Last of the extra men in my life before I got together with Philip.

Bob - September 1966 - aged 22

Part 1

Newly appointed tutor in Nutrition and Diet Therapy at Evanston Hospital, I spent the first month living in nurses’ quarters, until I found an apartment to rent. And I had all my meals in the hospital canteen. The first night I was there I met Bob. He was the hospital paperboy.

There was nothing boyish about Bob. He was in his mid-twenties, medium height, medium build, sandy hair, and a loveable friendly expression on his face. He was working his way through Northwestern University by selling papers at the hospital. He started chatting with me over dinner and I really liked him. “Boy, that was quick,” I thought. Talk about getting lucky straight away. He asked me after dinner if I would like to go to his flat. “Of course,” I said, “Yes, I really would.”

He lived towards the bottom of Evanston where it joins the main city of Chicago. We went on the “El” the elevated train that connects Chicago with all the northern suburbs. He apologised for the state of his apartment, which seemed no more untidy than I would have expected. He said he had nothing to eat or drink in the place at all. There was no tv. I began to wonder what exactly it was that I had been invited for. It didn’t take long to find out.

I remember I was wearing a blue print dress with lots of tiny buttons down the front. As soon as we sat down, he began unbuttoning them. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t even know you. I don’t want to go to bed with you.”

“That’s what you came for isn’t it?”

“I thought you liked me and wanted to know me better.”

“Well, I thought you wanted to have it off, and the quicker the better. That was the look you were giving me all through supper.”

“I never did. I was just looking interested and friendly.”

“Well, now you know. So what do you want to do about it? I don’t mess about with just kissing. My regular girlfriend is away at the moment, so if you don’t want to have sex, I’ll take you home.”

“I can’t believe you. Is it all so casual to you, that you don’t even want to know who I am or anything about me before you have sex with me?”

“Oh, dear. I expect you are a virgin too. I should have found that out before I brought you here. Virgins are such a lot of work.”

“Please could you take me home.”

“Sure, I just have to do something in the bathroom first. Don’t come in, will you?”

“As if I would.”

So he took me home on the El, walked me back to the nurses’ home and we parted.

Part 2

It was about a week later and again I was sitting at Bob’s table having supper.
“Do you fancy coming back to my apartment again?”

I must admit I was surprised, but decided that maybe he had reconsidered and wanted another chance. “Okay.”

Then the story is repeated in almost the exact same way. Still no food or drink in the apartment. Still nothing to do but have sex.

“What is the matter with you?” he said when I repulsed his advances? “You knew exactly what you were getting in for this time. I decided that it would be worthwhile for me to initiate you after all, so I thought I’d give you a second chance.”

“I thought you had listened to what I said before, and wanted to get to know me anyway, without the sex,” I said.

“Well, we’ll both know better next time,” he said angrily, and he went into the bathroom to make himself happier.

The next time I spoke to Bob I was collecting my severance pay, and so was he. He had finished with his University course so no longer needed the extra money. It was 18 months since I had met him and I was 8 ½ months pregnant. “I see you found out how to do it,” he said.

The other Al - October 1966

Now established in our apartment in Evanston, my roommate Marcie and I were both keen to get involved with men. We had met a couple of nice Englishmen, but despite our best efforts, they seemed quite happy to ignore us. So when the invitation came to go to a party at one of Marcie’s friends’ houses, we were very keen.

Having accepted that invitation, it was a great disappointment that we had to turn down a late invitation to the English men’s party - but it was on the same day - so we didn’t feel we had a choice.

I must admit that my memories of that night are pretty fuddled. I know that I drank an awful lot. I know that we all went off to some bar, and I lost my checkbook in a taxi - getting there or getting back. (I knew it was missing, but it was only after the bank told me it had been turned in by a taxi driver, did I put two and two together.) I know that it was morning before we went home again. I know that Marcie was disgusted with me. I know it all had to do with a man, who I think was pretty wonderful, who was called Al, with whom I seemed to have spent most of the night on the sofa.

I know that all in all, it was a very positive experience, and Al, having chosen me over a roomful of women, added enormously to my self-confidence and self awareness. I remember that he was a student at Notre Dame, and that he was off at that time because he was recovering from mono.

When the next day arrived, and my head was more or less back to normal, I felt the need to go to confession.  “Are you going to marry this man?” asked the priest.

“No,” I said firmly, making myself feel even guiltier. I didn’t even know his last name.

I never saw him again but he did leave me with something to remember him by. No, it wasn’t a baby. It was glandular fever, or mononucleosis as it is called in the States.