"Yes, they are," he said sincerely.

"After a while I stopped crying." She smiled feebly. "I guess I just ran out of tears. I splashed cool water on my face and tried to work at my shorthand some more, but then I just closed the book and said, no! No, I won't just sit here and mope! I'll dress up in my best and go out and findsomeone. Someone to talk to. Someone to care about me and hold me when I'm feeling blue."

"You decided to go out and just... let yourself be picked up?"

"I didn't think about it that way, but... Yes, I guess so."

"You wanted to make love with a total stranger?"

"No, no. Well... not exactly. You see, I've never..."

She shook her head.

"Shall I tell you something? I knew you were a virgin when I first saw you. Yes, I did. You had that Good Girl look. Like June Allyson. But somehow-don't ask me how-I could tell that the good girl was looking for a bad boy to make love to her. Funny, how I could tell that, eh?"

"But you're wrong. I was just looking for someone to talk to. Someone who might care about me."

"Oh. So you didn't want to make love, is that it?"

"I don't know. Maybe I did. Sort of, anyway. I didn't think it out or anything, I just took my towel and went down to the bathroom and had a long cool bath, then I put on my good dress, and out I went. Just like that."

"...Just like that."

"I took the bus downtown, and I walked around. Boys on street corners looked at me. You know, the way they look at any woman. But none of them... I guess I'm not... I know I'm not pretty or anything..." She paused, half hoping for a contradiction. Then she went on. "They looked at me, but nobody said hello or anything, so..." She shrugged.

"So you decided to go to the movies. Woman's World."

"Yes." Her voice had a minor key fade of failure.

"But hey, wait a minute! You did meet someone! Not much of a someone, maybe. Just your common garden variety drifter. But you talked to him for hours over coffee. And now... here we are."

"Yes, here we are," she echoed. "And I'm afraid."

"Of course you're afraid. That's only natural. It isn't every day that a virgin sits in the dark with a bad boy she hardly knows." She didn't respond, so he pursued. "Even though you're a virgin, I suppose you know about how two people... love, and all?"

"Yes. Well, sort of. Girls used to giggle about it in the school locker room. They talked about how people... did it. I didn't believe them at first."

"I know just what you mean. To a kid, it seems such a silly thing to do. Putting your peeing equipment together. How could thatbe fun? And when you think of your own folks doing it...! It's enough to gag a maggot, as a folksy old tramp might say."

"The girls at school used to make up terrible stories about... it. Just to see me blush. I was easy to tease because I was shy, and I didn't know anything. My mother never told me anything. Once the girls played this joke on me? They gave me a folded piece of paper and asked me to write down my favorite number, then on the next line my favorite color, then my second favorite color, then-oh, I don't remember all the things; but the last question was whether I bit ice cream cones or licked them. Then they unfolded the paper and read it out loud. And there in my own handwriting I had written how many times a day my boyfriend and I didit, and what the color of his... thing... was when we started and what color it was when we ended, and stuff like that."

"And finally, your confession that you licked it."

She nodded miserably. "I didn't go back to school for the rest of that week, I was so embarrassed. I pretended I was sick. And then I really did get sick. I mean... that's when my periods started."

"But, of course, that couldn't have had anything to do with the girls' teasing."

"Oh, I know that, but still... coming right after and all..."

"Yeah, I understand. Kids can be rotten to one another."

"That was years ago, but I still get tears in my eyes when I think about it."

"Yeah... tears of rage. I have that sometimes. The rage just wells up in me and I blub like a kid."

"You do? Really?"

"Sure. So you saw all those embarrassing things written in your own handwriting, and now you're learning to write in a different way. In shorthand."

She frowned. "That's not why I'm taking shorthand."

"Could be part of it. Psychology is a screwy business. Like me playing all sorts of roles because I don't want to be-" He shrugged. "So you've never made love. Gee. Still, I suppose you've necked with boys. Been caressed and... you know... touched."

"No, never. I've never had a... boyfriend." She said the word in a tone of gentle awe. "Boys never found me attractive in that way." She made a dismissive half-chuckle. "Or in any other way, really. My mom used to say it was a blessing, me being plain. At least my looks wouldn't get me into trouble."

"But you've had dreams about lovemaking. That's only normal."

She didn't answer.

"And I suppose you've made love to yourself."

She didn't speak.

"I mean, you've... you know... played with yourself and caressed yourself. There's nothing more natural."

"My folks wouldn't think it's natural. They'd say it was a sin."

"Well, of course they would. But do you think it's a sin?"

After a moment she said, softly, "...yes."

"But you do it anyway?"

"...yes..."

"Hm-m. Well, that's mostly what our making love would be like. Only I'd be doing... you know... what you do for yourself. I'd be touching you and caressing you and bringing you pleasure. Unless, of course, you don't want me to."

She concentrated on the fingers she was twisting in her lap.

He took her hands and kissed them. They were rough and cold. He lifted her face by her chin and gently kissed her closed lips. They were thin and dry and tasted of cheap lipstick. When he drew back he saw that her eyes were closed, and there was a teardrop in the corner of one, so he shifted to his W. C. Fields voice. "The hardest part, my chickadee, is getting started. If we were already in bed and I was holding your dee-lightful chassis in my vee-rile arms, everything would just happen naturally." Then he changed to a gentle, understanding voice with a smile in it. "I know exactly how you feel. Even with us worldly bad boys it's always awkward. In the beginning."

"It is?"

"Yup. Look, I'll tell you what. Why don't I go stand out in the hall for a few minutes while you slip into bed. Then I'll come back and look around." He donned his Lionel Barrymore voice. "Great land o' Goshen, who's that under those blankets, Dr Kildare? Why, I do believe it's June Allyson. I'd better just slip in and keep her warm. It's my medical duty."

She sniffed the tear back and waved away his nonsense with that flapping gesture of hers.

"I'll be back in a couple of minutes." He made a broad burlesque of shushing her with his finger to his lips as he tiptoed across the room and eased the door open. Out in the dark hall, he took long, slow breaths while he listened at the door. At first he heard nothing. Then there was a sigh. Anticipation? Resignation? The springs of the iron bed twanged softly as she rose. He heard the faucet run. Then there was the rustling of her crinoline underskirt as she stepped out of it. Another silence. Then the soft twang of the bedsprings again.

"This is so..." she sought just the right word to describe the beautiful moment, "...so nice.Lying here like this... talking... being close." He had guided her hand to his soft penis, and she was holding it tentatively, dutifully ('politely' might be more exact) while her mind fondled the words: 'boyfriend... my first boyfriend'. Her hand on his penis was the only place their bodies were in contact because it was so hot. After bringing her to climax first with his hand, then with his tongue, he had lifted his head to find her belly wet with sweat, so he had blown across it gently to cool her. And now they lay side by side, looking up at the splayed shadow of windowpanes cast onto the ceiling by the streetlight.