Hippie Girl

God, she was condescending. She was a whole ten years older than me but acted like I was so naïve. We'd met in a poetry writing class, where she spun out work after work about her two favorite subjects: the superiority of hippie culture and her love of the professor that current faculty had replaced. She was not sure about new ways of teaching and our brand new professor. As for me, I was one of Steve's boys, the johnny-come-latelys like him, and I was one of his writing superstars, as he would say. She was openly hostile to him and quibbled with him during session about trivialities like the use of second tense in modern verse.

Amy looked like a grown-up version of Pippi Longstockings. She sometimes braided her hair that way, too, to add to the effect. And, like me, she was a heavy depressive. That was what joined us together and what complicated our relationship. I had to admit it, whether I wanted to or not. When I was down and she was up, she could pull me to my feet. When the reverse was true, I could take that role, too. But when we were both scraping the bottom of the barrel, we were worthless.

Her primary allegiance was to Peter. Peter tended bar at a club downtown. Peter was older than her and probably had high-functioning autism, but she clung to him like a barnacle to a ship. No one could understand. Not her friends, certainly not her parents. Amy was hard to get, and the best I could ascertain was that she had body acceptance issues, because they cropped up periodically in her poetry.

She wasn't fat, but like so many women, she thought she was.

As I got to know her better, I recognized we had at least a few things in common. She'd worked at summer camps tesettürlü escort most of her life and had an encyclopedic knowledge of the outdoors. I'd been in Boy Scouts for a time and won a few merit badges, but she put me to shame. I wish I'd been more interested in nature. It might have pulled us together. We might have dated instead of being friends with benefits.

Even so, I remember many times lying in her bed, still stoned from sex. She'd point to a photo of herself on the bedroom wall. "You know who that is?" Of course, I knew who the image was. I'd only been told a thousand times. "I was your age back then."

When she gave readings once a semester, I'd show up at the English wing ten minutes early. Amy's folks would talk to me and ignore Peter. I have to admit that it made for great awkwardness between everyone present. Peter knew I was infatuated with what he saw as his girl, but he was totally under her control. Once he even called me to apologize, at her insistence. Totally whipped. I knew this because I could hear her in the background during the call, demanding this act.

Amy played head games with me and I was too young to realize why. I stroked her ego with such force that she kept me around, but she wanted lovers on her own terms. And she wanted to have her cake and eat it too. I would not tolerate such behavior now, but back then I felt I could do no better.

She lived in a predominately African American part of town that had once been her Grandparents' house. I would have been scared shitless to take up residence in the 'hood. There was some backstory behind why she lived there, but türbanlı escort she'd never tell me why. I didn't press her. Somehow, I knew better than to ask certain questions and she was ten years older than me, after all. When she didn't want to answer, there was no point in wasting time.

But there was something she didn't understand about me. I was far more aware of her tricks than she even imagined.

It took me forever to get her into bed. I'd been housesitting at a friend's apartment and she came over to visit. Before then, she'd been all business. Now, she was eating out of my hand. I have to admit I don't remember exactly how it started, just that I ended up pulling down her jeans, under which she wore with no underwear. She was on her period, which I noticed when I examined what had been inside her cunt with the traditional two-finger salute.

I climbed up her torso, fingers coated with blood. "Oh, that's hot," she groaned. Taken literally, this act might seem a little gross, but in my caveman mind in the moment, nothing could be more erotic. I'd stalked up her body, crawling inch by inch, with great purpose. I knew what I wanted and what I wanted was her. All of her. And she knew it, even if she was ten years older than me.

She was also a flake. Often, she'd never call me back, forcing me to make impromptu visits to the other side of town. Once, and I apologized profusely for this later, I scared her witless by showing up in the middle of her breakfast. She looked like she'd seen a ghost. "Peter does that, too."

It sometimes seemed as though she confused the two of us at times. I resented tüyap escort the comparison. I was nothing like Peter. Peter was a loser, despised by his fellow employees, a teller of urban legends, conspiracy theories, and crude jokes. Bartenders can be bad news: odd hours and bad habits. She never told me anything, except for the day he moved out.

I was there. She broke into tears, and as I do have a heart, I gave her a hug. I tried to be reassuring. I did my best impersonation of a psychologist. She motioned to the bedroom.

"Lick, lick, lick, lick, lick." This was pure sex talk. I could hear her Southern drawl as she enjoyed herself. I knew I was good at licking pussy and she was appreciative. I'd started out by innocently rubbing her feet. She moaned, went slightly limp, and began to rub my erection with one grubby right foot. Hippies dance barefoot. Or at least this one did.

Predictable.

This went on for about six months. When I showed up with my guitar and an encyclopedic knowledge of Neil Young covers, that led to another fuck session. Why do these intense, emotional experiences always run together? Then, out of nowhere, she said one of the weirdest things anyone has ever spoken to me.

"This is the last time we're doing this. Do you understand?"

I understood the words she was telling me, but I didn't understand why. Was Peter back? Were her friends giving her hell for being with me? Our sex was always great. And she'd been a great teacher. For all the hell she gave me in the classroom with my latest poetic creation, she was gracious and generous underneath the sheets.

I took my A and moved on, graduating two years later. She disappeared.

I saw her five years later at a party. She'd gained twenty pounds and arrived alone. I was speaking to another woman and she very rudely pushed past me on her way elsewhere. The woman I was preoccupied with at the moment said, "Did you date her?" I was amazed at the immediate insight. "That's women for you," she cackled.

I've never seen her since.