“She’s gone from here.” He gestured around him with an open palm. “And she’s gone from here.” He pointed at his heart, and several of his friends guffawed. I realized that Eric was drunker than I’d seen him before.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be sorry. She was not for me. Good riddance and good luck.” He made another theatrical gesture. I suddenly knew that Eric had invited me to St. Dun’s that night in order to seduce me, and that I was going to let him do it. It was what I had been waiting for. I had no illusions that it would be anything other than a one-night stand, but I was a virgin and I had decided that the time was right. I was not so foolish as to believe that I had to lose my virginity to someone who was in love with me, but it was important that I lose my virginity to someone that I loved.
St. Dunstan’s Manor had three single bedrooms on its second floor. Since Eric was president, he had the largest room, a high-ceilinged single with a view toward the college chapel. Instead of a single utilitarian cot, he had a four-poster bed made of darkly stained wood. Eric seemed more nervous than I was at first as we lay, fully clothed, kissing on his bed. He excused himself to go to the bathroom, so I took off my clothes and got under the covers. When he returned he had splashed cold water on his face and his mouth tasted of toothpaste. He stripped to his boxers and slid under the covers with me.
“Should I wear a condom?” he asked.
I told him yes. I didn’t tell him I was a virgin because I didn’t want him to have second thoughts. We had sex twice that night, the first time with him on top of me. Because of his height I found myself fixated on the few sparse hairs that covered the center of his thin chest in a triangle formation. He moved awkwardly and I wasn’t sure he was enjoying himself but when I lifted my knees high up by his sides he said my name in a high, breathy voice, and it was over. Later that night, we had sex again with me on top. It was helpful to see his face below me, lit dimly by a streetlamp through his window. I had come to love his face, even for all its awkwardness. The saucer ears, the expanse of forehead, the thin lips. Eric had stunning eyes, dark brown and with beautiful thick eyelashes like a girl’s. While on top of him, I changed the rhythm, slowing down, then speeding up again. After doing this several times, Eric suddenly pulled me down toward him, took one of my nipples into his mouth, and shuddered. Later he asked me if I’d had an orgasm. I told him that I hadn’t but that it had felt good, which was the truth. I left before dawn. He was stirring as I dressed, but I managed to get out of the room before he woke. I didn’t want to listen to false promises. Over the summer, I wanted my memories of Eric to only be good ones.
That summer was the first one after my parents’ divorce was final. My mother was manic, obsessing over rumors that David was already engaged again, and frantically putting together a show for a New York gallery. I spoke with my father on the phone twice; he invited me to visit him in London, but I declined, happy to spend a summer in Connecticut, reading. Monk’s was blessedly empty of houseguests. My benign aunt was around for all of August but my mother had elected for a moocher-free summer, as she put it. I didn’t hear from Eric, but even if he had wanted to, he had no way to contact me. As far as I knew, he didn’t know where I lived, or my mother’s unlisted phone number.
For my housing request my sophomore year at Mather, I had applied for a single, despite Jessica’s protests that we made perfect roomies. In August I got a letter from the housing department that I had been given a quad with three roommates, a trio of girls I didn’t know. Either I was stuck with three other students who were antisocial enough that they all requested a single for their second year of college, or they