Gerta, Greta it was hard to tell what name she was claiming as she slurred her words from overindulgence.
“What is your name, Ma’am?” Again, he could not quite make it out. “Do You have a last name or some identification?”
“She garbled her last name as well and started fumbling through her belongings stuffed into a grocery carryall on two wheels. He was glad he didn’t need to have her arrested for steeling a shopping cart. He hated having to call the police on these people already separated from society, but as a new homeless social worker, part of the Human Assistance -Law Enforcement partnership, that was part of his responsibilities. Besides, the stores in the neighborhood had been demanding such action on the hopelessly unhoused. GRDA or whatever her name really was at least salvageable on that part. She finally came up with a bunch of keys and an identification card out of the detritus in her carryall and handed it over.
It was a University ID - Greta Greenberg, PhD. Professor, History Department. She was so much younger in the photo and actually quite beautiful whenever the photo was taken. He wondered how she had come to be here, homeless and on the streets. This job, which he had been doing for about a month now, was to try and intervene with homeless and get them into shelter care or some form of treatment. The real reason, he knew, was so the local sheriff could argue the community had tried everything to get an habitual drunk off the streets and they refused. Then law enforcement could forcibly incarcerate them as a danger to themselves and the community. He knew he was the “everything” they tried.
“Do you have somewhere to stay” he tried asking gently.
“Who do you think you are asking such things of me?”
That was the best he could understand or make out. Just then she yanked on the key chain and id he held in his hand toppling them both to the ground. He landed on top of Greta; she threw up on him.
He stood up. “God dammit, twice in the last three days.”
Greta started blubbering “sloory, sorry. I didn’t mean…oooooh.” Her head fell back. He leaned down.
“It’s okay. You’re not the first. I’m sure you won’t be the last. Did I hurt you when I landed on you?”
“Noooo. Jus mad me puke. Fucking waste of crappy alcohol. Soooory.”
“Do you need an ambulance?” He crumpled a piece of paper off his clipboard and scraped some of the puke from the front of his jacket. “It’ll come out in the laundry. Are you okay?”
“Do I look okay?”
“No, not really. I can help. I have a place you can stay or get treatment.”
“Do you real think housing or treatment will make it go away?”
“Make what go away.”
“The pain, you young fucking…”
“Hey, I’m not calling you names.”
“You’re right. That is rude. I’m sorry.”
“Do you want to tell me?”
“Buy me a coffee?”
“Okay.” He helped her up and took her elbow as they walked and stumbled their way to a Starbuck’s with outside seating. He pulled her cart along, so she wouldn’t be without what was left of her life. He bought two café americanos and a couple of donuts, which had been waiting all day for someone to pick them. He came back out to find her sitting at a table brushing herself off a bit and pushing her wild locks into some semblance of place.
“Thanks.” She took a sip and almost spit it out, mouthing “hot, hot”. Then she took one of the donuts and broke it into a bunch of smaller pieces, delicately eating one at a time. If she hadn’t looked so disheveled he could’ve found the ladylike eating demure.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Do you want to listen or are you one of those quick puke and go types?”
He laughed. “Good one. I have some stable qualities. I’ll stick around.”
“He was beautiful. Stunning actually. I noticed him the first day of class sitting in the front row of my lecture on modern history. That was my specialty, although I had pretty solid command on all American history. He was a junior in my advanced class. Dark hair, curly. Green eyes, vibrant. I remember like yesterday he had on jeans, Levis, but not the tight-fitting kind most kids were wearing in those days. He had on old white converse high tops and a dark black waffle pullover. There was a casual tan corduroy Levi jacket tossed in the chair next to him, like he might be saving a space, though no one ever came to claim it. Just the hint of two-day facial hair, casual. Did I say he was beautiful?”
“Yes
“I think it was more. His time in my class was so distracting. He always sat front row, casually, his legs crossed or splayed out. Sometimes he would be tapping his toes together during the lecture. I was a lecture stalker in those days, pacing back and forth in the hall. He would pull his feet in and smile when I crossed in front of him. A crooked smile, not full, you know.”
“He was attentive?”
“Yes. The seat next to him was always occupied by his jacket, sweater, bag, something. I noticed he would occasionally be asked if the space was occupied and always said yes. It was like he was saving it for someone special who hadn’t arrived, yet. After a couple of weeks, I began to fantasize it was being saved for me. My fantasy, I would walk over, and he would lift the coat up as I sat down. We would look at one another. We would get lost in one another. He seemed an adequate student. I thought he was not working at his capacity, but I had never even talked with him. He was so fucking beautiful he had to be brighter than he was letting on. It would be so disappointing if he wound up mediocre.” She started drifting off at that point.
“What happened?”
“His first paper was brilliant. He wrote with command, language, nuance, style. In class he never really asked questions or responded or even talked much. But his writing was fresh and vibrant. He wasn’t disappointing then. It was the last class of the week, a Friday. I was erasing the board listening to the students file out the door. I heard the doors to the lecture hall shut with a clank. I loved that sound followed by the silence of the room; peaceful you know. I finished and turned he was still sitting there. I walked over to him. He lifted his coat, depositing it on the back of the chair. He looked at me and I sat. We just looked at each other for a bit. I don’t really think it was very long, but it did feel infinite.”
“Can I help you, Richard, I said.? I knew his name. I’d known it for a long time.”
“I wanted to thank you for your kind comments on my paper, he replied. His voice was warm. He spoke quietly, which just drew me in. I leaned forward as did he. Without a signal he put his left hand on my cheek and his right arm reached around me, fingers finding the grasp point at the small of my back. I know you don’t know but there is this small spot at the base of a woman’s spine. It has to do with how we are shaped. It’s the place where a dancer leads us around the floor or a lover…” She trailed off caught in the reverie.
I waited until her attention returned.
“He pulled me in, tilted my face up and kissed me deep, full and long. I melted. I fucking melted. Then I realized what was happening and a pulled back abruptly.” He apologized for getting carried away. He apologized for being so forward. He said I had captivated him from the moment he walked into the classroom the first day. Said he had thought about this moment since then.”
“I can’t do this. I am your professor. This is unacceptable. I told him”
“What he said next shocked me. ‘I dropped the class after the first day. I continued to come so this would, could happen. Dr. Greenberg, I am not your student. You are not my professor. But I want to be your lover.’ Can you believe the audacity – the bravado. I stood. He stood. I crashed into him, smashing him against me. Kissing face and neck, that wishbone spot below the chin. I pressed my whole body against his and he grabbed my ass pulling us even closer. It was shameless. It was glorious. It was amazing.”
“What happened next?” I felt myself a bit breathless with the moment. Just the telling was arousing. She looked at me a bit like I was a stupid fellow, which I guess I was.
“We grappled each other to the audio-visual room behind the lecture hall, leaving all our belongings behind. Stumbling in he slammed the door with his foot while grappling my sweater off over my head. He buried his face between my breasts as I tussled with his pullover to get it off. He leaned back enough for it to come over his head. Dark, lush hair covered his chest and I ran my fingers through it. I could smell it and taste the salt of his sweat on my fingertips. He unbuttoned his pants and they pooled around his hightops, he was there and ready, gloriously tumescent. I dropped skirt and panties to the floor and in one move he lifted me up onto a workbench and was inside thrusting hard again and again. I slid my hand down his back fingers extending into the crack of his ass so I could feel the power of his press, the squeeze of his cheeks each time. He stopped mid thrust and arched me back sucking my nipples and sliding his hand in my crotch, coming up wet. He put his fingers in his mouth tasting me, I thought, holy shit, no one has ever… and the thrusts began with even greater urgency. I could feel a scream welling up and bit my lip so it wouldn’t come out. I could taste my blood. I dug nails into his ass cheek and felt the explosion inside. I just released and folded my arms around his shoulders. Both our bodies jerking over and over. We were spent.”
“Damn.”
“He picked my panties up off the floor and wiped himself off and then me. He pulled up his jeans and stashed my lace underwear in his back pocket. He said, ‘I want to know wherever you go the rest of the day you are commando, and I am seeping out.’ Can you believe it?”
“No. What did you do?”
“We dressed and left.”
“This repeated in various places for the remainder of the term. He was there at class each day, distracting, saving a seat for me. I never taught so badly. I even shorted class periods to get more quickly to the meat of the day. On class days I stopped wearing underwear and wore loose skirts. I carried a large handkerchief in my shoulder bag. I regularly rented a room at a motel close to campus. He came to my condo, and we had one another on the dining table, in a chair, on the floor, never getting to the bed. He never stayed. It was ravaging. Then, the semester ended, and he was gone, suddenly. Gone.”
“What? Without a word. No contact, Nothing?”
“Nothing. I tried to be surreptitious and look for him. I went to his dorm to ask after him. I got into his room, it was empty, except pinned to the mirror on what would have been his dresser were my panties, among many others. Stuck there like a badge of conquest. I threw up. Ripped them down and stumbled home.”
“What did you do then?”
“Look at me. What do you think I did? I took up drinking. I took up wandering the campus at night looking for him. I tried google searching him. I sat night after fucking night in the chair we fucked in so often smelling his presence and drinking more. I started fucking and sucking undergrads in dark places trying to recapture some piece of him. My classes were horrible. The University insisted I go to rehab. After fucking my way through the help, the facility threw me out. The University fired me. I lost my home, even though I still have the keys.” She held them up and jangled them at me.
“I made a little money, when I still had some looks doing what I had gotten good at. Then I threw up on you. Want to know something?”
“Of course.”
“When I can finally fall asleep in some dark corner or under a viaduct on a rainy night, I can still feel him inside of me. I can still smell his sweat. I can still taste him.. It’s visceral. So can you make things better, boy.”
“I… I can get you into some supportive housing. It might help. It would get you out from under the viaducts and dark corners. I can help register you for some medical care. I can take you someplace for a shower and food, better than pieces of a stale donut or two. I can do that.”
“Do you think that will really help?”
“Truth?”
“We don’t know one another well enough for anything else.”
“It won’t help where it really hurts. But wouldn’t it feel good to be clean and fed?”
“Briefly. I’ll just wind up back here, you know.”
“I’ll come and find you. Try again.”
“Want me to suck you off? For the coffee and donuts.”
“I’d rather you come with me to Chamber Home. It is just a few blocks away. Shower, food. Maybe even a good book to read or good conversation with someone.”
“Sure you don’t want to fuck me first.”
“Come on Dr. Greenberg, I’ll walk you.”