I'm Glad About You(14)
It was such a bold suggestion Kyle had actually laughed at it.
“Why are you laughing?” she asked, tilting her head with a gesture that was both knowing and innocent. “Have you ever done it? You can take a ferry out to Middle Bass Island for seven dollars, there’s a terrific old Victorian inn that’s walking distance from the pier. I’ve never been there but it sounds so easy to do, and then you’re just out there, in the middle of Lake Erie. Take a couple bottles of wine. I think it sounds fantastic.”
Kyle looked at her, aghast, and almost started laughing again. He was used to the boldness of his female contemporaries, and until Alison had completely stomped on his heart he had even enjoyed it. But this invitation was in a league of its own. He thought for a minute that maybe he misunderstood her intentions.
“What would we do out there?” he asked.
“Well,” she said, “I think we would go to the inn, drink one of the bottles of wine, and see what happens next.”
“Well,” he said. “That is a—remarkable proposition.”
“Is that a yes?” she asked him, allowing her eyes to stay on his face, unwavering.
“I think I maybe need to think about it,” he told her. Which was completely ridiculous, of course, as his erection, fortunately hidden by the tablecloth, was straining at the front of his trousers. This young blonde’s direct gaze was proving a welcome assault on his untended manhood; he wanted to have sex with her right then and there. He almost shuddered as her hand crept up his leg and fingered the taut fabric with a light, feathery touch.
“I don’t think you should think about it, actually,” she told him. “I think you should just say yes.”
The fact that there was no romance in this was what, finally, landed him. If this young woman had even once leaned forward, breathless, looking for a kiss, his sore heart would have revolted. But she didn’t go looking for kisses, not in the restaurant, and not at the door of her apartment, when he walked her home. She smiled at him mysteriously and shut the door in his face, but by then he had agreed to join her on her proposed expedition Saturday at noon. And while he was more on his guard as they greeted each other on the windy pier, the weekend moved forward as smoothly as anyone might have hoped had they bothered to think about it. Kyle’s reluctance was seemingly narcotized by Van’s blonde femininity, as well as her unapologetic sexual assurance. She chatted carelessly on the ferry ride and allowed herself to be charmed by the starkly uninteresting resort town. She located the inn quickly and picked up the key to their room without letting the clerk involve them in any needless conversation. And then she didn’t bother with the wine. Once in the room, she approached Kyle with that direct gaze, laid her hand on his crotch, and smiled. He hesitated, but only long enough for her to undo the top button of his jeans.
Kyle considered himself a moral person, but as this educated young woman whom he barely knew twisted her fingers into the waistband of his pants he allowed his mind to go completely blank with desire. Acting on an animal instinct which consumed him with alarming speed, he shoved her into the room and pulled her convenient skirt up past her panties, which he forced off her barely in time to push his erection into her vagina. The sex was violent and thrilling, and left both of them exhausted, embarrassed, and hungry to do it again.
By Sunday at 10:30, Kyle and Van had had sex four times, and were trying to figure out if they could go one more round before the inn’s stated checkout of 11 a.m. There was no question of love between them, from Kyle’s point of view, but if he was not besotted, he was at the very least drunk on sex. He had been living the last year of his life as a monk in a cell, and this blonde stranger had somehow understood how to turn the key. This considerable accomplishment was made easier by one noteworthy fact, of which the blonde stranger was completely unaware: Up until this moment, Kyle had been a virgin.
The fact of Kyle’s virginity was neither careless nor accidental. His physical appeal was considerable—many nubile young things had been attracted to him over the years, not to mention Alison, whose passion for him had been consistent, overwhelming, and doomed, in spite of the fact that he returned it. His parents had taught him to respect the church; his teachers had taught him that his destiny was to become a man of God. This he believed not as a simplistic call to vocation, which he had rejected in childhood, but as an overarching commitment to his life’s journey. He was no prude, as Rose Moore—who had caught him far too often entwined beyond the place of reason in the arms of her daughter—could attest. But he believed what he was told: Sex is a sacrament, which belongs in marriage. He loved Alison and he refused to have sex with her. For the six years on and off of their volatile courtship, they had explored every possible way to satisfy and frustrate themselves sexually, short of actual intercourse.
Evangeline Shelly’s assault on this young idealist’s sturdy vow of celibacy would perhaps have been even more assured if she had known all the facts; his hesitancy and confusion were charming enough on their own merits, as was his gratitude when she finally and simply took charge. She moved ahead solely on what she knew, which was that she was lonely, and that men like sex. Her instinctive seduction—so wildly and instantaneously successful compared to the years of Alison’s frustration—was as much a matter of timing as it was of approach. Kyle was exhausted, Van was a stranger, he was attractive, she was willing, and he wanted to f*ck somebody. While he would never admit it to himself, the level of hostility he bore toward all women at that particular moment was not insignificant. She and Kyle managed to f*ck each other one last time before the maid knocked on the door to remind them about checkout, and both of them were so racked with the passion of it that they almost forgot to call out and stop her from letting herself in.