Not much, grab it and go

"Ha ha. Tour the campus." Ellen snorts delicately at you. "Is there anything we need before we run over to Miz Lewis's place?"

Ellen's hand is warm in yours. You squeeze it and smile back at her.

You say, "Um, if we end up staying over? I guess you'll want a change. And maybe we want to bring some food over and something to drink. And, mm, make sure we have supplies, y'know."

Ellen laughs. "Like rubbers? And lube?"

"Mm, yeah," you say.

"Miz Lewis gave me a bunch," Ellen says. "And a couple of different kinds of lube, extra slippery, you know, if I have trouble." She pauses. "Part of the reason I wanna get going is, um, if it takes all afternoon to get me relaxed."

"Oh, right," you say.

The nurse from Widley's Margaret Sanger clinic had gone above and beyond the call, not merely doing her regular sexual health duties, but offering her own place for you and Ellen to do the deed. If you can, that is. You recall the educational literature on the vaginal spasms Ellen has been having. One of the pictures showed a penis bending sharply, unable to enter a tightly spasming vagina. Ouch.

"Should we take towels, too?" you ask. Baths and showers can be pretty relaxing.

"Yeah, I'll snitch a couple from the dorm bathroom," Ellen says.

"I actually brought one," you say.

Ellen smiles. "Just, um, in case, I'll bring some white towels we can bleach."

"Oh," you say. "Right."

"So I guess we should head for my dorm," she says. "And your car is parked there too."

The two of you work your way across the ivy-walled courtyards of Widley College to Ellen's dorm.

"I'll leave a note for Amy, you know, in case we stay past 6:30," Ellen says. She runs upstairs to get her stuff.

You go to your car and sort out stuff you might want for an afternoon in and out of bed, packing it into a single bag.

Ellen comes out of her dorm, swinging a small laundry bag. "So this is your car, huh Scott?"

"It's paid for," you say. "Good mileage, which helps since Widley's so far from State. At least I'm hoping it'll help."

Ellen laughs. "Depends on how we do on the upcoming practical exam, I guess," she says.

You laugh. "You hungry or anything?"

"There's a juice bar with a drive-through," Ellen says. "Let's pick up a couple of smoothies or something. Pineapple juice for you, Scotty." She pokes you.

"Um, I thought we weren't, uh, fluid bonded," you say.

"It'll do you good anyway," she says.

You drive Ellen into town, where you get some fruit smoothies and light snacks.

"You got her address there?" you ask Ellen, who's acting as navigator.

"Sure, left at the light, and then the second right."

The turns take you into a lane in the deep shade of thick trees.

"Left here," Ellen navigates.

You turn into a driveway marked by a nylon-sailed decorative windmill, and go up another short lane to the house. Dinah Lewis's place looks like an old farmhouse that sprouted a geodesic dome and a boxy cedar closet some time in the nineteen seventies, and has been slapped with brightly colored paint now and then but hasn't been kept in the best shape since then. Funky but livable.

"Okay, she has 878A, the left side," Ellen says.

"Oh, I guess the place looked kinda big for just one person," you say. "Wonder who has the other side?"

"Dunno," Ellen says. "Wow, some place."

You park a little off to the side, since you're expecting Dinah might be back around 6:30, if you're still there. You and Ellen grab your stuff and walk up to the side door marked 878A. On the door is a round placard painted in a bold, luminous style with the image of a dark-skinned nude woman bathing in a flower-strewn pool with a golden kerchief on her head.

"Huh," you say, struck by the image.

"I think it's supposed to be Oshun, the voodoo goddess," Ellen says. She fishes out Dinah Lewis's spare key and unlocks the door.