Coitus Interruptus

Thursday night

I was in my early 20s again, and my friend Polly and I were at the beginning of a torrid romance. We had gone back to an apartment or townhouse that I shared with other people, but apparently couldn't wait to get to my room; we chose the first room that was available. Things were going well; she was smitten; she was willing; I was at my most suave and debonair. We kissed, as she backed up toward a long table. She suggested that we could get together there; she'd never done it on a table before. I was game, but first I had to close a large wooden sliding door that separated our room from onlookers in other parts of the house. I tried to slide the door over several times, but couldn't get it to latch; it kept bouncing back. This was not helping the overall mood that had been created up till that moment. Finally, Polly had had enough, and got up off the table to take charge. She picked up the wall phone and called the super, saying in a strong voice, "I need somebody to come up here and fix this thing."

*****

Polly is a dear old friend from high school days. She and I never dated or "got it together," although, interestingly enough, she did accompany my twin brother to the high school prom. She just re-joined an e-mail list serv that I share with my brothers and several good friends.

This dream has the makings of a pretty good sexual farce. All that's missing is a sarcastic old-timer, who might comment, "Can't get the ol' deadbolt in the lock, eh?"