Honing The Talent
B Pascal
Chapter 6
Caught In A Small Gail
Saturday after breakfast—Larry came in very late and was still in a state of hungover sleep when I left—I went back to the library and continued my research. I found some academic articles about how development of the psyche can be changed in subtle ways by events or attitudes of authority figures in childhood. It was still pretty general, but it was a start.
I located some references to memory formation and how they are stored, but it was mostly from a biochemical perspective, and I thought that wasn’t what I was looking for. I couldn’t understand it even if it was. But I noted it down anyway.
I spent a good part of the day there. When I’d get up to stretch my legs, stepping out onto the portico, I saw that the quad was filled with students playing, talking, reading, flirting. I cautioned myself not to become too dedicated to this research. I should do some goofing off, too.
I called it a day in the early afternoon and got a late lunch. Across the cafeteria I saw one of the girls who had been doing body shots at last week’s party, sitting with some friends. The middle of the afternoon and she looked hung over. I think she was going to be one of the ones who couldn’t learn to pace herself, and would probably be gone at the end of the semester or the end of the year.
I went back to the dorm where I found Larry lying on his bed reading.
“Hey, Tom. You took off early, man. You gotta stop all this studying in the library. You’re setting a bad example for the rest of us.”
“I don’t want to find myself so far behind that I can’t pull myself out. I promise I’ll take a break every so often.”
“Why don’t you come out with us tonight? Good party band at the Rathskellar, some drinks, maybe some hot women. Could be fun.”
“Maybe. I’m really not much of a drinker, but it might be good to get out of my rut. We’ll see.”
We both had dinner at the chuck wagon—Larry’s new name for the cafeteria, which he thought was the cleverest idea he’d ever had—and did some assigned reading till it was late enough that there would probably be an active scene.
The Rathskellar was a popular student bar a couple of blocks from campus. It drew a crowd from ——————, as well as other local colleges, because their drinks were cheap and they usually had good bands. It was one of the places students went when they wanted to blow off steam and forget school for awhile.
The bouncers checked IDs, and those eighteen or older were admitted. We saw several disappointed high school students with fake IDs get turned away. They stamped our hands; it was twenty-one and above to get served hard liquor, but at eighteen we could drink beer. The type of stamp indicated what we could order.
We got beers and Larry ordered a plate of nachos for us. That’s one of the perks of having family money. I mean aside from the manservant at your beck and call. He had a comfortable allowance. I had to watch my money to make sure it lasted the month.
“A lot of women to choose from, Carter. Better make your choice before they’re all claimed.”
“I’m in no rush, Larry, it’s not a race. I’m just here to forget about books for awhile.”
“Getting laid will help you forget. That’s my advice.”
“And very sound advice it is. But still no rush.”
He didn’t look like he agreed. He waved across the room at an acquaintance. Then to me he said, “How ’bout that one?”
He pointed at the dance floor, where a number of women were dancing with each other.
“You mean the brunette?” He nodded.
“She’s cute, but what’s your hurry? There might someone better looking on her way in right now. You should relax for a bit.”
“That’s easy for guys like you to say, Carter. Guys like me have to put in a lot more effort to convince women we’re worth talking to.”
“You shouldn’t try too hard, Larry, otherwise it feels like desperation to women. You should appear confident, like you’re just here to have a good time with friends, maybe meet some new people. Women are a lot more comfortable with that.”
“I dunno, Carter. Guys like me have to work harder at it.”
“You should give it a try, Larry. Don’t fall back on the old standbys, maybe try a new approach, see what happens.”
He looked unconvinced and finished his beer. “You want another?”
I still had half a mug, so shook my head no. He went off to the bar.
Across the room, which was becoming more crowded, a group of girls claimed a table and draped their coats on the chair backs. They talked animatedly among themselves and a couple pulled others toward the dance floor.
The band started a new tune, something with a good solid dance beat, and the girls started laughing and talking loudly as they danced. They looked like college girls everywhere, young, cute, out to have fun. They were all about the same size, except for one who was shorter, really quite petite.
What she lacked in height she made up for in joy, someone who was truly enjoying her friends and being where she was. Her face lit up with smiles at her friends. As she moved around the dance floor, she got a little closer so I could see her more clearly and I was taken aback. She was far better than cute, she was beautiful, with a nice round little butt. But the most remarkable thing was her chest, which looked like it was having trouble fitting onto her small frame.
She reminded me of someone I’d known in high school, Katy LaMonica, petite with an impressive chest and a surprising predilection for butt play. She’d also had a liking for bondage and pain, something I wasn’t really comfortable with.
But for now I was enjoying just watching her, immersing herself in the music, the dancing and being with her friends. She had what I would call auburn hair, that flashed red when the light caught it a certain way, and what I thought were green eyes; I was a little too far away to tell for certain. Watching her dance made me smile.
Larry came back with his fresh beer and saw me looking. “Oh-ho, Carter. So what was all that talk about biding your time, there might be someone better coming in the door?”
“I’m just having fun watching her dance, that’s all.”
He took my comments and added them to other fairy tales he’d heard.
“Okay, so I saw some friends from class coming in the door just now, they may join us in a while.”
I told him that was fine, and continued watching the show. I was starting to entertain some fantasies that involved me, her, and some baby oil.
But the song ended, and she rejoined her friends. Larry’s friends made their way over and I was introduced. They found some empty chairs and crammed themselves around our table, several conversations going on at once. I realized my mug was almost empty, so I swallowed the last of it and got up for a refill.
The bar was crowded, with people waiting to be served, so I joined the line. And in the crowd forming another line to my right I saw the tiny dancer. I’m just under six feet, but she looked like she might make five feet on a good day. And I wasn’t wrong, she was beautiful. Even waiting in a crowded line, she was smiling.
I couldn’t let the opportunity pass, so I linkcast her a feeling, “cute guy to your left, smart, sensitive, funny.” I could do that. I couldn’t “read” her until I had her attention, but I could transfer those impressions to her. She wouldn’t know which of the guys to her left she was getting this impression about, but once she started looking I could narrow it down for her.
I saw her catch herself, unsure of what had caught her attention. She looked around toward my side and I gave her a shy smile and another linkcast that said “nice guy.”
When I had her eye I said, “Maybe we should get two beers and avoid the rush at the bar.”
She smiled and said, “Good idea. ’For a quart of Ale is a dish for a king.’”
“Wait, I know that. It’s... That’s Shakespeare, right?”
She raised her empty mug to me in salute.
I said, “I can do you one better. ’Give me a woman who loves beer and I will conquer the world’.”
She laughed and said, “Great quote. I haven’t heard it before. Who?”
“Kaiser Wilhelm of Prussia. I suppose you can be forgiven for not knowing it. It’s pretty esoteric.”
“But worth saving for another time. I’m Gail. Who’re you, I haven’t seen you before.”
“Tom. Tom Carter. Mostly people just call me Carter. Hi, Gail. You haven’t seen me because this is my first time in this den of iniquity.”
I was looking at Gail, so I didn’t see the bartender looking at me expectantly. I got my refill just as Gail got hers.
“As iniquitous dens go, this is better than most. Though it can get a little rowdy on the weekends.”
“So I am told. You’ll protect me, won’t you?”
“Yeah, stick with me and you’ll be safe.”
So we stood there chatting about nothing in particular, trying to see if there was anything there.
I’d already decided, but she was still thinking about it. I could see in her epicenter where experience was telling her that bar pickups usually did not end well. But I was reinforcing the message that I was sensitive and funny and smart. To that I channeled a very light fingertip brushing her nipples.
I saw the catch in her breath.
“You dance, Tom?”
“Not well, but I just ignore the people laughing at me.” Which made her laugh.
“Well, I like dancing, so dance with me and I promise I won’t laugh. Much.”
So we left our beers on our respective tables, and Larry gave me the eye as I departed for the dance floor.
Dancing with her close up, with the bright lights on the dance floor, I could now see that her eyes were truly green. She was very open about her dancing, comfortable with her body. I tend to be a little self-conscious, which I’m told you can’t do if you want to be a good dancer. But she didn’t laugh at me. I don’t think.
I made a detour to my table for some more beer before starting the next dance. Larry gave me a surreptitious thumbs-up.
After several up-tempo numbers that had people sweating, the band played a slower tune and I got to hold her. Her head was in the middle of my chest somewhere, but her boobs pressing into me felt great. I channeled the lightest touch of a feather on her clit and I could almost feel her vibrating.
I started talking to her while we were slow dancing, trying to find out more about her. She was a sophomore at another local college, majoring in art history. Well, that kills one topic of conversation, since saying ’art history’ had just exhausted my knowledge about art.
But she liked dancing, and did some running, and liked singing—she played some guitar. I told her that if she sung like she danced, I’d really like to hear her sing sometime. That got a smile.
It was getting a little loud now with more drunk people joining the crowd, and I could see the band turning up their amps to compensate. I was having to put my mouth close to her ear to be heard, which meant bending over. And she couldn’t get high enough on her tiptoes to reach my ear.
I asked if she’d be up for going to get something to eat. She thought about it for a moment, then said, “Sure, why not?”
She went off to let her friends know what she was doing, and I went back to get my jacket and a last gulp of my beer.
“Leaving so soon, Carter? I hate you, you know. It’s like it takes no effort at all, you bat your eyelashes at some girl and she’s walking out on your arm.”
“Remember my advice, Larry? I wasn’t joking. Try it.”
I left him looking forlorn and went to find Gail. She was standing by her table talking to her friends. They gave me the once-over to make sure I wasn’t a serial killer and made sure to get my name. They were looking out for one another. Smart.
“So, you have a particular food you like? What are you in the mood for?”
“I’m not fussy. Anyway, I had dinner so I’m not that hungry. Could just be toast and coffee, that’d be fine.”
“Okay. I’m not that familiar with the downtown area yet, but I think I remember passing a diner on the way here. They could probably be threatened into making toast.”
“Right, that’s The Olympus, destination of choice for potheads who get that 4 a.m. craving for pancakes. That’ll work.”
I told her to lead since she knew the place, and we were there in five minutes. She spent the time asking me about my history, what I was going to study, what I liked to do, and so on.
We got a table and a menu the size of The New York Times. I got scrambled eggs, home fries, toast and coffee, she got a bagel with cream cheese and tea.
I confessed, a little embarrassed, that I knew nothing about art and I felt like it was a gap in my education. She agreed, but she said it was easily fixable and she could recommend a good survey book that would give me the basics.
“I admire people who can do things I can’t. I’m a little envious,” I said.
“It’s foolish to think that we can all be good at everything. You have to choose the things you like, the things you think you could be good at. That’s why I got into art history. My parents wanted me to do something ’practical’, but all the practical things sounded really tedious. I’d rather do something that excites me, even if I have to starve doing it. And I probably will.”
While we talked I was channeling a sensitivity in her skin, and changed the feather on her clit to a kind of gentle vibration. I could see her breathing getting shallower, and she took a large gulp from her water glass. She had been asking me about my interests, and grimaced when I mentioned math.
“We can’t all be good at everything,” I pointed out, and she stuck out her tongue. She asked to be excused and headed off to the ladies room. Probably the beer making its presence known and demanding release.
37
When she came back it looked like she had washed her face. She seemed to be a bit more collected. I’d been having fun talking to her, and I hadn’t peeked into her epicenter yet. Maybe now was the time.
She was talking about how she had barely passed math in high school and just missed having to take it over in summer school. I followed the link back into her mind and looked around.
I hadn’t been wrong. She’d been feeling her body vibrating, wondering why it was so urgent.
She usually didn’t get this turned on by guys, but she was finding herself attracted to me, enjoying the conversation and my company. She’d had to go in and wash her face to try to calm down, but was still aroused. She was wondering what she ought to do about it.
She wasn’t in the habit of picking guys up in bars, normally had a rule against it. But now she was realizing her nipples were hard, her skin felt like it was charged with static electricity, and she could feel her clit responding.
While she was trying to work that out, I started talking about dorm life and how odd I found it, the cacophony and the incessant partying. She said she’d done her first year in a girl’s dorm, but had trouble getting along with her roommates, so she was living off campus this year.
I’d finished my eggs and toast, and she was picking at the crumbs on her plate. She looked up at me like she was making a decision. But she didn’t tell me what it was. The waitress dropped off the check and I pulled it to me and took out my wallet.
I dropped a tip on the table, and she said, “You feel like sharing a joint? I sometimes like to do that after I eat.”
“Does that mean we have to come back here again at 4 a.m. for pancakes?”
“Of course not. You could get French toast instead.”
“Okay, I’m in, then. I’m on a pancake-free diet.”
I paid at the register, and we started toward her place. “I almost got caught by a cop once with weed on me,” she told me, “it was only by chance that she didn’t check the inside pocket of my jacket. Ever since then I’ve been a little paranoid, so I leave it at home.”