I meet Sandra
The first time I saw Sandra was one Monday morning while going to the campus by bus. She entered, walked past and sat down behind me. I didn’t look directly at her and she didn’t look at me, but, with nothing more than a glance, I saw a beautiful oval face, dimples in her cheeks – I thought ‘I need to see those again’ – brown curly hair, shining eyes, and there were definitely breasts underneath a pale green raincoat. Just a glance, yet I saw so much. Something moved in me. I thought of her behind me. No, I thought of those breasts and those dimples behind me.
I stood up to get off at the Uni cafeteria, and in that moment knew she was getting off as well. As I walked to the cafeteria, and without turning round just taking advantage of the curves in the path, I saw she was following me and she knew I was watching her. I got a coffee and sat down. I felt her follow me, and she sat down opposite me at the table. We looked at each other. I was mesmerized by her beautiful smile and those lovely dimples. She said “I’m Sandra. Are you Jewish?”
My hands were shaking. My brain was silenced by her beauty and confidence. I looked at the dimples and struggled to reply, “….I’m… David…. and yes… I am…” I breathed deeply, “You don’t look Jewish.”
“I’m not, but where I come from, Finchley, there are lots of Jews, so I know what they look like. Where are you from?”
My brain started working. “I’m from Islington, but I didn’t think I looked like a Finchley Jew, all black clothes and a face full of hair.”
She smiled, oh my god, that smile was so…I don’t have words to describe it….beautiful didn’t even begin to describe it….I felt I wanted to look at her for ever…
“Not all are like that, secular Jews look like you,” she said.
I asked, “Do you know many?”
“No, my parents are real strong on Christianity. I went to a convent school. I live in an area where there are Jews, Muslims, Germans, Arabs and Indians and all I was ever allowed to meet were English prudes. I was desperate to get out and meet other people.”
I just wanted her to keep talking, “Any clubs? Coffee shops?”
“Not allowed to go, the school and my parents had spies everywhere. I got pulled out of a coffee shop on the Finchley Road by a teacher when I was fifteen and told it was a den of sin, full of people with low moral fibre.”
I laughed, “I was probably one of the sinners there.”
She continued, “Fortunately I wasn’t a border, life was real hell for those girls. I am so relieved to be here away from my parents and those disgusting teachers. What are you doing here?”
Again I felt nervous. She wasn’t grilling me but I felt she controlled the conversation, she knew where she was going.
“Chemistry, first year, and you?”
“English literature and creative writing. Are you in the Hall at Wilmot Road?”
She asked, “Are you doing anything this afternoon?”
“I do laboratory work Monday afternoon from two to five.”
“There’s a jazz workshop from five-thirty onwards in the music building, room 23. It’s open to all students. I’m going to listen, meet me there.”
It wasn´t an order, she just knew I would go. “I’ll be there.”
She smiled, her dimples caused my heart to fill with joy. She got up and left. I watched her disappear.
My life had changed.
I am usually very confident with girls. I’m in control. I make the moves. I make the decisions. Sandra was different from any girl I had ever met. I felt in awe of her, she knows what she wants and she goes for it.
I was brought up surrounded by women, a younger sister and older girl cousins, who lived next door. We were in and out of each other’s houses all the time.
The youngest cousin, Henrietta, was two years older than me and became our baby sitter when I was seven. We got on very well. We talked about everything, at first mainly science. She told me about chemicals, colours and explosions. As we got older she explained calculus, quantum theory and relativity to me.
Later when I was fifteen I broached the subject of sex, and Henrietta was keen to tell me everything she knew. She told me what she liked about boys and what she didn’t like, and why she said yes to a boy who wanted sex, and why she said no. She told me what they did that pleased her. We did not do anything sexual but she did explain clearly the physical makeup of a woman, and how to make a woman happy in bed – she had a biology textbook to show me, useful when an adult walked in and we would ‘continue’ our discussion of the eating habits of rabbits.
Henrietta made it clear to me that many men can get aroused simply by seeing a naked woman, and an atom bomb won’t stop them – I told her that’s me. But a woman needs constant physical touch, and the wrong touch or the wrong word could bring her immediately down to zero. In addition some women can be aroused simply by touching different parts of their body. She said some of her friends say they get aroused when a boy strokes the back of their ears.
By the time I was sixteen I thought I knew everything I needed to know about girls and sex. Henrietta went to university to study mathematics, and after one term she came back a changed person. I could see she was a woman, and that made me want to go to university.
My mother had the good sense, although I hated it at the time, to send me to dance classes when I was twelve. “You’ll find it a very useful skill when you are older,” she said. Yuk, twelve year old girls were so soppy, just giggling and always saying, “Oh, I can’t tell you that, it’s a secret.” I would have preferred to stay at home and read about science, or talk to Henrietta. By the time I was sixteen that all changed and I took advantage of the romantic skill I had acquired. I taught my first sixteen year old girl friend the waltz and the jive. She was so thrilled she gave me my first fuck.
At the Jazz workshop Sandra was sitting next to a blonde wearing a white scarf round her face leaving only her eyes showing. I waved at Sandra and sat down beside her. She was wearing a pale blue blouse and jeans, and a beautiful pair of small pearl earrings on perfect ears. She smiled at me, whispered into my ear that the band were rehearsing for a Friday night gig in a local pub. Her breath on me, her hair touching me caused waves of delight rush up and down my spine. She enchanted me.
The songs were lovely 1940’s traditional jazz. The black female singer, surprisingly wearing a blonde wig, really knew how to express the meaning of the song. She had a husky voice that harmonized perfectly with the band. I couldn’t help but move in rhythm. After sitting for a few minutes, I stood up, held out my hand and said, “Let’s dance.”
“I don’t know how to dance, and anyway, where?”
“Behind the chairs.”
I pulled her up and could see she was excited. We started with a slow jive. She really didn’t know. I showed her a few simple steps and she followed. We continued for three or four songs. The tempo increased, she tripped and fell into my arms. She looked up at me with glowing eyes and a smile to remember into the hereafter.
The bandleader was watching and smoothly changed the tune to a slow waltz. Sandra cuddled up close, lay her head on my shoulder and breathed softly.
When the music stopped she put her mouth close to my ear and said, “Let’s go back to your place.” She picked up her raincoat and bag, and said something to her blonde friend. At the exit to the room she turned to wave to her friend, who smiled with her eyes and blew us a kiss. Outside we passed the cafeteria and picked up a few sandwich’s and drinks.
She looked around my room and said, “Oh, my gosh, you have a personal shower and toilet! No other first year student has that.”
She took off her clothes, first the raincoat then the blue blouse and jeans. I just stood there looking at this stunning sight appearing in front of my eyes, creamy white round breasts with large nipples and huge coffee coloured areolas around them. Something happened in my throat to stop any words coming out. Her slim waist gave way to a beautiful triangular brown bush and slim firm thighs on perfect legs. This vision sent waves of delight up and down my body. My trousers started to bulge, and I pulled them off. Sandra unbuttoned my shirt and kissed my chest…I quivered with joy. We stood there naked, admiring each other.
Her bush called to me, and I kneeled in front of her and put my tongue in it. The juices were so sweet, the odour so perfect, the texture of the hair on my face so sensual, I wanted to stay forever. My hands caressed her thighs, while she massaged my head with soft hands. I licked her inner thighs, from her bush to one knee then back to the bush.
I heard a voice, so authoritative I had to obey, “The bed is waiting.” As I stood up she held me so that we could have another look at each other’s bodies and we glowed with the thrill of what we had felt and what was to come.
We jumped into bed, and I entered her wet vagina. I caressed her breasts and felt the sheer pleasure of skin on skin, as I kissed those wonderful lips, and sucked her earlobes. She aroused in me feelings I could not put a name to. I stroked her clitoris in a circular fashion. She breathed out and said, “That is so wonderful, just keep doing that slo…owly.” Her body moved in waves and my hip movements followed her rhythm. “Oooooh…. Aaaah,” she moaned. Listening to those moans and feeling her breath on me increased my excitement until together we shrieked with bliss.
Exhausted we lay down on the bed and fell asleep. A few hours later, I awoke and kissed her soft lips. She stirred and kissed me. I was in heaven. I touched her breasts; I asked myself why I had not touched or kissed them earlier.
She got out of bed, showered, and dried herself. I looked at that body…those pert breasts…those nipples…the bush… how superb! I was ready for more. But she got dressed, kissed me, and said, “I’ve had such a wonderful time, see you tomorrow. I must go.”
The next day I wandered round the corridors, rooms and cafeteria looking for Sandra. I recognised her blonde friend stuffing herself with doughnuts. The hair was unmistakeable, but now without the scarf I could see the girl had an abnormal face, a large jaw with teeth too big for her mouth. She looked hideous. She saw me, “Are you looking for Sandy?”
“She is doing a writers workshop.”
“When will it finish?”
“It is difficult to tell, sometimes at seven and sometimes ten at night, there is no fixed time. I will be here for lunch at twelve thirty. Come here then, I have something to show you.”
A strange girl, beautiful hair and amazing eyes – they seem to see right into me – perfect diction, exuding self-confidence, but an ugly face. “What do you want to show me? Can you show me now?”
“No, I cannot. Be here at twelve-thirty. You will be pleased.”
I left to go to a lecture, but my mind was on Sandra. Since last night I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I wanted to see her again.
I often get asked how I got a room with a shower and toilet.
My mother came with me for the interview during the previous year. We waited in the corridor outside Dr. J. B. Fowles office. He came out, smiled, and invited us into his office. He was wearing a brown wrinkled suit, with a white shirt and green tie. He was slightly balding. He kept looking at my mother.
We sat down and he said “Thank you for coming Mrs. Rosen, and David.” To my mother he added, “I have a few questions to ask David. After that you can both ask any questions you want.”
He checked where I was with my exams at school, hobbies, sports and what I found interesting. I answered his questions and told him I was interested in quantum chemistry and organic chemistry. My mother intervened and said, “Dr. Fowles, my son obviously wants to do the complete course, but I think he should have a really good understanding of quantum chemistry, because we are all energy and I think it is important that he knows how to deal with the mathematics as well as the….”
Dr. Fowles interrupted, “Mrs Rosen, please call me Jack. I understand your point and he will do mathematics in the first year in order to be able to fully integrate the fundamentals of quantum chemistry into whatever else he studies in chemistry.”
“Thank you ….Jack, that’s good, and one other thing. There are halls of residence, so I would like him to get into one.”
“That’s not a problem, I will put him down for Sherringham Hall, which has been recently renovated and it’s only a five minute bus ride from this campus.”
“Thank you Jack. Just one other thing, I don’t like him washing in horse troughs and public showers. I want him to have his own private shower and toilet.”
“Well, they’re not horse troughs anymore. There are a few rooms that have their own shower cubicle and toilet, Mrs Rosen. They are generally for special cases.”
At that moment he looked directly at my mother and she looked at him. “Jack, please call me Hillary, I would like the opportunity to show you he is a special case.”
“OK, Hillary….David will you wait outside for a bit? I need to talk to your mother, privately.”
He smiled at her as I walked out. He followed me to the door, and I am sure I heard the key turn in the lock.
I waited, but heard nothing through the door. I had no idea what they would be talking about. After about 30 minutes the door opened and I saw he was smiling and my mother’s lipstick was slightly smudged, and one of her blouse buttons was half undone.
We walked around the campus and my mother told me I would get a room with a shower cubicle and toilet. A few minutes later we were in the cafeteria and bought teas and cakes. She walked around the tables and chose one where a sad Jewish looking boy was sitting.
My mother asked, “Didn’t I see you in the chemistry department?”
“Yes, I’m a doctoral student doing research.”
“I’m Mrs Rosen and this is my son David, who is coming here next year. He just had his interview with Dr. Jack Fowles.”
“I hope it was a successful interview, demand is high.”
“Oh yes, Jack… er… Dr Fowles assured me David would receive an acceptance letter.”
“Really? You must be good,” he said, looking at me.
“You seem a very reliable person, you’re Jewish?”
“When he comes next year could you keep an eye on him? Or at least if he has questions you would help him out?”
“Of course, no problem. When I came here an older student helped me, so I know what is needed.”
“Thank you. What is your name?
“Jud, Jud Bergmann.”
“We’re going now. Good luck with your research, Jud.”
I smiled and said, “Good-bye, see you in October.”
“Good-bye to you both, Mrs Rosen and David, I will remember.”
On the way out I said to my mother, “He looks very sad. Do you think he has problems with his research?”
“He may have, but I think he’s lonely. He doesn’t have a girlfriend.”
“How can you tell from such a short conversation?”
My mother laughed, “Women’s intuition. Women just know about these things, it not easy to explain. Look at Dr. Fowles. He’s also lonely, but he’s different. His wife died a few years ago, and he hasn’t yet found someone else, but he will. Jud? I don’t know. It’s something to do with his upbringing, his childhood, he hasn’t grown up.”
“Do you think I’ve grown up?”
“You’re fine for your age. I know. You don’t tell me everything, but I know. You can tell me things if you want to. But I also know that you are able to find people to help you. I don’t worry about you.”
“What do you mean ‘find people to help me’?”
I was stunned, “You know about Henrietta?”
“Yes. She’s a very intelligent, attractive and mature woman. I think she did a good job.”
My mother didn’t say any more.
When we got home my mother bought me an electric water kettle, a couple of mugs, and a set of towels and soap to have in my room at university.