Free The Sandman by Robert Ward Page B

wondered if she knew that he felt as though he were following her around like a puppy. God, if she did, he couldn’t stand the embarrassment of it.
    “I mean I do like you, Peter. I sensed it that day we had lunch. And tonight I’ve had such a wonderful time. I have to admit that liking you was what prompted me to buy Poe. But it wasn’t only that. It was what you said the first day about the experience. I had repressed that whole part of my childhood, the terror of being young and insecure, of feeling so out of it all the time. The Poe thing had something to do with that too. So after I talked to you, I got the book because it reminded me of things I had forgotten.”
    Though he didn’t show it, Peter felt astonished. She was just about the best-looking woman he’d ever seen, and here she was, talking about her horrible childhood, of being “out of it.” He didn’t trust her. It was scarcely possible. Yet she seemed honest.
    “I would have thought,” he said, holding his drink rather stiffly, “that anyone who looks like you do would have had an entirely satisfactory childhood.”
    “Oh?” she said. “Thank you for the compliment, but it was murder. You see, I came from a working class section of Syracuse. I don’t know if you’ve ever been upstate, but you might as well be in Alabama or some place like that. There is tremendous ignorance there, a provinciality. People don’t like little girls to be smart. And I didn’t look like a girl at all, or at least I didn’t look like what the ads tell us teen-aged girls are supposed to look like. I had buck teeth, fixed by braces. I had bad skin, which fortunately didn’t scar. And I had big breasts on a small body. The boys used to grab at me and then laugh because I screamed. I was good at science, I was good at math, but in those days it was considered ridiculous to even think about medical school. Besides, my parents couldn’t begin to afford it, and I didn’t do that well in my other subjects. I didn’t do well because I was upset a lot of the time. I couldn’t concentrate. I don’t know why I’m telling you this …”
    “No, I want you to tell me,” he said. “I want you to, because I like you. I knew it from the first moment we met. I really did.”
    They moved toward each other on the couch and he took her in his arms. When they kissed, he felt as though he were in a cheap movie. It was that thrilling, all the more so because it seemed so innocent, so touching. Underneath that woman’s body she was a little girl really. He would teach her. He held her to him, his heart beating wildly, and he kissed her again. This time she opened her mouth, tentatively, and he felt shocked, surprised. Now she was suddenly a woman and he wanted her, wanted her terribly, but even as he thrust his tongue into her mouth, he felt the fear coming over him. But now she was moaning softly, and he felt his hand rubbing her large, firm breasts, felt the nipples sticking straight out, and she started calling to him, again and again, “Peter … Oh, Peter …” and he was terribly excited, but afraid. What if she was an experienced woman? What if he disappointed her? God, he hated his long stringy body. He hated it. When he shut his eyes, he tried to imagine that he was someone else, someone with a body like a movie star, strong, with good muscle definition. He had gone soft. He should have worked out more often. She’d be turned off when he took off his clothes.
    He rubbed her and felt his cock harden, and then his hand went under her and he felt her thighs, and she was gasping and heaving and saying his name over and over again. He felt like he was going to burst, but he also felt afraid, terribly afraid. He shouldn’t have let it go this far. No, God, no, he shouldn’t have let it. He didn’t even know her. She could destroy him. And so, suddenly, he was unable to control himself. He pulled away.
    “My God, Peter, honey, let’s go into the bedroom,” she said,