pressure upward, she started to buck and then went almost rigid and came. I could feel the orgasm in my fingers as her vagina clamped and released the pressure. Juliette held my head tightly on her stomach for a couple of minutes. She pulled my head up next to hers and I slid my entire body up her side. We kissed and cuddled and held each other's satisfaction. "Juliette, I have never had better sex in my life than this morning," I said earnestly, hoping she wouldn't respond with diplomacy. "I love our connection. I love your oral attention." She cried. I ate the tears and trusted that this was good. "I haven't had a lover in 18 months, so I don't know if this is just relief talking, but my god that was great." It was genuine. I had been out there and now we were home together. ---The Second First Time--- We finally ate the now cold breakfast. "Hey, Professor, I know you're a good listener and are great in bed, but I don't know jack about how you got here. Tell me about you. Start with something embarrassing." I gave out some boring date chatter stats...hometown, fractured family, up and down class status. Then I told her a very embarrassing, very funny story about my first day teaching. I won't repeat it here (it is, after all, very embarrassing), but it ends with me in front of two cops. Juliette and I started rolling around the bed in laughter. Her theatrical talent, combined with a life that was a little more on the edge, made her stories even funnier and it was 3:00 in the afternoon before we realized we were starving. I offered salads and such, but she wanted greasy pizza. We strolled through Berkeley holding hands and radiating the energy of the newly entranced. Two slices of pizza and a Coke each later, we wound up walking near the campus. Juliette was in the mode in which I met her on the DC subway—direct but coy and teasing. "Hey, let's stop by your no doubt book-filled office. I want to see the Professor in his weekday cage." I am in the Chemistry Department, and my part of the department is housed mostly in Latimer Hall. We were half a block off Gayley Road, a short stroll away from the lab, but I changed the subject. I found a secluded bench and led her there. "Juliette. We haven't talked about intercourse. I just want to clear the air. Do you want to think about that more, or do it today, or wait until it feels right. This is about your needs. If you promise at least one more love-making session like this morning sometime in the next three months, I will dress in chains and lick your toenails clean every day. I don't need the intercourse, but I want to make sure you are feeling OK about it." Juliette swallowed hard. "It is in the back of my mind every minute. I want to do it today or I'll just go crazy." She obviously was not going to make this easy on herself. The pain was palpable. I grabbed her hand and pulled her up. "Let's do it right now. I mean literally run to my house, jump in bed and just get it over with." I had a huge grin on my face. I suddenly was quite sure that she needed my confidence and direction on this matter. Somewhat tentatively, Juliette said, "OK, you're right, let's just do it." She started to walk back to my house. "No way, Shanine. I meant run. I'm going to have my dick in your vagina in about three minutes." I started to run toward the house. I looked back and Juliette was getting into it, chasing me down the street. I saw a young couple coming up the sidewalk toward us. I yelled out so Juliette could hear, "There's this crazy lady chasing me so that I'll have sex with her. HELP." The couple laughed. Juliette hammed it up big time and had those two folks laughing hard as I rounded the corner three blocks from the house. I got home about ten steps ahead of Juliette and opened the door. I let her go in first. She was starting to remember her anxiety and change to a somber mood, so I goosed her butt up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, I grabber her hand and quickly dragged her into the bedroom. I tore off her clothes and tackled her into bed as I started to peel off my clothes. The sight of her strong, lean and naked body, combined with my memories of the last 48 hours, had me completely erect before I could unzip my jeans. I lay on top of her and asked in a softer tone than the manic rush to the bed, "We're going to fuck now, it's going to be OK or even better. Do you want to be on top or bottom?" I handed her the condom I had taken out of the packet as I was talking. "Bottom. I'm the housewife and you are Ward and we're going to do it traditional style." Her confidence was returning with a smile. I was knelling in front of her as she unrolled the condom onto my erection, which was all but poking at her. Her hands were like electricity on my hard dick. I kissed her passionately and, with no foreplay that would allow her anxiety to re-surface, I slowly pushed inside her. Tight. That was the clear feeling I had as I slowly inched my hard and ready penis into her. I was kissing her forehead as I started to move in and out, looking at her face for clues about when to forge ahead and when to slow. She let me know. "It's OK. It's really OK. I feels a little weird, but not painful. Keep going Patrick." So I did. I kept the pace steady and slow. She seemed to relax into it, but I must say it wasn't a normal pleasure-filled fucking experience for me or her. As I built to a climax, Juliette looked me in the eye and said, "I'm liking you fucking me. Tell me when you cum. I want to feel you cum. I'm so glad it's you. I'm so glad its you fucking me." I told her as I got to the verge of orgasm and as I came. I was still a little unsure of how we were doing as I pulled out of Juliette and took off the condom. I snuggled into her and just held her. She broke into huge sobs. Then great big smiles. Then more sobs. "It was great," she exclaimed. "Not like lots of orgasms great, but even better because it was fine. I'll do that again anytime. I think I'll get to enjoy it as I relax into it. But it's over." She started to cry again. "You were perfect. I'm so glad it was Professor Patrick Wellbourne who fucked me." Juliette just released everywhere. It was easy to share her joy. She had captured her freedom from what was, objectively, a silly fear for someone or her age and experience, but to her was an avoidance that had become an Everest inside her soul. When you help someone gain their joy, you earn a little bit of something good for yourself. And I felt that something. ---From Acceptance To Exceptional--- We fucked three more times on Saturday. We got in one session before I walked her over to the theater for her Saturday performance (which was even better than previous night). Instead of the cast get-together, we snuck into a closet back stage and had a fuck standing up. After a late dinner, it was time to go home and...you get the idea. Juliette started gasping when I entered her and moaning with the rocking of my dick in and out of her. Simple pleasures that were music to my ears. Probably even more so for her. She woke me up once during the night, and then we fucked again before Sunday brunch at my favorite dim sum hole. I ran out of condoms and we went shopping on the way back from brunch. Sex had the excitement of discovery and the depth of our experience. Things in bed were perfect. By Wednesday, sex and all else was coming down to something a little more normal, if still new and fabulous. The pleasures of mutual oral were returning to our love-making. I gave her cunnilingus in the shower-- a bar of soap running up and down her butt crack, slipping slightly in now and then. My Thursday dinner was a special treat I had been saving. I made paella and brought out an incredible bottle of Italian white my wine-master uncle had sent me the previous week. I scored some beautiful snapper, a handful of large shrimp, PEI mussels and salt cod at the monger. As we were scraping the remains with baguette hunks, I asker her, "So why D.C.? It has it's charms, but it doesn't seem to fit you." Juliette shook her head in agreement and laughed. "What, you don't see me looking importantly at my watch as I stroll through Farragut Square in my power suit?" "It's not the first image I get, actually. Though I'm sure you would make a fine policy wonk," I mocked. "I'm there because my family is there. I took my mom's maiden name as my last name about ten years ago. My last name growing up was..." Juliette proceeded to tell me a well-known moderate Republican U. S. Senator. She couldn't stand to be known as a Senator's daughter anymore, so she changed her name, even though it really hurt her father. Although they disagreed about politics, it had solely to do with privacy and distance, she had told him. But they never fully repaired the relationship. She said she regretted it now, but the deed was done and it wasn't worth re-visiting that decision now. Juliette continued: "I lived in New York for ten years after I graduated from Swarthmore. Until my mother got sick last year. Since then, I've been taking care of her. She's doing better lately, which made this trip possible. At best, though, we're talking a year or two." "Cancer?" "Yes. She smoked a pack a day. Two when she caught Dad with a legislative assistant." I figured out that I wasn't going to get Juliette to move in with me anytime soon. I felt like moving fast in this relationship—way fast. If I thought she would say yes, I would have proposed. Instead, I said this: "When you go home on Monday, I hope you will call me every day. I've fallen for you, Juliette. My guess is that you are rich along with being of famous lineage, which means you probably have a built-in caution about such things. But I've never felt like this in my life. If you think you can wait four months to return my call this time, forget it. I'll be camped in front of your door." "Patrick, I love you." I, of course, thought I was being outlandish. But for Juliette I was being obtuse and scared. I knew I had a lot to learn from her when I ecstatically replied, "I love you, Juliette." ------------------------------------------ Feedback encouraged!