It didn’t take me long to realize I had no money to pay the cab. I had only one number stored which could offer me any help, and that was Yossi’s. As the cab pulled up he finally picked up the phone, and Yossi finally calmed me down enough to give me his address. That’s all the jerk of a driver wanted to know, not if I was OK or whether to notify the police.
Yossi was waiting outside to pay the driver. He was shocked at my appearance and nearly as upset as I was. He insisted I come upstairs to clean off my knee and make sure my wrist wasn’t sprained. He was concerned only for me, I was glad to see, not caring how it looked to his neighbors.
When I came out of the bathroom Yossi was standing in the hall. “Oh Lexie, I was so worried,” he said. He pulled me against him in a hug. I felt his bone and muscles straining against my own softer body, then threw my arm around his neck and pulled his face against mine in our first kiss. We stood there kissing for some minutes. We managed to exchange only two complete sentences: “My roommate’s not coming home until Monday,” and “I’m still on the Pill,” before taking off our clothes and embracing naked on his bed.
Over that night and the following day we threw ourselves into many different varieties of sexual experience. I won’t go over them in any detail, for if you’re old enough to read this you almost certainly have done them all yourself. Your imagination is probably better than my memory. Yossi and I had read enough erotic literature and watched enough porn that the mechanics of sex presented no real challenge. Like the Mercury astronauts who trained so thoroughly on simulators, we found the actual mission almost routine.
Our conversation boiled down to one thing repeated over and over: we loved each other very much. We understood this was the absolute end of our relationship, that the slightest contact would send us straight back into bed. We made a deal: I’d invite him to my wedding, he would invite me to his, and that would be the final end to our acquaintance. It never even occurred to us either might have trouble finding a mate.
Afterwards I went about my life with a feeling of fulfilment and peace. My conscience was clear. I wasn’t about to embroider my clothing with a scarlet “F”. I missed Yossi, but only because I wished he were there to be happy for me. I started dating a variety of guys, sometimes kissing or even more, but never having sex. I’d scratched that itch quite thoroughly, and I knew it couldn’t possibly be as wonderful until once more I knew I was in love.
Two years later I got an invitation to Yossi’s wedding. I had never been to a Jewish wedding, and there’s a great deal I could say about it, but not right now. There was so much for me to absorb I didn’t have time to worry about what I’d say to Yossi and his bride. I noted that he’d invited two other non-Jewish Columbia students, who didn’t think they knew him all that well. Were they just camouflage for my presence?
I felt a touch on my shoulder, turned around and saw Yossi’s bride. She took my hand, directing me out of my chair, and hugged me hard. “Thank you” was all she had to say. Since then I have met someone very special and think I once more may be in love. He says I’ll probably marry him just so I can see Yossi one last time. Whatever happens won’t be a tragic ending for the Jewish Tristan and the Chinese Isolde.