Sylvia answered the phone.

"Sylvia?"

"George!" she screamed, then in a more normal tone of voice: "Sorry. I hope I didn't deafen you. Where are you?"

"Logan. The first booth I could find. I had to try directory assistance. What happened?"

"I graduated in midyear. You knew I would. I wrote you all about it as soon as I knew my new address."

"Never got it. I got your November letter last month. Look, has anything else changed? I mean are you married or anything?"

"Nothing like that. Do you want me to pick you up?"

"Dunno. I'm filthy. And I caught a cold in Santiago."

"I'm coming. I have a car, now."

"I'll be waiting out front. You'll know me by the coat I'm carrying. It ain't just chilly in Chile; it's damn-well freezing."

She was glad he'd mentioned the coat. George looked different -- thinner, deeply tanned, standing taller. "Well," he said, "you're looking great."

"So are you. Is this all you have?"

"With me. All the important stuff was shipped by the expedition. Gave some of my clothes to people there who'd been great helps. When you've worn three pairs of jeans for a year, sometimes wading streams and never seeing a washing machine, they aren't worth carrying back. So, you're an affluent teacher now? Car and everything."

"Calling a new substitute teacher 'affluent' wouldn't endear you to the union," she told him. "And I only got half a year in. We're making subsistence wage at best. I'm waiting tables again this summer. That's where the real money lies."

"Haven't shifted my point of view yet. These clothes I'm wearing, not even counting the coat. (People were staring at me for carrying a coat in August.) These clothes would be considered significant wealth in the village. Gonna be a shame to throw them away. Goodwill wouldn't take them?"

Goodwill wouldn't take them. Bag ladies would turn up their noses at them. "Throw the coat in the trunk?" he asked. Probably he should. Where had it been anyway? A manure pile?

She opened the trunk for him, and he put his coat in. He admired her 'Impeach LBJ' sticker on the fender. "Can't believe I voted for that mother," he said.

"Had to. If Goldwater had got in, American troops would be fighting a war in Vietnam by now."

She drove him back to her room. What would Mrs. Lorenzo say? Well, fuck her if she said anything. Once inside, she hugged him. He kissed her but protested. "I'm dirty!" That was inarguable, but she was glad to get him back.

"Question is, are you hungry? Spaghetti?"

"Your spaghetti? I ate on the plane, but it wasn't your spaghetti." He didn't eat as much as he used to, though. "I've gotten out of the habit. They had some good stuff -- some stomach-turning stuff, too -- but their good stuff didn't match your standards."

"I'm dirty," he said again as she came to him for another kiss. She put her glasses on the table, and he put his glasses beside them.

"For God's sake. Take a shower." The idea of his taking a shower, getting naked to take a shower, raised another idea though. "Not yet. You need to visit the drugstore."

"Drugstore?"

"I went off the pill."

"Problems?" He wasn't at his brightest.

"Nothing medical. It's just that I didn't need it anymore." Her boyfriend had been in South America, after all. "Do you have money?"

"Enough for that. I should buy a toothbrush, too. Can I use your toothpaste?"

"Sure. I've got it here. You can take it with you to the bathroom." When he got back, she outfitted him completely -- robe, towel, soap, toothpaste, shampoo. Then she guarded the door while he took a long shower. Luckily, she only had to warn one girl away.

Back in the room, with his clothes dumped far away, he smelled much better. The kiss was longer and heart-felt. "I've got a cold," he protested. But it didn't make him draw back. Her robe, which looked ridiculous on him, was tented in a way that she had never distorted it.

He moved from her mouth to her neck. The hell with hickeys; she was waiting tables tomorrow, not teaching snickering schoolkids. When he had unbuttoned her blouse, she stepped back. "Faster this way," she said.

When she'd got the blouse and bra off, he stepped forward again and bent over. "Missed these," he said. "Missed you."

She ran her hands through his hair. There was less of it than there used to be, but it felt silky if awfully wet. She should have given him her hair dryer, too -- and a comb. His lips, on the other hand, felt as good as they ever had. He sucked one nipple, then the other. His hands tried to undo her jeans.

"You can't do those," she said, "hardly can myself." She stepped back. "First the bed," she decided aloud. She put the extra chair under the table, where it wouldn't be hit when the bed came down.

"Where is it?"

"Look." She opened up the double doors. "I'll get it." She pulled the murphy bed down every night, and there was a trick to it. If he had caught machismo in South America and had to do the work, he'd pull it down on his head. She would get out of the way.

He stepped back and let her do it. "This is fun," he said when the bed was safely down. There wasn't much room left. "I always said that work fascinated me, but it's much better to watch when you're dressed like this."

"I would think you'd be tired of seeing bare-breasted women."

"You're thinking of Bali. Maybe there are naked people in the Amazon valley, but I was in the Altiplano. Freeze your butt on a summer morning even wearing a coat. Come here." He kissed her breasts again. She turned her back, and he kissed her neck for a moment. He held her breasts from in back while she struggled out of the jeans. That moved his firm prick back and forth across her spine. Still in her panties, she turned to him and undid the sash of the robe.

He looked better out of it, better than he ever had, really. Every muscle was defined. He still didn't look like an athlete, but he'd obviously not been bullshitting in his first letter when he talked about all the walking they'd done. His skin, though, was pale from the neck down. "Let me look at you," she said and pushed him back. He stood there, but kept his hands on her breasts.

She lay down on the top sheet. "Come here."

"Don't have to ask that twice," he said. He lay down beside her and kissed her while his hands held her breasts. When his mouth replaced his hands, those went lower. She spread her legs in anticipation. It was as good as it had ever been. Soon, he helped her out of her panties. He stroked her and sucked on her nipples. She could feel the tension building, but she hadn't had him in her for a year. She reached over towards his hardness.

Then she realized that she was unprotected. "Damn!" she said.

"Something wrong?"

"Could you get the rubber?" The bed protested as he climbed out to rummage through his clothes.

When he lay down again, properly covered, her excitement had gone down a bit. Still, when he kissed her breasts, she spread her legs. It had been a long time. "Oh, Sylvia!" he said as he began his entry.

"Oh, George," she said when he was fully within. It had been a long time, and he stretched her. It didn't hurt, though. The stretching was pleasant. She grabbed his head and kissed him. His tongue invaded her mouth.

He moved his head back, then. Perched on his arms, looking into her eyes, he began his motions. The bed squeaked with the unmistakable rhythm. Probably the whole floor knew what she was doing. Well, fuck them; she wasn't the first girl to in the building to entertain a man in her room. Soon, he was pulling back -- almost out -- and then driving into her. She pushed her hips up to meet him.

Then he was thrusting against her without withdrawing at all. She felt him quiver within her, and then he collapsed. When he tried to roll away, she hugged him with both arms. She'd missed this.

It was hard to breathe with his dead weight pressing her down, though. When he pushed himself up again, she let him get off. "Wastebasket okay?" he asked. Where else could he put the rubber?

"Fine," she said. He removed it before cuddling up next to her. They lay like that, she wrapped in his arms, until she began to get chilly -- August or not. When she got up and put her clothes back on, she took pity on him. "Don't look for this to be repeated," she began.

His face looked like this was a tragedy. Did he think she'd taken all those courses to become a housewife? "But I will take your clothes to the laundromat this time," she finished.

His face cleared up. "That would be kind of you."

She decided against taking her dirty clothes with her, washed afterwards or not, she didn't want them associating with the muck on his. Besides, and she felt foolish considering their activity over the last few minutes, she wasn't sure she wanted him rummaging through her undies to find his clothes. Instead of her laundry bag, she took two paper grocery bags. One to use going and to discard there. One to hold the clean clothes for the trip back. Too bad she couldn't take his boots; those looked filthy. He removed all the stuff from his pockets, standing there naked. There were two more rubbers in the package he'd bought. She'd think about that.

He was sleeping under the sheet when she got back. She kissed him awake. "Sorry," he said. "I thought I'd got all that out of my system on the plane."

"Nothing to be sorry about. Just what I always wanted, a naked man sleeping in my bed." She pulled back the sheet. "And a good looking one, too. Chile agreed with you." It had, too. He'd got a haircut for the passport photo, way back then. It had grown out, but not to what it had been. Fluffed out from the recent shampoo, it made a brown halo around his head.

The body still looked muscular and trim lying relaxed. And at the groin, his prick looked like it was firming up. After his recent orgasm. too! "And what is that?" she continued. "You'd think you were glad to see me again."

"I am glad to see you," he said, his prick twitching in agreement. "I missed this -- missed you."

"Well, let me get out of my clothes. This bed's so hard to get down, don't want to waste its availability," She proceeded to strip. He didn't offer to help, but he watched with interest.

He kissed her deeply. This time, she could taste him, not just the toothpaste. His hands kept stroking her. Whatever Anthropologists did, it produced calluses that hadn't been there when he was a student. She decided she liked it. Maybe she just liked all of it, the kiss, the warmth, the touches.

He kissed down from her mouth. This time, he was sucking on her neck, but she didn't care. It felt too good to worry about tomorrow, and the restaurant wouldn't fire her for a few hickeys. He stroked her thighs, almost touching the lips but avoiding them. She lifted and spread her knees in invitation. When his kisses got to her nipple, his hand got to her pussy. This was bliss. She reveled in all the sensations he was bringing her. He kissed her mouth once again before starting on her other breast. She fluttered once or twice.

Then she soared. He kept stroking her and licking and sucking at the nipple until she collapsed. Then he held her.

"George?" she finally asked.

"Who did you think was hugging you?"

"Could you find another rubber?"

"Right here." He rolled away from her to apply it, then held her again as he kissed her. He started over at the beginning, kissing her mouth, progressing to the breasts. At first, her pussy was so tender that even his gentle strokes were too much. When she winced, he retreated.

Soon, though, this wasn't enough. She reached for him. The rubber was unpleasantly greasy on her fingers, but that was a minor consideration. He climbed between her legs and paused right at her entrance. "Sylvia," he said. Then he came forward.

She felt him slide between her lips and fill her. He shifted his position a little to get his hands on her breasts; she shifted hers a little to get her thighs around his legs. The bed sang as he moved in and out of her. Soon, she felt like singing too. It had been an awfully long time, and her own ministrations were never like this.

He kept up the steady rhythm while her tension increased, increased again. Her feelings peaked suddenly. She clutched his ass while she flared within. He hardly paused in his motions. Her nipples were suddenly sore under his fingers. Before she could draw breath to complain, that feeling moved from annoyance to excitement. The excitement increased. Her climax had come; she couldn't possibly have another so soon.

And then she did. She flared again, clutched him again. It was glory. It was agony. It was lasting forever. "Oh God!" he shouted. He was shaking above her, ramming into her, pulsing within her.

Then it was all over. He was a heavy -- gasping -- weight on her, and she couldn't get enough breath to ask him to move. Even after he rolled off, she couldn't get enough breath. Slowly, she did. "Wow," he said.

"Wow, yourself," she answered. "You can't stay here. I wish you could, but you can't."

"I see that," he said. "And I wouldn't be any good to you for days, anyway. I need to use the plumbing, and I don't think I can get up to do that." But he did -- got up and got dressed except for his socks and boots. She got up and dressed, too. She stood outside the door to warn other girls away.

"Miss Jennings!" Her landlady was using her most judgmental tone. And Sylvia was current on her rent, too.

"Mrs. Lorenzo. You'll have to use the other bathroom; I have a visitor, and he's using this one."

"I know you have a visitor, Miss Jennings. And your lease says very specifically 'single occupancy.'"

"He's not staying here. I know he can't. He was just...."

"I know what he was doing. The entire building knows what he was doing, maybe the entire block. I can't condone promiscuity, but -- if you have to do it -- discretion is still advisable."

Promiscuity! She'd been faithful to George during an absence of more than a year. But that wasn't going to cut the ice with Mrs. Lorenzo. "Were you working your way up to giving notice?" Or was she just being a judgmental bitch? Not that Sylvia would mind notice right now. She wanted a room where George could stay -- maybe a bed which was a little quieter.

"That will have to wait until tomorrow. I don't have the forms here." Well, that was warning enough. At least she went downstairs before George came out. She ducked into the bathroom herself while he put on his boots.

"Sorry about that," George said as she drove over to Cambridge. The expedition had booked some student housing -- had booked it more than a year before. "I heard what she said. I wasn't thinking when I yelled."

"That's okay." It was more than okay. A girl liked to be appreciated. "Well, I've got to look for a new apartment...." She took a deep breath. It was the wrong time to ask, but she needed to know now. For that matter, he might be signing up for housing in a few days, himself. "Should I look for an apartment for one or an apartment for two?"

"For two? You mean like for Sylvia and George?"

"That's what I mean."

"With our own bathroom and everything? Without a landlady listening at the keyhole? Sounds great." He paused for a moment. "That was a 'yes.' But I can't come up with my share of the rent until maybe the tenth of September."

"That's no sweat." That was the least of her worries. She was gainfully employed; he was still a student. "You want to see the places?" she asked as she drove up to his dorm.

"Just what you select. I'm sure it will be fine. This is a great idea. I missed you all year."

"And I missed you, too," she said as she popped the trunk. He leaned over to kiss her before getting out.