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and you remember places you have been
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The Iceman Cometh
The screen room was always the coolest place to be on those hot summer nights. Second summer session was always slower, people tried to leave on weekends. I would take my pillow and stretch out just listening to the sounds of night.
Diana had a regular ritual she seemed to enjoy, at least I'd watched her do it three solid weekends. She'd settle in on the chaise lounge of the balcony overlooking the quad. She'd sip on her large cold drink, a too large plaid shirt covering her body. I knew that she liked Carol King. The sound of the Tapestry album wailed through the night, as we both struggled to find a breeze in the stifling summer air.
She would open the shirt, exposing her breasts. Her body was lovely captured in the pale blue glow of the vapor lamps lining Campus Way. Her slender thighs opened to invite the coolness that never seemed to come. Her breasts were gripped by humidity, the summer humidity had to make the beads of sweat hang down just as they trickled from my own forehead not 20 feet away.
I would watch for what seemed forever as she struggled to find comfort and relax from a weary week. Resident advisors who drew duty had no choice but to be around to watch the houses even when campus was nearly deserted.
Diana had a ritual, I remember how shocked I was the first time I saw her pick up the pitcher, pouring a stream of cold water down upon her breasts. I imagined how electrifying that must have been . Carole King would wail "I Feel the Earth Move" as the icy water trickled over Diana's moist, warm skin, splashing across her nipples. I'd watch as it pooled in the bowl that marked her navel before seeping down between her naked legs. I could see the
goosebumps rise upon her flesh as her nipples poked upward toward the night sky.
She'd reach into the partially full pitcher, pulling out a shard of ice. As "So far Away" wafted across the empty quad. Diana found her coolness, the piece of ice was like a wand, as she rubbed it lightly cross her neck. I felt passion stirring in me as she moved the glistening tip across her breasts. From where I sat in darkness I could watch her breathing . I could almost feel the expressions on her face as she worked to beat the heat. She'd
occasionally shift positions in her chair, her hand constantly rolling the shrinking shard of ice across her soft, warm skin. The streaming trails of water mixed with her sweat as it trailed off her body. The sharp edges of the ice slowly rounded off, and the bluesy backgrounds of "Too Late" filled our ears.
In the dark, a small red dot marking the doobie in my mouth was the only clue of my presence. There was no breeze. And that the blackness of the screenroom concealed my sinful spying. I could now hear her moans between the cuts, and the occasional click of an eight track tape searching for the next sounds. With "Home Again" Diana slowly rubbed her ice along her legs, the tip still leaving trails like moist lips. I found myself absorbed in her
movements. I somehow let myself become that wet tip, my moist lips responsible for the chilling shivers this young coed felt on a sultry, summer night.
The album played on, the effects of my smoke took hold, Diana's ice which she'd first grasped in her palm was now like the last remnants of a pencil. I watched as she delicately held the dripping morsel between her thumb and her index finger. Her eyes closed tightly as she made one last swoop downward from her raised knees. She shivered and gasped deeply, her hands were shaking, and then still. A saxophone echoed now as Carole King belted out a
chorus.
I stared captivated by her movements aroused as Diana settled back on the chaise, her empty hands relaxed to signal her coolness. I thought with amusement of how for her the iceman cometh, but for me the summer night was even hotter than before.
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