The place had a scent. Not an odor or a smell, neither pleasant nor unpleasant, but nothing as I’d smelled before or since. It was the smell of many people living together in one place. You know how, when you visit someone, there is always a certain smell, a combination of what they like to cook, the detergents and soaps they use, and possibly perfumes and colognes. Now imagine the smell of a few hundred people's smells in one place. From time to time, I’ll be somewhere, and I’ll pick up a little piece of this smell, a fragment that always brings me back to this day. The day I first walked into “The Pit”.

“The Pit” is the freshman dorm at Potsdam State University. In high school, they tell you that they are preparing you for college. If they were as wrong about everything else they taught me as they were about this, I’m in real trouble.

My first impression of Potsdam College was that of a refugee camp. Hundreds of minivans stuffed full with boxes and bags, filled to the brim with all the supplies they thought they would need to “live on their own”. As it was, right from the get-go, I felt like an outsider. I was one of the few new students who weren’t surrounded by an entourage of parents and siblings; my parents disapproved of my college choice. Come to think of it, they really didn’t approve of much about me. I had only what I could carry with me as I left home this morning: three bags, and the clothes on my back.

Oh hell, I’m being rude, I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Flower. That is what everyone has called me ever since I was in elementary school. I don’t use my given name anymore. I got my nickname because on my way to school every day, I passed Henderson’s Florist Shoppe, and Mr. Henderson would give me a flower to wear in my hair. Each day, he’d pick one that matched the dress I was wearing. This was a daily ritual until the day my parents sent me to St. Mary’s Catholic Girls School, where any violation of the dress code was considered tantamount to a crime against humanity. Every day, I looked the part of the perfect Irish Catholic schoolgirl. The white blouse, the green plaid skirt, and my strawberry blonde hair created the illusion of innocence. Yeah right. That is when I started to become a disappointment to my parents.

You see, I was supposed to be the perfect daughter. They named me Mary in hopes that I would grow up to be a nun. My brother Patrick, the oldest of my siblings, went as far as seminary, but fell in love with a girl who worked in the coffee shop around the corner from his school. They both worked as social workers in California and have two beautiful children. My sister Caitlin was single but was dating a man who worked for my father at his plumbing company. Eventually, they got married and took over the business, but until then, she lived at home.

The day I told my parents I was going to Potsdam, they told me I was doing it on my own, no help from them. Thankfully, I’d been working summers for Mr. Henderson, so I’d saved enough money for my first year. That, combined with an on-campus job and work-study, helped me get by. I’d applied for financial aid, but I wasn't considered independent because of my age, and when they looked at my father’s income, they told me I was ineligible. I told them that my father refused to pay for my college, but it seems that financial aid is for the poor, not the unfortunate daughters of assholes. Fuck them.

It was with great trepidation that I drove my pride and joy, a 1976 Chevy Impala station wagon, into the parking lot. I’m shy. Very shy. My first girlfriend said that I was so shy, I was nervous around my own shadow. Yes, I said “girlfriend”. Shocked? Yeah, so were my parents when I told them I was bisexual. My mother slapped me. If it weren’t for my sister sticking up for me, I would have been homeless that night. What did they expect? Just as I was becoming interested in sex, they sent me to an all-girls school.

It was on my second day at St. Mary’s that I met Sarah. She was the sweetest person I’d ever met. She took me around, showed me the school, got me involved in clubs, and taught me how to get out of the auditorium during assemblies without the sisters seeing us. It was as if we were lifelong friends right from the start. We liked the same bands; we watched the same TV shows. We would even pick up the phone, and the other person would be on the other end. We were inseparable, but I don’t think either of us could have predicted how close we would become.

It was during summer break that it first happened. We’d known each other the whole school year. We were hanging out at her house; she had a tree house that her brother had built when he was younger, and now that he’d gone to college, it was hers. It was about ten feet off the ground, fully enclosed with windows and everything, accessible only by a rope ladder. I was our sanctuary. We spent nearly every day there playing games, listening to tapes; we even had sleepovers there.

One night, while we were getting ready to go to sleep, Sarah was finishing putting my hair into little braids. She said it made me look like Bo Derrick with red hair. When she was done, she leaned in from behind me and kissed me gently on the neck. It surprised me even though it had become our custom to give each other a little peck on the cheek as we said hello or goodbye. This kiss was different. There was a softness to it that said it was more than just a kiss.

As surprised as I was by the action, it was my response to it that surprised me more. I turned my head, pulled her toward me, and planted one right on her lips. It didn’t seem to faze either of us to be kissing another girl. For hours, we kissed and caressed each other, as if we’d done this hundreds of times, even though it was the first time for both of us.

The next day, we woke up in each other’s arms. We were so content. We cuddled for a while and then went into her house for breakfast. “So, what did you girls do last night?” Her mother asked innocently.

“Just fooled around,” Sarah said with a smirk on her face. If her mom only knew… We just smiled and ate, reveling in our private joke. We were in love, best friends, life was perfect.

I rode my bicycle across town to Mr. Henderson’s. The wind blowing through my hair, the smell of the cherry blossoms, everything was better that day. The world was a portrait of my feelings for Sarah. Even the great masters couldn’t paint beauty as radiant as what you see through eyes that are in love.

When I went into work, Mr. Henderson gave me my flower and announced, “You’re in love, how wonderful!”

“How do you know?” I asked.

He just smiled and said, “After you’ve been selling flowers for twenty years, you recognize the look of love in someone’s eyes.” I just smiled and affirmed that yes, I was in love.

“And does Sarah feel the same way?” he asked.

Again, surprised when I asked how he knew. It was then that he told me that he and Mr. Green, the barber, weren’t just bowling partners. He’d seen us together and realized sooner or later we’d figure out what he already knew. It wason that day I started calling him George. After that day, I found a friend in him, where before he was just that kind man at the flower shop. I loved having someone I could tell anything to. Since my brother left home, I hadn’t had that. George was like having a favorite uncle, the one who never yells at you, and always shows up with “a little something he found that he thought you would like”. I told him things I wouldn’t tell my priest. He was also the only adult I could swear around without getting a mouthful of soap.

Sarah and I never talked about being gay or felt any different from anyone else. It felt natural. As far as we were concerned, we were just two people in love. We never had to say what we felt because we both knew. I could always relax and “be” with her. We didn’t have to talk, we didn’t have to be doing anything at all, and just spending time together was enough for us. We thought that it would never end, but it did. On the day that she and her family moved away, I cried until I was out of tears. That’s when I told my family about Sarah and me. I had thought I could tell my parents anything. I have never been as wrong about anything in my life as I was about that. That was the last day I felt that I had a family. So Potsdam wasn’t just a college for me, it was my new home. I was told not to return to my old one. That day was the first day of my new existence. I was born anew. My life up to that point was just a dream; after that, I was wide awake.

B104. That was my new home, a small room in the basement of Bowman East. For the bargain price of only $1600, I got to share this room with someone I hadn't even met. I unlocked the door to see a bunk bed, two closets, and two desks. I dropped my bags and passed out on the bed. I must have been tired. I awoke to the sound of voices in my room. ”Someone is sleeping in my bed, and she is still there.” The voice whispered. I lifted my head from the pillow and saw a girl five feet one, 115 lbs. Cute, Dark brown hair tied in pigtails that hung about shoulder length. She reminded me of Ali Sheedy. “Hi, I’m Lucy Baker. You must be Goldilocks.” She said with a chuckle.

“Hiya, Lucy. I’m Flower. Pleased to meet you.” I mumbled, barely awake.

“Flower? Did your parents hate you when they named you?” she asked.

“No, but they do now,” I said, hoping she would take it as a joke.

She just shrugged it off and continued moving in. “When is the rest of your stuff getting here?” Lucy queried, looking at the three bags sitting on the floor by the bed.

“This is all my stuff,” I said, hoping I wouldn’t have to explain to her the events that left me with only three bags of worldly possessions.

I decided to get up and explore my surroundings. I went out into the hallway, which was a flurry of activity, much like that of a beehive. I looked down the hall when it happened. The first time I saw her. “The goddess” Is what I called her. That Day, I only got a glance of her as she went past the far end of the hallway. Her skin was like liquid bronze. She was wearing short shorts and an L.A. Lakers half shirt. Her long blonde hair was nearly touching her firm and very shapely ass. That was all I saw at a glance. I ran to the end of the hall to get a better look, only to round the corner and do a quarterback blitz on a poor unsuspecting bystander.

“Whoa! They should put a light at this intersection!” he said, laughing. I started to get off of him when he said, ”Don’t get up on my account, I like you there.” He smiled slyly as he said it. I stood, my legs still a little shaky from the fall. “I’m Ben. Are you ok? You seem a little out of it.”

“Yeah, I’m fine I said, still trying to catch a glimpse of my quarry, but alas, she’d disappeared into the crowd. ”My name is Flower. I’m so sorry for running you over like that. Are you ok?”

“Oh sure, I’m tough. It’ll take more than that to ruffle my feathers, eh.” He brushed off his clothes and picked up the papers he was carrying. I noticed they were drawings.

“Are you an art major?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t too dumb a question. Let's face it, who else would be walking through the dorms with arms full of drawings, waiting for some trogladette to plow into him?

“Not yet.” He answered, “I really don’t know what I want to do here, but I figure it’s better than getting a job. I might want to go for psychology, you know… Messing with people's minds, eh.”

“Are you Canadian? I notice you have a bit of an accent.”

“No, it’s from living this close to the border. I’m from Potsdam. You’re new in town. Perhaps I can show you around sometime.” He offered. Maybe it was his easy demeanor, or the fact that he was cute in a John Cusack sort of way, but I really felt comfortable around him. Strangely, he reminded me of Sarah.

“I’d love that. How did you know I was new in town?” I wondered if I seemed out of place.

“Elementary, Watson, I know everyone in town, and you’re not one of them,” he said, using an excellent British accent. ”By the end of the year, you will too. Would you like to scarf some grindage with me?”

“Huh?” I said, not understanding a word that he said.

“Grindage, food, internal sustenance, the staff of life. You know lunch.” He smiled as he explained it to me. I guess I wasn’t up on the latest slang. All I knew was yes, I was starving and had no idea where the dining hall was.

“I’d love to!” I smiled as I answered him. “Where is the dining hall?”

“It’s in the main quad, but no sane person eats there. Let me take you into town. The food is cheaper there and much, much better.” He smiled back at me. “Just let me drop these things off at my room.” As we entered his room, I thought we were at the college radio station; CDs were on the shelves that lined the room. The posters on the wall were a tribute to the music gods, Springsteen, Dylan, Hendrix, and my favorite, Lita Ford. The scent of incense filled the room. I loved it. It reminded me of the bookstore I used to hang out in a home. He locked the door, and we were on our way.

We decided to walk downtown as it was less than a mile to the restaurant. Potsdam isn’t a large town; it basically consists of the college, a four-block business district, and fourteen blocks of houses, situated along a crystal clear Adirondack river that runs through the center of town. Potsdam is just one of many little college towns in upstate New York. This one, about thirty miles from the Canadian border, was as far from my home as I can get without paying out-of-state tuition. Perhaps subconsciously, that is why I picked it.

When Ben said he knew everyone, he wasn’t joking. Every person we passed was like, “Hey Ben.” “Yo Ben!”, or “Dude!” When we got to Main Street, he asked me what kind of food I wanted. At this point, I would have eaten the ass end of a dead rhino, but instead I suggested Italian. He led me to a little bistro named “Sergies.” We went inside, and sure enough, as soon as we went in, half the people in the restaurant greeted him; it was like being with a celebrity. The hostess led us to a table in the corner of the dining room.

“Would you like some wine?” he offered.

“I’d love some, but I’m only eighteen,” I said meekly.

“That’s ok, I think I can arrange it.” He said, smiling. When the waitress came to the table, he said, “Hey Hun, how’s it going?” She told him what had been going on in her life as if she’d known him all her life. Of course, she had; she was his sister. I should have known. “Hey, Sis, this is Flower. She’s A new friend of mine. Whatcha say you score us a bottle?”

She just smiled at me and said, “Pleased to meet you. Welcome to Potsdam. I see you’ve already found one of our main attractions. Take good care of him.”

“I will.” She obviously thought we were dating, so I let it slide. I figured he was so nice that I wouldn’t shoot him down in front of his sister, plus it wasn’t out of the question. He was cute, funny, and really nice. I could definitely have seen myself dating him. Moments later, she returned with the wine, a nice Cabernet Sauvignon. He poured me a glass; I started feeling a buzz minutes later. Perhaps I should've held off a bit until I had some food in my belly. Maybe it was the wine, or it was Ben’s laid-back demeanor, but I was feeling really comfortable right then.

Ben is the personality type I’d always wanted to be. He seemed completely at ease in every situation and with everybody. He spoke to me in a manner you would expect if they’d known you all their life. When he looked at me, it was straight into my eyes, as if he had nothing to fear from me and vice versa.

I had a wonderful Chicken Marcela, and he ordered the lasagna. As we ate, we talked about all the things we hoped that college would be. Ben had the unfair advantage of growing up around it, so he was able to give me pointers he’d learned while hanging out in Potsdam. He told me where I could find the type of clothes I liked. He warned me about the brutal winters and wrote out a shopping list of survival gear. I thought the heated wool socks were overkill, but he assured me that when it gets forty degrees below zero, I’d thank him.

That was the first time I thought that maybe I’d made a big mistake coming here. The second time was the first time, a month and a half later, that I first experienced that desolate temperature, and yes, I thanked him that very day for suggesting the socks. Some people think they're always right; as I found out in his case, it’s true.

We had a delicious meal, and when the check came, I was shocked when he said he’d take care of it. ”Consider it a welcome to Potsdam present.” He said, leaving his sister a huge tip. We left the restaurant, and he took me the long way back to the dorms, through the park that runs along the river. The sun was beginning to set as we walked along the path by the water. The sun shimmering across the surface of the river, and the leaves rustling under our feet, it felt like we were old friends even though we’d only known each other for five hours. ”Where are you from?” he asked. I was surprised that it took this long for this subject to come up.

”I really don’t want you to think I’m rude, but I really don’t feel like talking about home right now. My leaving wasn’t very pleasant. Potsdam is my home now, that’s something I’m still dealing with.” I said, afraid I was spoiling the mood, but telling him why I’m eighteen and alone for the first time in my life was a lot more than I was willing to expose about myself. When the family you love turns its back on you, it can make you very cautious about trusting strangers.

He shrugged it off, though. “I’m sorry,” he said. ”I wish that bad things never happened, but sometimes they do. Unfortunately, they usually happen to people who deserve them the least. At any rate, if Potsdam is your new home, welcome home. I, for one, am happy you’re here, regardless of the reason you came. Just remember, everything is ok in the end, if it’s not ok, it’s not the end.”

I just looked at him with total awe. His words hit me deep inside. It was as if he looked inside my soul and told me exactly what I needed to hear at exactly the right time. Just as we reached the campus, he said that if I didn’t have any plans tonight, he would love it if I came by his room to hang out. I told him I would love to, but I would have to swing by my room and shower. I was still wearing the clothes I had on when I left this morning, and I felt very grimy.

When I got back to my room, my roommate was unpacking her stuff. “Hi Lucy, how’s it going? Getting settled in?” I asked, hoping to get off on the right foot.

“Hey Flower, I’m doing good, tired, but good.” She had a really friendly tone to her voice. I was hoping we’d get along. This is too small a room to share with someone you don’t like. “I’m just about to open the care package from my folks. I’d love it if you’d share it with me.” She said as she motioned me to sit down beside her on the floor.

“Thanks, I’d love to.” I sat down next to her as she opened the box of goodies. On top was a note from her parents. She took it from the box and set it down in front of me. I couldn’t help but read it. It said:

Dearest Lucy,

We are so proud of you. You are everything we could have hoped for in a daughter, and more. We hope you have fun at college and make lots of friends, and we know you’ll do well; we’ll see you soon.

We love you,

Mom & Dad.

I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I wanted so much to have a letter like that from my parents, but all I got was a hug from my sister and “just leave” from my dad. My mother said nothing; she just turned her back and walked away.

“Oh, Chocolate fudge!” Lucy exclaimed as she turned to look at me. By now, the tears were flowing steadily, and my throat was dry from trying to hold back my emotions. “Oh my god, flower, what’s wrong? Are you ok?”

I tried to answer her, but I couldn’t talk. All that came out was uncontrollable sobbing. Lucy just leaned in and hugged me; I just buried my face in her shoulder. She held me tight and stroked my hair for about fifteen minutes until I calmed down. “I’m sorry. The last thing you wanted was an emotional wreck as a roommate.” I said, trying to ease the tension.

“That’s ok, honey, we all get that way sometimes. You’re probably just homesick.” She said, trying her best to comfort me. I felt for her. It’s not easy to comfort someone you don’t know, dealing with a situation you know nothing about.

“I guess you can say that, but it’s more like they’re sick of me.” I chuckled a bit as I said it, but Lucy could tell I was semi-serious. “I was kicked out of my home today by my parents and told never to return.” I don’t know why I was telling her. Perhaps I just needed to hear it in my own voice; otherwise, it just wouldn’t be real. If I said it myself, it would erase the memories of my parents telling me that I was not their daughter anymore. It didn’t work; my father’s voice, so full of anger, still rang in my ears as if it had just happened. How could they not love me anymore? I’m their daughter; they taught me to read, to tie my shoelaces.

My mother was the one who kissed my skinned knee when she taught me how to ride a bike. What was so wrong about loving Sarah that could make them forget that I was their own flesh and blood? All over again, I felt alone in the world. I started bawling all over again as the reality of it all hit me. My parents, who said all my life they would always love me, stopped loving me.

“Awful Flower! I can’t believe a parent could do that. I can’t even imagine what you must be going through.” She held me as she said this, and I just let her. It felt good to be embraced. I just wanted to melt away, not be me, not be human, and just become a vapor that drifts through the atmosphere. I wanted to be a cloud.

After a while, I looked up at her and said, “I’m sorry you had to meet me like this. I’m really not as messed up as I seem.” I’m not sure if I even believed what I told her. Let's face it, if I were truly crazy, would I even know it?

“Don’t worry about it, you’ll be fine. If you ever need someone to talk to about it, I’m here.” She handed me a piece of fudge and said, ”I’ve found that there is nothing like chocolate to make the tears dry up. ”The fudge was fantastic, we chatted about the school, and I told her about my lunch with Ben and how I was going to meet him later. I invited her to come along, but she wanted to go to bed early; she thanked me nonetheless. I think I’m going to like her. As I was unpacking my shower stuff, she got ready for bed. She wore these adorable pajamas with the feet and a flap on the backside. I loved them!

I went into the bathroom that we shared with the room next to us. I looked in the mirror. I had no idea how rough I looked. Thankfully, I hadn’t put on makeup that day, or I’d really have been a mess. I had my work cut out for me just the same. I needed to pretty myself up, and the first step was a shower. I got undressed. That alone made me feel better. I’ve always been very proud of my body. I’ve always been fairly athletic.

At St. Mary’s, I was a star gymnast; tumbling and uneven bars were my best events. For a while, I just stood there looking at myself. My legs were on the muscular side of shapely, and my stomach is flat, but not rippled. My breasts were just the way I would have ordered them if I could have. They were small enough to be perky and round, but not so small that I would be considered flat-chested. Of all things I didn’t like about my life, at least I liked my body.

I let the water steamy hot, and I immersed myself under the steady stream. I loved the feeling of a good hot shower. I opened a new bar of Ivory soap. It always reminded me of those old commercials where a beautiful woman would be sitting by a stream and her husband would tell you how much he loves his “Ivory Girl”. I must have stayed in the shower for half an hour, lathering myself head to toe until I was sure every square inch of me was clean.

Now, please don’t think I’m a slut, but I was hoping that I wouldn’t be coming back to the room tonight. I’ve always had a very open attitude about sex. Not that I’m easy, mind you, but I’ve just never believed that it’s as big a deal as people make it out to be. Some girls have rules about how many dates they have to go on before they have sex with a man, but most of them have already decided before they’ve finished the first date.

I figured that having all these rules and trying to justify them is just mentally playing with yourself. Ben was a decent guy who really seemed to care about people. The fact that he looked like John Cusack doesn’t hurt either. I figure if I’m going to do it someday, why not that day? With that in mind, I started getting myself ready, so the feeling might be mutual. It never hurts to be prepared.

I put on my favorite passion purple lipstick and matching eyeliner. And put my hair back in a ponytail. I got out my floor-length floral skirt, black with roses all over it. To top it off, a tight black half shirt and black lace panties. If that doesn’t do the trick, nothing will. I stepped out of the bathroom to find my roommate fast asleep. She must have been tired. I grabbed my purse and wandered out into the hallway, hoping I’d be able to locate Ben’s room again.

The halls were full of people, some dressed up to go out, others just in sweats and t-shirts. There were a couple of guys who must have just gotten in from tossing the football around, who had nothing on but flip-flops and shorts. I have to say, this being my first experience with co-ed living, I was beginning to like it.

As I walked down the hall, I noticed through the open doors that people were already starting to decorate their rooms to make them look somewhat less institutional. Posters and pictures of their favorite musicians, movie stars, and models adorn their walls. Curtains, rugs, and tie-dyed tapestries cover the last remnants of linoleum flooring and pastel colored paint that is the favorite among cost-cutting state bean counters. The whole place was a buzz with activity. I felt almost invisible as I moved through the crowd, observing the action without any noticeable reaction from the crowd.

As I approached the corner of Ben and my famous collision, I peeked around just to make sure I wasn’t about to flatten someone. To my shock, the “goddess” was there walking right towards me. My heart jumped into my throat as she approached; there was nowhere to hide. She walked past me, smiled, and said, “Oh, looks like someone’s going out tonight,” and kept on walking. I just blushed from head to toe. I thought I was going to faint. I held my breath until I was sure she was out of earshot and giggled like a dolphin on crack. I felt like I was going to die if I ever had to talk to her.

Back to the mission at hand, finding Ben’s room. As it turned out, it wasn’t that hard to find. The huge sign that said “Ben’s room” was a big giveaway. I knocked on the door, and to my surprise, he answered, dripping wet, wearing nothing but a towel. “Sorry,” he said,” I just stepped out of the shower. Come on in, I’ll be ready in just a bit.” As he stepped back into the bathroom, I sat down on his bed. I looked around his room. There were all sorts of mismatched shelves and things used as shelves filled with music, all interspersed with knick-knacks and toy cars. I couldn’t help but notice the lack of “roommate stuff.” I’m guessing he spent the extra money on a single. Lucky bastard.

“Sorry you had to wait,” he said, giving his hair a final dry with the towel, after which it fell neatly into place. Men are so lucky.

“That’s ok,” I said, actually appreciating the time I had to check out the surroundings. “I see you’re really into music.”

“Just a little,” he said with a smirk, holding his index finger and thumb just slightly apart. “What types of music do you like?”

“Just about anything from the seventies, except disco.” I got my taste in music from hanging out with my older brother. We’d sit in his room and listen to Hendrix, Three Dog Night, the Doobie Brothers, The Doors, and anything else he’d just picked up at the record store. I remember we’d sit there listening to music and talk; he always had such interesting things to say. Whenever I had a problem, he would listen carefully to what was bothering me and seemingly effortlessly find something to say to make me feel all better. I guess that’s why he’s a social worker now. I really wish he were here now. I could really use some advice.

Ben put on a compilation of old seventies music. He asked if I minded if he lit some incense. I told him I didn’t mind at all, as a matter of fact, I liked the smell. He opened the little fridge he had in the corner, almost hidden by the stacks of CDs on top. “Would you like some wine? I have red and white. ”He asked, pulling out two bottles.

“I would love some white, thank you. ”My first thought was that he was trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me. My second thought was, so what if he was? I just smiled to myself, accepted the glass, and enjoyed the moment.

“So, Flower, what’s your last name? I just realized I never asked you.”

“I really don’t have one anymore, but it says O’Brien on my driver's license. If you love me, you’ll forget I told you.” I answered, trying not to be too melodramatic.

“That’s ok, I’m not crazy about my last name. I think my parents were stoned when they decided on my name.” He laughed to himself, and that, combined with the wine, made me more at ease. It’s always tough meeting someone you like, but you never know what will offend them and what won’t. Thus far, I hadn’t noticed anything that rattles Ben. If he were any more easygoing, he’d slip into a coma.

“What is your last name, if I can ask?”

Ben just smiled and said, “Dover.”

“You’re kidding,” I said. I figured he was joking, trying to be clever, but he pulled out his student ID. “Dover, Benjamin A.” Poor guy, I thought to myself. Parents should know better than that.

“I think you’re right, they must have been stoned.” I laughed, thinking all the jokes that must have been made at his expense, and thought perhaps that is why he is so difficult to offend now.

“It’s a possibility. It was the late sixties.” He said.” I’m all set, though, if I ever want to get into gay porno movies.”

He took another sip of his wine and sat down on his bed next to me. ”Tell me if I’m out of bounds here, but why don’t you like your name? It sounds normal enough.”

At first, I was going to brush it off with, “I really don’t want to talk about it,” but something about the way he asked made me feel like he really wanted to know why I was upset. It was almost as if he were an old friend who knew you so well that they could tell when you needed to talk.

So, I launched into my life story. I told him everything: the Catholic school, Sarah, and my parents disowning me. Amazingly, I was able to get through it without shedding a tear. I looked at him when I was done, and all he said was, “Ok, Flower it is.”

He put his arm around me and gave me a peck on my cheek. ”It will be ok,” he said, “you’re here now. Just remember that there is nothing wrong with you. Your parents are the ones who are messed up. Someday they are going to realize that you are a very special person, and kick themselves for letting you go.”

Once again, he said just what I needed to hear. I was starting to believe he was psychic. It was like he could crawl inside of me and, like a mechanic, find what’s troubling me, and fix it. We both sat back against the wall, his bed against. We just sat there talking about music and our lives before college. I told him about my summers working for George, and he told me about the various things he did before deciding to go to college. That is when I realized he was a few years older than me. It didn’t faze me at all; hell, my best friend back home was fifty-three. To me, six years is not worth worrying about.

After a while, we just stopped talking; it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence; we just sat there listening to the music with our arms around each other. I looked at him. His eyes were looking straight into mine. I was mesmerized. Before I knew it, I leaned in and kissed him. His kiss was tender, firm, but not rough like men usually do. His kiss said, “I’m confident. I don’t have to prove I’m a man.” It was a real turn-on.

I lifted his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor. He did the same to mine. Our bare chests touching felt so nice. His skin was soft like a woman’s. Even his hands were smooth as silk as he caressed my now-heaving breasts. He turned me and lowered me down beside him on the bed. He unclasped my skirt to expose my almost naked body. His hands softly explored every inch of my body. I trembled as the heat rose in me. I could feel the passion in my most private areas build, and just as I was about to turn him over and attack him, he pulled off my panties to expose my now-moistened womanhood.

Gently, he blew on it, sending shock waves through me as he, starting at my knees and working his way up, started kissing me. I thought for sure I was going to leave my fingerprints in the bars of his headboard as my desire overcame me. It was then that he started to feast on my love, licking and sucking as if I were his last meal. Over and over again, He would bring me to climax, higher and higher each time. After forty-five minutes, I grabbed him by the hair and pulled his face to mine, and yelled, “Fuck me!”

As I started to kiss him hard on the lips, I could feel him enter me. His manhood filled me as I wrapped my legs around him. As I pulled him closer, he kissed my neck and shoulders. I thought I would explode. Then, just as he was about to come, I felt release as I’d never felt before; it was like my entire body was on fire. Every nerve was alive and tingling. I collapsed on the bed, out of breath and fully satisfied. I thought at that point I would never feel that good ever again. I was wrong. Over the next seven hours, I came more times than I could count. We fell asleep in each other’s arms.

In that moment, everything else in my life drifted away. I was content. I had found a home.