Claire

I was sitting on my bed, staring at the black and white photo of the stunning woman. The photo appeared to be 1940's vintage, New York City, judging from the plates and the buildings. Probably Harlem. It had to be. I wanted it to be so bad. It would make all the months of fantasy that much more worthwhile. The babe next door was from New York. I looked down at the picture again, smiling, as if I knew my neighbor now, that we were somehow connected. The woman in the picture was dressed in a light dress and hat, standing next to an old car, probably a new car for her, the reason for the picture, no doubt. The woman looked proud, happy, beautiful, but mostly sophisticated, free. 

I kicked my backpack off the bed with my feet. You guys are through, I thought as the backpack tumbled to the floor. No more. No more books and all night crams. Last exam today. Done. 

I picked up the manila envelope again, the one I'd torn open without thinking. It wasn't mine, a careless postman's gift. So her name was Claire Armistead. That was the addressee on the envelope. God, what a beautiful name for an incredible girl. 

Almost nine months, we'd lived next to each other on the same floor in the same house, our apartments separated by a long, uneven wall. I looked at the wall. Nine months and only now did I know my neighbor's name. 

I smiled, closing my eyes, stretching out on the bed. Claire. Claire. Claire. I kept repeating the name in my head. Simply incredible. During the school year I'd see her perhaps a few times a week as I she was leaving her apartment or I was entering mine. We'd exchange a quick hello and that would be it. Each time it happened time I would kick myself for not talking to her and each time I would vow it would be different the next time I met her, but it never was. 

She'd dated at least three different guys during the school year-I'd kept mental notes of each. The men were invariably extremely good looking, each one extremely confident and athletic, well-spoken, each one black. 

She was hardly a slut. This I knew. Everything about her was classy, gorgeous. I pushed my hand under my shorts and grabbed my cock, feeling its warmth, the quick and eager lengthening. I was hard, so hard now, thinking of her. I grabbed the photo on the bed and studied it some more. There was nothing like this angel in Vermont. Jesus. I shook my head. What a boring summer it would be. I'd agreed to work in my old man's law office as a clerk. Fuck. 

The woman In the photo seemed to be grinning at me. Claire was creamy brown. So, I thought, it must have been her mother or father, which one, who was white? Probably her mother, but the resemblance to the beautiful woman in the photo was sure. That was the root of my neighbor's beauty. There. In this gorgeous black woman. 

Fuck it. I looked at the clock. I had plenty of time for a little harmless self-abuse. I quickly pushed my shorts and underwear off and stroked myself, staring at the black woman in the photo. All there. I could see so much of Claire in her. I closed my eyes, imagining Claire next to me, moaning, but the image wasn't coming. Fuck. I opened my eyes again. Why imagine? Here. Look. She's there, all there. The beautiful, aristocratic face, the long legs, all of it. I pulled harder, my engorged cock-head red, glistening and slick with pre-cum. I squeezed the purple head, bringing little tiny bubbles out. Fuck. I rubbed my hand over it. I stroked harder. 

I tried to picture Claire's tits under the summer dress I'd seen her in yesterday. I could see them now dark, purple nipples. Oh, fuck. What would her cunt look like? Jesus. The kinky bush. Oh, fuck, to sink inside that. My light brown curlies against that black forest. No match. In there, all the way. I pushed my ass off the bed, straining. All the way. Slapping her with my balls. All the way. I could hear myself breathing, almost gasping. 

My cock jerked. Harder, faster. Up, down. Squeeze, pull. Oh, there. Yes. Jesus, yes. I looked down, and squeezed as hard as I could. The throbbing and burning in my thighs burst open. OH. OH. OH. Don't let it out. Not yet. Not . . . I clenched my ass, my teeth everything, trying to hold back and then when I thought I was going to pass out I let go. 

There! as a huge gush of white gooey snot splashed out onto my chest. Another and another. Oh, oh, oh, oh. Yes. I rolled my head from side to side. There. There. Oh, fuck. There, another, smaller and another dribble on my hand. I heaved a deep sigh. Oh fuck. Nice. I looked down and smiled at the mess all over, my hand dripping. 

Jesus, I was sweating. One final heave. I blew out through my nose to clear my spinning head. There. I smiled at the picture in my trembling hand. Wonderful. Thank you. 

* * * I rubbed the steam off the bathroom mirror and looked at myself. The shower had been incredible. My fat cock hung low and I swung it from side to side. Fuck, was it nice having the whole place to myself. No more Aaron to bust my nuts about this and that. Asshole. What a mistake that was. Next year, a junior, it would be better. My own place. The old-man had said so. 

God, I laughed at myself, leaning forward. Jesus, look at this hair. The old-man would kill me. Fuck. I sighed and looked at my watch. My parents would be here in five hours. Haircut. Go get a haircut. Fuck it. I'm tired. Take a nap and then go. Plenty of time. Good plan. 

* * * 

I woke up with a startle and immediately stared at the clock on my dresser. Shit. Five-thirty. Fuck. Damn alarm. Fuck. I got up, scratching my ass. Shit. I stumbled to the bathroom to piss. I looked at the mirror again. Oh man, my father would kill me. "I didn't send my only son to University to become a bum!" I could hear him yell. Shit. Shit. Shit. 

I opened up the cabinet and smiled. Everything was perfectly placed. We had enough garbage in the bathroom cabinet for small surgeries. Neat freak, Aaron to the rescue. I grabbed the scissors. I could do this myself, easy. Fuck. Just a little snip here and there. Just enough to get presentable. 

Ten minutes later I honestly thought I would cry. It was like I was back in grade school. A bad hair cut? Bad? Jesus. I looked at the uneven bangs, the deep cut here and small cut there. In one spot on my side, I'd cut almost down to my scalp. It was awful. This was worse than the long hair. Much. Now my folks would think I was drug addict. 

I looked down at my limp cock, covered with brown hair. Disgusted I pushed it off. And then off my shoulders. My neck itched. Ridiculous. Maybe if I just wore a baseball cap the whole ride home. That would . . . 

I jumped. There was a knock on the door. Wait. I looked at my watch. The bastards were here early! Damn them. Damn me. Fuck. Fuck. Oh, shit. Again, with the knock. Fuck, no, it couldn't be them. They doorbell would be ringing from the front of the building. This knock was from the back area, by the common hallway. I grabbed a towel and walked to the back door. 

I opened it, breathing hard, and there she was. Her hair was up, wrapped in a scarf and then I saw the smile on her face disappear quickly when she saw me more closely. 

"Hi," she hesitated. 

"Hi," I croaked. "Uh . . . My name is Claire" she began, staring at my hair, "did I catch you at a bad time, maybe?" 

"No. . .I . . . I . . .I tried to, you know, give myself a haircut." 

She nodded thoughtfully for a few second, as if she understood, and then stopped. 

"Why?" She asked, a big smile on her face. 

"My parents . . . it's a long story, but they're coming to pick me up in a couple of hours and I. . . . Anyway, I needed short hair." 

She understood and smiled. "You look awful," she laughed. 

I laughed, nodding. 

"And I kind of liked you with long hair." 

I swallowed. How did she know I had long hair? Christ. I took a deep breath. 

"Thanks." 

She laughed, again, surveying the devastated landscape on my head. "Okay," she sighed, "Well, good luck." 

"Yeah." 

"I stopped by to ask you whether you might have received any mail for me by mistake." 

I froze for the second time in five minutes. She saw my discomfort. 

"I mean," she started, handing me a couple of form letters from credit cards begging for my business, "I received these today, and they're obviously yours." 

I held the letters in my hand. Oh, fuck. Think quickly. Come on. Debate skills. Extemporize. 

"Yeah, I did, you know . . .um . . ." 

She waited. 

"I opened it by mistake. I didn't even see it wasn't addressed to me." 

She smiled. "That's okay. Just, you know, if you have the contents, that's all that matters. Right?" 

I nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. "Here," I said, "just wait and I'll bring it to you." 

"Thanks," she smiled. "I'll be right here." 

"Yeah, right there." 

I walked quickly to my room, praying to God there would be no evidence of my self-abuse earlier on the photo. It wasn't close-by during the fireworks, I kept telling myself. It wasn't close-by. I had it in my hand. I had it in my hand. . . 

I picked up the photo off my dresser and looked. I squinted hard, trying to find streaks or blotches, anything. Thank God, it was black and white. Thank God. There was nothing there, at least that I could tell. Envelope, where is it? Shit. It was still on the bed, wrinkled. I grabbed it and wanted to scream. A large stain was on the front. Fuck. Shit. My come was all over the place. Sonofabitch, motherfuck . . .Okay, lie, tell her something, anything. 

I walked back to the doorway. Claire was standing there, leaning next to the door way, relaxing, and I noticed her more closely. She was wearing faded overalls with a white tee-shirt underneath. Must be cleaning up, before she splits town, I thought. Radiant, simply. . . . God, if she looks that incredible without trying. She smiled when she saw me. 

"Here," I said, handing her the photo. She took it and smiled. 

"That's all that was in there," I continued, quickly in one breath. "I threw the envelope in the garbage by mistake." 

She laughed. "That's okay. I know my aunt's address." 

"That's your aunt?" I asked pointing to the photo. 

She shook her head, "No, my grandmother. My aunt sent it to me." 

I smiled, happy I'd guessed right. 

"She's beautiful," I tried, feeling the heat rising over my neck and face. 

She looked up from the picture and smiled at my blushing. "Thank you." 

"She looks just like you." 

She laughed. "That's what everyone says." 

We stood in silence for a moment, her looking at the picture, me, becoming more and more uncomfortable, realizing how ridiculous I must have appeared. I was in a towel and my wet hair looked like Opie's on acid from Andie Griffith. 

She sighed and looked up. "Well, thanks." 

"Yeah," I nodded. "It was great talking to you." 

She took a step back and stopped. 

"Well, you could have talked to me sooner. The semester's over." 

I didn't know how to reply. What do you say to a beautiful woman? `I was scared, too terrified to open my mouth in your presence.' Normally, of course, I would have said something stupid, something dreadfully earnest and the girl would have looked at me with her "Whatever" face and walked away. 

"I wanted to wait until I looked just right," I tried, forcing half a laugh out. 

She laughed, surveying me in the towel, hair here and there on my chest and shoulders and shook her head. 

"That really does looks awful." 

I nodded. 

"What are you going to tell your parents?" 

"I'll wear a baseball cap all summer." 

She smiled and then I could see her become more serious, studying my ravaged head. 

"Well," she murmured, biting her lip. "It would be a challenge, but . . ." 

I looked at her, puzzled. 

"Do you want me to try to straighten it out--a little, at least?" 

I gulped, nodding, the blush returning. 

"Come on," she said, walking in. "Where are your scissors?" 

I followed her into the apartment and we walked past my room, toward the bathroom. I could see her smiling to herself, as she took in my attempts at interior decoration. What a joke. The typical, college crap. Melvins and Sunny Day Real Estate poster or two, de Vinci and Monet prints, huge poster of Einstein, books and clothes scattered, simply silly. 

She stopped at the bathroom doorway, studying the remains of my hack-job half an hour ago. My mind scrambled, hoping Aaron had rid the place of his dirty magazines. That had been on my list of things to do before my parents arrived. Scour the apartment for dirty magazines and dump them. But Aaron had come through once more. Everything looked clean. 

"We'll do it here," she announced. "Get a chair." 

I brought a chair--one of two in the apartment--from our tiny kitchen and held it in front of me, waiting for her next direction. 

"Put it in there," she smiled, getting out of the doorway. 

I stepped into the bathroom and put it down. 

"Okay, have a seat." 

I walked over, feeling more and more like an idiot and gingerly sat down, making sure the towel didn't fall off or anything insane. I was chilled, I thought, as I shivered from the cold wood against my bare back. 

"How long before your parents get here?" she asked, picking up the scissors. 

"Couple of hours." 

She nodded, walking to me. "Plenty of time, plenty of time" she laughed in mock arrogance. 

I tried smiling, but couldn't help notice her body and . . . 

She looked down at me and I looked up at her amazing face and long neck. I had never seen her this close before, never known the lovely, creamy smoothness of her skin, her round, so round, tits, her . . . She laughed. 

"God, you really look awful." 

I blushed again, trying to laugh with her, breathing a sigh of relief she'd not noticed my obvious stares. 

"From what I can remember, your hair's pretty normal, right?" 

"Yeah, normal style." 

She nodded, and grabbed my head, jerking it straight ahead, bringing my face right underneath the swells of her chest. They seemed to strain against the straps of her overalls, but I knew it was my imagination and then she walked behind me to begin. 

I heard the scissors, the snipping, quickly, efficiently and felt small puffs of hair coming down. I was hoping she'd lean forward, like you hear, you know, sometimes, or press herself against my back or something, but I felt nothing obvious--light pressures here and there as she worked, but no rising nipples or gasps of self-satisfaction. 

I closed my eyes and concentrated on her fingers, holding the comb, delicately dancing along my head, keeping me balanced. They felt nice. Nice, long fingers, warm. 

"Heh, you're pretty quiet down there," she called from behind. 

Again, I surprised myself. 

"I've been conditioned to be quiet when the old guys cut my hair. They never stop talking about the weather and how it affects their joints." 

She laughed. "Well, I'm not an old guy, am I?" 

"Far from it." 

"So talk. Tell me something about yourself. You know a lot about me, at least about my grandmother." 

What did she mean? Christ, did she know I'd. . . . Impossible. I struggled and took a deep breath. "Nothing really interesting. My dad's a lawyer in a small town in Vermont." 

"Cool. You going to be one too?" 

"I don't know." 

"You're a sophomore?" 

"Yeah." 

She was silent. 

"How 'bout you?" 

"Graduation in two days." 

"Congratulations." 

"Thank you." 

"What are you going to do?" 

"Medical school at Columbia." 

"Wow. That's great." 

"Thanks." 

We were silent, again, her hands and the scissors busy with their snipping and balancing. 

"You've got a neat scull," she said, holding my head in both hands. 

"Thanks, I think." 

She laughed, letting go of my head. "No, it's . . . .Well, there were theories, totally baseless, that a person's scull, head shape and everything told a lot about that person. You know, whether the person was Northern European, Southern, Anglo, Slavic, whatever." 

I nodded, trying to follow. 

"If the theory is correct, you're Northern European." 

"Yeah, English, Welsh and little Irish in there." 

She held my head, again, and I could feel her gently massaging it. 

"I doubt you're Celtic Irish; probably, Scottish, a transplant, kind of like some of my ancestors." 

"I don't know," I replied. 

She gently nudged my head. "Neither do I," she laughed. "I'm just making it up as I go along." 

I laughed with her, having no clue why. 

"Okay," she announced. "Almost done." 

I sighed. I would never see her again. Wow. The thought made me sad. Nine months of fantasy, awkward smiles, all of it would be gone. And then to soil her mail. I sighed, again. 

"What's wrong?" she asked. 

"Uh . . . nothing." 

"You haven't even seen my work yet," she laughed. 

I tried to laugh, again, but then out of nowhere felt suddenly like crying. I breathed in again, deeply. Put yourself together, asshole. What an idiot. Come on. Don't act like a twit. 

She was silent for a moment and then I felt her wiping my neck clean and then combing my hair, like my mother did when I was a small boy. 

I could feel the tears welling up inside. I couldn't explain it. I didn't know this person, but my emotional attachment to her was something I'd never felt before. And the feeling wasn't sexual, at all. She was, I realized now, totally out of my league. So smart, so natural. My sadness was that I'd missed out on the opportunity to make a special friend. 

"Okay, all done," she said. "Get up. Check it out." 

I stood up, and as I did, I could feel my towel slipping off. I reached down and grabbed it quickly and heard her laugh. 

I turned to her, blushing, beet red I was sure. 

She covered her mouth, trying to stop her laughter. "Go on," she managed, "go on, check it out, okay?" 

I turned and stood in front of the mirror and smiled. 

It looked okay, better than okay, very nice, kind of George Clooney-type look. 

"I know it's kind of out-of-style," she said, and I could see her standing behind me, "but you left me with few options." 

I nodded and turned to her. 

"Thank you. I really mean that. I . . . " 

She smiled and we stared at each other for a long pause. She took a deep breath in preparation of a departing word or too, but I interrupted her. 

"I wish I'd met you earlier," I blurted, feeling the rush of blood and accompanying warmth coming to my face. 

"Were you scared?" 

I nodded, my eyes misting. 

"I kind of thought so." 

"You always seemed to have people around and . . ." 

She nodded and I thought my heart would break. I could feel it pounding in my chest. It was like I was leaving a loved one, saying bye forever to someone very dear. 

"Hey," she laughed. "Are you okay?"