Rachel, Rachel, Where Are You?

I met Rachel many years ago at one of those college gatherings they have in the big city. It was just before Easter that year if I remember correctly and at the end of the night phone numbers were exchanged. She was a short cutie. Short in stature and with short brown hair.  She had pert little breasts that just wouldn’t lie down. And those eyes. They giggled all the time.

Two weeks later I called her up and asked her out to a party for Saturday night. Nope she said, I’ve already got a date. Some other time, maybe. Long story short, as my party was ending (I went stag) I called her up. It was very late and she was already in bed. Alone I might add. Rachel then asked “Why don’t you come over for a nightcap or even a coffee if you want?” I quickly affirmed my intention to visit and not too long later  she was greeting me at her high rise apartment door. Rachel was wearing a bathrobe under which I highly suspected she had nothing else on.

We had coffee which didn’t do much to sober me up. And we talked. Quite a bit as I recall. Eventually it came time for me to make my move, and verify exactly what was under that bathrobe. We had been doing some easy necking on her bed, so it wasn’t going to be a big deal to find out the answer. Or so I thought.

“Uh-uh Mister. You don’t get to play with the toys even before the first date!”

Gee, what was I thinking there? Rachel was not as easy going as I thought. My charming self had its limits, obviously.

I was going to have to back off and be patient. Two things I was not used to doing. Ultimately Rachel was going to be a learning experience. A well worth it learning experience. And I might have taught her a thing or two along the way.