Jello

Qualities of Jello

         In my second college semester, a friend of mine tried to take our relationship to the next level. Jennifer was a fellow programmer student, and we flirted often and regularly despite her boyfriend (basically because he was technologically illiterate). This was her first steady and serious boyfriend, so she found it confusing to be attracted to someone else at the same time. Unfortunately for her, I had met her boyfriend and he was a nice guy, if boring. I wouldn't break them up by agreeing to a tryst with her.
         Beyond flirting though, she did get me to engage in net.sex a couple times, and also once we had... hrm, I guess one might call it hand-sex? Each hand stroking the other's palm to start, with clever variations including knuckles, loops, and straight finger thrusts. A "Touchy Situation"  you might say. It sounds laughable here but it was very erotic at the time - so much so that I never chanced it again.

         Well, during the very first weekend that my cult-religious roommate went on a soul-saving road trip, Jennifer went offline from our usual chat program (ICQ, IRC, and even WWW didn't exist then!). She turned up unexpectedly at my door. She had walked across campus, ostensibly to meet her boyfriend at a party in my building. As a special-case scholarship student, I lived on the football players' hall, three levels above the supposed party, in the senior dorms. I seriously doubt her geek freshman boyfriend was involved.
         Nevertheless I was not rude; I invited her in, and we chatted. At very first, we gossiped about the others in our motley programming clique. Soon she was silent, just observing over my shoulder as I typed lines of text at nearly the speed of thought (some programming, some chatting). Soon her passive role changed.

         Jennifer began to massage my neck. Now I've had a few massages before, but this ballet dancer's hands were electricifying, as if she knew reiki. My head lolled, and her hands spread her warmth to my shoulders. My shirt was slightly in the way and, with just as slight regard, discarded. She really began to knead my tense shoulders deeply. Unlike other pleasant massages, this one was inescapably engrossing. My breath heaved, my head sagged, and I couldn't keep my eyes open. I was so turned on that I couldn't move. Jennifer's "Caressful"  touch had deactivated my muscles. All I could do was remain in my chair like the puddle of jello she had transformed me into with her magical hands.
         When I came to, she was holding my chin so that I might see her face. Intelligent thought escaped me, as did a more sensitive response. I stood and hugged her, closely but with respect. Mundanely I mumbled my thanks in words too pitiful to convey my agley emotions. She was in a silent daze, her eyes half-closed. I guided her to my top bunk and tucked her in for bed. I kissed her forehead goodnight and returned to my computer to wrap up my projects and sign off the neglected chat window. When the computer blinked off ten minutes later, Jennifer was already fast asleep. I took the bottom bunk and was soothed to sleep by her steady respiration.

         I didn't see Jennifer for two days - she was gone by morning, and skipped the Monday lecture. Even when I saw her, she was sitting in close consultation with a near-stranger instead of in her usual seat close to mine. She did, however, pass a short note over to me: 'Thank you for acting like a gentleman the other night, especially when I wasn't acting like a lady.'

         This note was both good and bad. First, I hadn't realized that Jennifer had been throwing herself at me. If I had been able to move I might have seen her eyes or responded when her hands roamed where they generally don't during shoulder massages. On the other hand, I was being praised for my incredible restraint. Second, that she didn't notify me in person and was now sitting with another (probably less scrupulous) guy meant she hadn't counted on my jello-like qualities when she planned our rendezvous. Jennifer was avoiding me now. On the other hand, I hadn't messed things up for her boyfriend by officially breaking her commitment.

         Unfortunately for us all, that other guy broke her monogamous streak. That tore up her now ex-boyfriend and left me helpless to stop her downward spiral.
         The day she dropped out, she sent a mass-mail to everyone, including me, her ex-boyfriend, and the monogamy buster. She needed to take time off from failing grades, failing relationships, and confusion at how to fix things. To her boyfriend she apologized; to the others she wrote goodbye; for me, she wrote thanks that I had been the only one to treat her as a friend during the whole ordeal. It was another written praise, but this one felt empty. I may have maintained the only hands-off relationship with her, but I was unable to help her deal with the temptations that turned her hopeful love life into a torrid sex escapade.

         Obviously this story has an unhappy ending. I still feel partly responsible for being the first crush for which she endangered her relationship with her devoted boyfriend. However, I did feel almost vindicated by her final letter, as if I might be the least guilty party.
         And of course pressed next to a poem in a book somewhere, I still have her little note which gives me a tingle of excitement. It reminds me that out there may be other hands which could reduce me to a quivering mass of edible dessert. Especially when she's not acting like a lady.