I found myself drowning in a pair of large green blue eyes.   We were standing in the YMCA on College Street, talking quietly as we waited for the hobby and personal interest courses to break for intermission.  She had dropped in to find out what was on offer.

I had been hired as a “hostess”.  When I applied for the job, they told me they didn’t hire men for the position because they didn’t think men would be interested in doing it. 

When I asked, “Why not?”, they decided to interview me and lo! I got the job.

It was my function to put out the coffee and cookies and to socialize with the participants, make them feel welcome.

So, here I was doing my job with this girl from my college, a year behind me.   I loved it.   I was being paid to get close to a beautiful woman with eyes the colour of the mediterranean and hair that was jet black.

It was a while to intermission and as I continued to talk with her, I learned she was from Montreal and uncertain about her future.   In addition she said she felt somewhat isolated in Toronto; it was hard to make friends.

“I can’t believe that,” I said before I could catch myself.  “You’re so good looking.”  I looked at her figure, so slim, yet still full at the hips.

She smiled and did not take it as a come on.  She simply said, “apparently not everyone thinks so.  Anyway, I am so busy with school, I really have no time and,” she paused and chuckled, “the rules at my dormitory are that when I have a male visitor I have to leave the door open and there must always be three feet on the floor.”

Again without thinking, I asked, “what about the other foot? And does it matter whose it is?”  I tried to imagine how one could get around this rule.  I tried to imagine myself with her on the bed and what position would allow us to be close.

We continued to talk.  I was full of sympathy.  There is something in me that always wants to make things better.   As we talked, our bodies seemed to gravitate towards each other.  Our voices got lower and quieter.  When I breathed in I took in her breath and she inhaled what I breathed out.  At one point I realized I did not know what I was saying but that it did not matter.  She was looking deeply into my eyes as I was looking into hers.  I felt a complete intimacy with her though this was the first time we had talked at length. 

Those eyes had drawn me in so deep I thought I would drown.   I kissed her because it seemed to be the natural continuation of our conversation and I needed to take action before I was completely lost in those pools of blue.

The bell rang and as if woken from a trance we pulled apart suddenly.

I wanted to continue but people soon poured into the room and I was obliged to greet them and to put on a happy face.   I tried desperately to keep her in my field of vision and smiled whenever I caught her glance.

But like two swimmers bobbing in the ocean, we were pulled apart by the waves of people who streamed through.  I got turned around and before I knew it I had been borne to the far end of the room when she walked out the doorway.

I never got her phone number.  It was but a brief touch of mouths and an hour’s conversation in a cocoon of mutual sympathy and longing.  After 35 years I still feel the attraction of those eyes and the potential of those soft lips, the pangs of unexpressed passion.