A Taste Of Candy

The athletic department party was a tradition at the State University since 1950. As usual, it was held in the large dining commons near the dormitories at the edge of campus and all team members were supposed to attend. Even players from minor sports like archery, fencing, field hockey and water polo were expected to make an appearance. At the college, tradition was followed almost as closely as law and a twenty-five-year-old tradition was virtually unquestioned.

The party had barely started, but Bill was already bored and ready to make an escape when he spotted her. The first thing Bill noticed was her red hair. It was a mane of bright golden-orange that hung down to the middle of her shoulder blades in fine waves. A color that was so intense that it could almost be called day-glow. It was attention-getting even from across the crowded room. She was a solidly built woman, what most would call pleasantly plump or even chubby, a couple inches shorter than Bill's trim 5 foot 9. Her pale, creamy complexion was set off by a full set of freckles, captivatingly full hot pink lips and her blue eyes were partly hidden behind wire-rim glasses that perched on her pert nose. Her clothing was a dark, loose top and nondescript baggy pants, as if she were trying to conceal her voluptuous body. Bill couldn't keep his eyes off her. He found this odd because he usually wasn't attracted to women of this type, but there was something about this one that silently called to him. He moved closer.

She was talking with two other women who couldn't keep their hands off each other. Nothing overtly sexual, causal hand-holding or touching each other on the arm or waist and such, but it was clear that they were an item. Bill wondered about the redhead, noticing that she didn't participate in the touching. He was relived to see her give an appreciative once-over to a jock that had peeled out of his shirt to show off his muscles.

Bill eased even closer, moving in his catlike fencer's way, and hoped for a chance to eavesdrop on their conversation. He tried to look casual, leaning against the wall of the commons and sipping his plain iced tea. He managed to catch some of their banter, enough to tell that they were discussing some sort of existential philosophy and even making obscure jokes about it. He tried to hear more, but a classmate of his nearly stumbled into him.

"Hey, Bill." Jeff smelled of beer and was already unsteady on his feet. "Check out the scenery walking around here. Plenty of opportunity to meet a foxy babe."

Jeff took another swig of his bottle and glanced around, spotting the nearby redhead and her friends.

"Here's some foxy babes now." Jeff closed the distance to the trio and tried to introduce himself. "Hey, babes, want to meet a water polo star?"

"Just what we need, a waterlogged ball of gas." The redhead retorted.

Bill tried to intervene. "Look, don't mind him, he's had few too many..."

"That won't excuse him." This was from one of the redhead's friends. Jeff tried to put his arm around her, but found it firmly removed. "Hey, we're having a private conversation here."

Jeff wasn't so easily rebuffed. He turned back to the redhead. "You've got great tits, wanna dance?"

Bill tried to distract Jeff and elbowed him in the ribs, maybe a little harder than necessary. "Hey Jeff, that brunette has been giving you the eye."

"Huh? Which one?"

"The one over there in the cheerleader's uniform." Bill waved his hand vaguely at an undefined location across the room.

"That's great, man." Jeff staggered off in the general direction of the cheerleaders.

"He's not stupid, he does vector calculus in his head, he just doesn't have any idea about how social interactions work." Bill tried to explain.

"I guess the joke's on him, there's only blond cheerleaders." The redhead observed.

"That should come as a shock to the Afro-American and Asian cheerleaders."

"Blond is not a hair color, blond is an attitude. Didn't you know that? So are you a waterlogged polo star, too?" The redhead teased.

"No, fencing team. We came in third in the regionals last week. That would have made news if anyone ever paid attention to minor sports."

"Ah fencing. So, are you known for your very quick thrusts?" She had a wicked smile on her face.

"It's not just speed that counts, it's also accuracy. A good thrust has to get to just the right spot." He grinned right back, feeling like he was fencing verbally with the redheaded beauty.

"Just remember that quicker isn't always better."

"But in a fencing match, it's the last man left standing that wins." Bill put a little extra emphasis on the word "standing." The two other women, growing tired of the puns, wandered off.

"Aren't your... implements really skinny, little flexible things?"

"Mine are very stiff and just the right size for the job. 'Tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide a church door, but twill do." Bill quoted.

"Oh, no fair quoting Shakespeare." She chuckled. "And from a play about tragic lovers, too."

"Not all lovers wind up as tragic." He answered and stuck out his hand. "My name's Bill."

She took his hand in a very firm grip. "Does anyone ever call you William?"

"That would be strange, since that's not my name."

"Well, what is your name?" She still didn't let go of his hand.

"Uh," Bill rolled his eyes and played uncertain for a moment, then gave in. "Okay, my real name is Bartholomew. It's too long to use in conversation and I really don't like to be called Bart. Sounds like an old-time cattle rustler or something."

"Why would someone who does sword fighting as a hobby be concerned about appearing old-fashioned?" She asked with fake innocence.

Bill opened his mouth to make a sarcastic reply, but all that came out was "uh... uh..." He hadn't thought of fencing that way before. The redhead seemed to take delight in his discomfort and let him stammer for a moment before speaking again.

"Okay, Bill it is then. Call me Candy." She gave his hand one more shake, then let go.

"Candy? For real or is it short for something else?" Bill found himself missing the firm warmth of her grip.

"I'd rather not say." She looked away.

"Oh, c'mon, I told you mine, now you tell me yours." Bill was curious now.

"It's Euphonia." She didn't even look at him when she said her name. "But only my mother ever called me that. Even Daddy called me Candy."

"I'll forgo the obvious puns about Candy, but Euphonia is a nice name, very musical."

"You just couldn't resist a pun, could you." She laughed and it was musical.

"Never." Bill practically had to shout the word into her ear because the music had suddenly been cranked up all the way. It was disco. "Why don't we go somewhere where we can actually hear each other?"

"Let me guess, your place?" She asked suspiciously, shouting her answer over the music.

"No, how about the coffee shop across the street?"

"Okay." Once out of the din, she resumed the conversation as they crossed the street. "Why not your place?"

Bill cast his eyes down, sheepish. "Because I still live at home with my parents. Isn't that terrible? I stay there because it's close by the college and a lot cheaper than campus housing or an apartment."

She found some amusement at his discomfort. "I guess your water polo friend isn't the only socially awkward one."

"I'll try harder next time."

They sat down in one of the booths, facing each other. Bill ordered tea for himself and was somehow relieved when she also ordered tea instead of coffee.

"So, Candy, what's your sport?"

It was her turn to look sheepish. "Uh, promise not to laugh?"

"I promise."

"Weightlifting."

"That explains your handshake." Bill flexed his hand and tried not to think of any naughty weightlifting puns. "So what can I say to you?"

"Huh?" Candy looked confused by the sudden change in subject.

"What can I say to a woman who's unsure of her own beauty? How can I catch her eye and attract her attention? What do I have to do? Something outrageous?"

"No, just don't be a jerk. Like your friend Jeff."

"You mean be a 'nice guy' is that it?" Bill let some of his frustration out. "Well I've been ignored my entire life by being a 'nice guy' it doesn't get me noticed. You didn't notice me until after I butted into your conversation, chased Jeff away and started making horrid puns." Bill was on a rant. "Why is it women always say they want a 'nice guy' but always date jerks? For a long time I would always be the shoulder to cry on, I'd always hear from a girl how they were mistreated. But the next day they always wound up back with the jerks that they were complaining about. A 'nice guy' doesn't get a break."

"I could have handled Jeff without your help." Candy said in a huff, a bit annoyed at Bill's tirade. "And most of the girls I know are looking for a 'nice guy' but can't ever find one that doesn't turn out to be a jerk in disguise."

"But it was easier to get rid of Jeff my way. 'Path of least resistance,' as we electrical engineering majors say. Look, I'll try not to be a jerk, I don't want to be a jerk to you, but let me know if I slip up." He tried his best to look sincere.

Candy's attitude thawed just a tiny bit. "Electrical engineering, hmm. I'm majoring in math."

"So that's why you didn't ask me what vector calculus was." It was Bill's turn to be impressed. He sipped at his tea to buy some time. "You never told me what I can say to get the attention of a beautiful redhead."

"Getting my attention is easy, just be there and not a jerk. To keep my attention you'll have to prove that you're not a jerk." She propped her elbow on the table and leaned her head on her fist. "The best thing to do is to not go too fast. I've been hit on by too many jerks that think I'm easy because of my weight. They think I'm desperate for a man and that I'll jump on any male that comes along."

"I'm not sure that most guys think that, but please go on."

"Look at me, I'm fat. Guys look at me and see a fat girl. Who wants to be seen with a fat girl? Especially what jock wants to be seen with a fat girl." She blew air through her pursed lips in exasperation. "Fat girls aren't fashionable. Guys only want fat girls for a one-night stand. I want some commitment."

For a brief moment, Bill imagined kissing those pursed lips.

"Candy, I can't offer you eternal commitment right now, but I would really like to take the time to get to know you better. I don't know if we're right for each other, after all we just met. As for eternity, I could walk out of here and be hit by a car, so much for promises of forever. And promises are just words anyway, what can I actually do to prove sincerity?"

"I don't know, Bill, but you're smart, I'm sure you'll think of something." Candy's sarcasm was back.

"Okay, how's this? I'll get a tattoo over a part of my body that says 'Property of Candy' will that be enough?" Bill's grin was wicked and he made a suggestive gesture that ended below the level of the table.

She grinned, too. "But nobody will see it unless you drop your pants."

"Pants? Why pants? I was thinking of getting that tattooed over my heart. Which of my body parts were you thinking of, you naughty girl?"

Candy laughed heartily at that. "You got me with that one."

"I love hearing you laugh and the fact that you do laugh at my stupid attempts at humor. That means a lot to me."

"Why did you come over to me at the party? Were you just dragged by your friend? There were plenty of pretty girls there, why me?"

"Because none of the rest of them were fiery redheads passionately discussing existentialism. Jeff just happened to be headed in your direction and I got caught in his wake. By the way, I just know him from class, we're not friends."

"You overheard that?" She asked.

"Yeah," Bill was embarrassed, "I was blatantly eavesdropping before Jeff got there. You caught my interest."

"Pick up on the poor, lonely fat girl? Is that it?"

"Your weight doesn't matter." Bill thumped the table with his palm in emphasis. "Not to me and I don't think that it matters to you, either. No, what attracted me was your joie de vivre, you look like you enjoy life and being plump is just a side effect. It proves you take big bites of life."

"That's a lot to deduce from a few pounds overweight. Why not some other girl, one that's prettier?" Candy still persisted in her questioning.

"I didn't figure out your personality from your weight, it was also the fact that you understood a rather esoteric subject enough to make obscure jokes about it, and laugh at someone else's arcane humor. That's what attracted me." He stared into his tea mug for a moment. "Okay, I'll tell my dark family secrets here. I really don't trust women who rely too much on their looks, and I blame it on my older sister."

"Now this is interesting, tell me more."

"I've watched my older sister get by on her looks for the last 20 years. I've seen how she manipulates guys and how she pits one against the other to get what she wants. She's gone through three husbands already and is probably sighting in on a fourth."

"So you want a plain-Jane, an ugly girl like me." The corners of her mouth twisted down.

"Damn it Candy, you're not ugly." He quickly corrected her. "You'd know that if you honestly looked in a mirror sometime. No, I want a woman whose beauty isn't just on the surface; I want one whose beauty shines out from deep inside. I don't want a pretty girl; I want a woman. A woman who's real, who's truly beautiful. I want a woman like you, Candy. You don't know how beautiful you really are, inside and out."

She just sat there with her mouth open, unable to think of a reply that wasn't cruel or trite. She hadn't realized just how much this stranger touched her deep inside. At that moment, she wanted to reach across the table and take his hands reassuringly into hers or to hold him close and let his mustache tickle her skin. She resisted her urges and calmed herself, keeping her emotions from showing. She still couldn't bring herself to trust him completely, despite her attraction. She realized that he was still speaking.

"But I promised to tell you what guys think when they look at you." He continued, not noticing the turmoil inside her.

"I already know, they see a fat girl."

He shook his head. "Most guys won't look at you and just see a heavy woman, no, no, guys minds are much simpler than that. Remember that a guy thinks about sex first, then about anything else."

"So what do they see when they look at me?" She batted her eyelashes at Bill.

"The first thing they'll notice is that fiery mane of hair. They'll remember that redheads are supposed to be insatiable in bed. Then they'll wonder if your, uh... other hair is the same amazing color." He made his meaning clear with an obvious downward glance.

That coaxed a smile to her lips. "Keep going, what next?"

"The next thing is your skin."

"Oh no, not that." Candy rolled her eyes.

"Yes, that. They'll imagine how soft it is to the touch, how kissable it is and of course they'll want to see if your freckles go all the way down."

"Watch it, I never liked my freckles." She feigned anger, then smiled again.

"That's a pity, they enhance your beauty." Bill grinned at her.

"What else, you silver-tongued devil?"

"The next thing is your lips. A guy will want to know how soft they are and how they taste. And then there's the color. A guy will assume that your nipples are the same spectacular shade of hot pink as your lips."

"Hmm, I'll just keep the suspense going indefinitely on that."

"The last things they'll dare to look at are your eyes. Not because they won't want to look into your eyes, it's because a guy will be afraid that he'll get lost in those mirrors of infinity, as boundless as the sky on a spring morning."

Candy stifled her surprised gasp, then used her usual tactic of sarcasm to hide her tumultuous emotions. "That's good, have you been saving that line or do you use it on every girl with blue eyes?"

"Actually I just thought of it. I'll credit my poetry to the intensity of your inspiration. You are my muse."

"And we haven't even kissed yet." Candy observed, citing the old saying. "Okay, what about that old turkey 'but you have such a pretty face' care to translate that one?"

Bill thought a moment before replying. "Guys say that for two reasons. First, to prove that we actually look at your lovely face and not just your sexy body; and second, it's usually the only inoffensive thing we can think of when what we really want to say is this: 'Can I bury my face in your generous cleavage?' For some reason women get upset when we say that."

"I can't imagine why." She said dryly and drained the last of her tea. She glanced at her watch. Bill noticed the gesture.

"It's getting late and you probably have a million other things to do. I can see that I haven't impressed you despite my best effort." He paused, not even conscious of the small sigh that escaped his lips. "Do you want dropped off anywhere?"

Candy noticed Bill's defeated attitude: the little sigh he gave between sentences, the drop of his shoulders and the hang of his head. Yet again he had touched her emotions, setting them spinning, confusing her. By now she wasn't sure what she wanted Bill to do, she only knew that she wanted to keep seeing him. By force of long habit she still kept her emotions from showing on her face.

"My place isn't that far away, just down the street about six or seven blocks." She also tried to keep her emotions out of her voice as she gave directions.

They walked back across the street to Bill's junky looking car without touching. Once the car started rolling, Candy began speaking without looking at Bill. Her eyes remained fixed in the distance. Her words tumbled out in a stream as if she had to say them quickly before they would jam up and clog her throat.

"Look, I'm going to be serious here. This isn't easy for me, please bear with me." She took a deep breath before going on. "I've had bad luck with guys before. Ha! In fact, bad luck is all I've had. So it's hard for me to get very close to anyone. I've learned over the past couple of years to build up all these barriers so I never get hurt. I already have too many emotional scars from the jerks and jackasses who tried to take advantage of me. You wouldn't believe some of the stuff I've had to put up with. So, please understand if I don't respond to you sometimes." Candy briefly glanced sideways at Bill, then back out the windshield. "It's difficult for me to say, but I don't want to stop seeing you. Damn it Bill, I really like you and I want to go on seeing you."

"I want to keep seeing you, too. I want to keep exploring your dry wit and love of life and someday I want to stick my face in your cleavage. Somehow I feel that I can tell you anything, anything at all. But if you just want to say good night right now, I can come back tomorrow or some other day. I've poured my heart out to you tonight. That's a lot to absorb all at once, you take as long as you need to sort things out and decide what you think of me."

Bill pulled over to the curb in front of the apartment building that Candy had pointed out. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her deeply. He wanted to go on kissing her for as long as possible, but he didn't want to scare her away. This plump, smart, sexy redhead had suddenly become the most important thing in his life and he didn't want to risk losing her. Instead of reaching for her he let his hands drop off the wheel into his lap.

"We don't even have to have a good night kiss. I can wait for you Candy. Whether you know it or not, you're worth it."

"That's what I was afraid of, no I don't want you to just sit and wait. Look, Bill, you'll have to keep working gently on me. Keep doing what you've been doing. You've made a really good impression tonight; you've really reached me. I appreciate that you like me foremost for my mind not just for sex. That's really important to me. And you've made me feel beautiful and sexy and desirable, without even a touch. No one's ever done that to me before. But this is just a first step. You'll have to be patient and gentle and persistent with me all at once. It'll take time to break down all the barriers I've made. I'm sorry if I might seem really distant sometimes, but please don't let up. I need you to... mmm..."