Sex with John Nash.  Has that sentence captivated your attention?  C'mon, I know there must be a few of you out there imagining what it would be like with the usually reticent academic who when he's in the mood for some horizontal action mutates into quite a different creature who often gets his face slapped when he turns on the charm.

However, on this particular evening in question whereby the opportunity arose, I had no attention of getting physically violent with the professor...just physical.

The night of the wedding we hurried back to his apartment, anxious, agitated and amorous.

His residence wasn't the apparent shock to my system that I thought it would be.  I had assumed it would be typically messy and untastefully decorated as befitting an absent-minded bachelor.  It was neither of these.

It was neat and tidy, but that was simply because there wasn't a whole lot there to clutter it up.  John's home was quite barren of furnishings and ornamentation other than those that had a specific utilitarian purpose.

While he was in the bathroom, I snooped around.  The living room contained only a tall lamp stand, a plaid and plump couch, one easy chair covered by butt-ugly green upholstery and a table whose top was pitted and scarred with scratches and grooves.  It was obviously a second-hand or garage sale purchase.

What, they not paying you enough John to teach and whatever else it is that you do at Patten & Cooper Corporation?  I had always been curious about how upper-class John's upbringing had been.  I know he made it to Princeton on a scholarship.  I had the feeling that he or his family wouldn't have been able to afford such an Ivy League education otherwise.

I continued my exploration.  There was no television and no stereo system.  What did John do for entertainment?  He had a tiny eat-in kitchenette which didn't allow for sitting down over a meal.  He probably ate in the living room or maybe he dined out, ordered in or went to the pub for repasts.

His bedroom, the largest room, had the most stuff crammed into it.  It was literally stacked with textbooks and journals piled all over the floor almost to the ceiling.  There was a make-shift desk with his computer on it and tons of paper strewn about.

As my eyes did a 360, I saw that little scraps of paper were taped up everywhere-on his mirror, on his bureau, on the walls and even on his window.  Had the man never discovered the wonder of post-it notes?  I couldn't make head or tails of the illegible scrawls.  He had atrocious handwriting.  No formulas were etched in glass.  He must be saving that particular eccentricity for later in his life.

Finally, I got around to the double bed; sat on it, actually bounced up and down a few times to see how the springs would hold up under strain.  Oh yes, the direction of my mind was definitely down in the gutter.

But I didn't want John to catch me in the act of being nosy, so I went back to the living room and plunked down on the couch which nearly swallowed me up in its retro overly-softness.

He met me there and being the gracious host that he is did not offer me so much as a lone glass of water which would have been really nice as my lips were dry due to nerves.

Sitting in the chair, he hunched forward looking ill at ease.

For fuck's sake!  I was with yet another man where I would have to take the lead in this nocturnal operation.  With Jeffrey, especially at the beginning, I was the one who often instigated the sexual dance.  Primarily, this was because he was unsure of how fast and how rough I wanted things.  Once he discovered, he became better at taking charge more often but he still lacked the animal aggression I favored and craved at times.  I'll be candid; the wilder the sex, the better for me.  In all honesty, I truly believe that Jeffrey was scared to let loose something that he deemed better to be leashed in.

With John, I was positive he had the necessary drive and moves, but he was not a hundred percent sure that I was for real and wanted to do this and with him of all people.

Patience isn't one of my virtues and I don't do coy so I leapt up from the couch and jumped into his lap.  

"So Professor, want to play a game of slap and tickle with your favorite secret admirer?"

I most certainly caught him off-guard by my boldness, but he recovered quite quickly.

His hands went under my legs and tugged me in closer.  His arms then wrapped around my waist.  His breathing deepened and steadily became labored.

In his husky southern drawl, he spoke at last.  "This is one pastime that I thoroughly relish and I'm quite proficient in, Karen.  You are sure that you wish to engage in such an escapade with me?"

He has such a funny way with words but what would sound ludicrous, corny and over the top coming out of anyone else's mouth sounds just perfectly appropriate from his lips.

He patted me slightly on the rear while he waited for my answer.

"I've never been surer of anything, John."

As I said my response, I suddenly became aware of the lack of ambience in the room.  There were no scented candles cutting the harsh glare from the light fixture in the ceiling.  There was no slow, soft and romantic music playing in the background.  There were no satin sheets on his bed.  We weren't even drinking wine to decrease our nervousness.

None of these things matter in the long run when you're both yearning to start the lovemaking.  But as I sat there, curled up on him, fully eager for the activities to begin, I wanted everything to be special this night.  After all, this was our first time, and the memory of it should be unforgettable.  Who knew if a second chance would ever present itself again for us?

So I reluctantly squirmed out of his hold, stood up and went to fetch my purse.  He didn't say anything but I knew he was speculating on what I was up to.  Had I changed my mind?  Was I just going to walk out on him?

I rummaged around in my huge bag until I withdrew my MP3 player.  Pressing the buttons at lightening speed, I selected a song and turned up the volume.

Tim McGraw and Faith Hill started to croon out one of my favorite love songs.

Baby I've been drifting away
I've been dreaming all day
Of holding you, touching you
The only thing I wanna do
Is be with you, as close to you
As I can be

Then I tiptoed over to his window and closed the drapes.  I turned on his lamp and turned off the light.

Let's make love
All night long
Until all of our strength is gone
Hold on tight, just let go
I wanna feel you in my soul
Until the sun comes up
Let's make love

The beam from the lamp was still far too bright so I dug under my coat until I found my red scarf and covered the shade until a warm glow only was emitting.

Do you know what you do to me?
Everything inside of me
Is wanting you, needing you
I'm so in love with you
Look in my eyes
Let's get lost tonight
In each other

As I stood there guessing what else I could do to accomplish the milieu, he snuck up behind me, turned me around and commanded familiar words that I had used on him earlier, "Dance with me."

I went all mushy inside as I obeyed and pressed my body intimately against his.  I at long last placed my head on his shoulder, and the two of us barely swayed to the light pulse of the music.

Let's make love
All night long
Until all of our strength is gone
Hold on tight, just let go
I wanna feel you in my soul
Until the sun comes up
Let's make love

When I made my escape to choose the next song, I saw something in his eyes change.  By the time I had returned to his arms the brooding calculating look that normally shone out to sum up and pierce all invaders of his solitude had vanished.  I was bewitched by what I beheld. 

There was an easiness and warmth as if all at once his whole body had become light.  The heavy burden of being John Nash-a phenomenal mental giant, a notoriously withdrawn introvert, an unbalanced, deranged psychotic-was being lessened and assuaged.

Is it any wonder at all that this man constantly pursued women for this kind of relief that only they could provide for him?

It was all made so crystal clear in an instant to me.  John is by nature reserved and detached.  It's a part of his core personality.  Now if you add to that a debilitating illness where the primary traits include a withdrawal from family and friends where victims may become easily confused, have trouble concentrating, feel listless and apathetic and prefer to spend most of their days alone, you will find a man frequently on the verge of complete social breakdown.

In order to preserve any source of well-being and linkage to the human race, he reaches out in the only way that he can relate.  Sexual intercourse and the lead-up to it offers him respite and the remission from his remoteness and madness.  But because he lacks the social skills or tools to finesse the process of finding a woman, he often blunders and this is when his target for the evening hauls off and whacks him one.

His need then is often not sated; he feels mocked by prospective conquests leaving him even more frustrated and disenchanted with people in general.  How so very sad.

I stopped our dance and placed my hands on either side of his face and drew it down to mine.

"John, I want to be with you more than anything this night.  There is only you and me.  Let's forget the rest of the world and be just a man and a woman who desire each other."

He didn't reply, just used his hands to pry away my own.  Then he reached up to release my hair that I had pulled into a French knot on the top of my head.  As the hair cascaded around my shoulders and down my back, he ran his fingers through it and brought tendrils of it up to his nose to breath in its fragrance.  All of his senses seemed to be engaged in trying to discern the depth of me.

I waited in anticipation for his first caress.  Would he fondle, stroke, kiss or nibble as his opening gambit? 

With his two forefingers, he ever so tenderly outlined my lips, tracing the contours of them.

"Your mouth has a beautiful shape to it," he murmured.  "I wonder if it's as inviting as it holds promise to be."

Not moving so much as an inch, I whispered back, "Come inside and see.  The invitation has already been proffered."

Looking deeply into my eyes, he tilted my chin and pressed his mouth against my forehead, just the barest touch.

I whimpered at his restraint, at the way he effortlessly could tease and torment me.

"Your skin is alabaster white and so supple and smooth."

He then moved his lips down to my cheek and then down further again until they reached my own.

They did not demand entry.

I opened my mouth to engulf his marveling at the heat his lips radiated.  I suckled his upper one wanting to draw it in and taste its burning ember.

As we were almost as close as two people can be, I felt it when I awakened a stirring within him that he could not hide or resist anymore.

When his tongue ultimately thrust in, mine was there to meet it, to duel back in sensual motion and to prod beyond for some intense inspection.

The kissing was deeply erotic, highly carnal and extensively gratifying.

I backed up in the direction of his couch, and neither of us broke our hold.

As I fell down onto it, he covered me with his body.  I started to tear at the buttons of his shirt.  He began to roll up my t-shirt that I changed into from my formal dress before leaving the reception.  Soon we were both naked from the waist up.

He has such a broad chest and shoulders and tremendous biceps.  It was a turn-on to be with a man who was strong enough to just toss you over his shoulder as if you weighed nothing and cart you off to the bedroom like the proverbial Neanderthal.  When did he find time to work out?  Did he even work out?  My musings were arrested.

What happened next was perplexing to me.  As if he only then realized what he was about to do and with whom, he broke away.

"John?"  There was a plain question mark in my tone and eyes.  Why was he wavering?

"Are you sure about this?"

That's twice he had asked in so many words in so many minutes if I was willing and ready to take the next irreversible step.  I saw the doubt in his eyes and felt the uncertainty in the sudden stiffness of his limbs.

Almost as if I was seeing too much, he made a random comment about protection.  It was out of context with what I viewed on his face and was conscious of in his body.  Nevertheless, I told him that it was taken care of.

I couldn't help but let my impatience and a little bit of irritation at having our pleasure interrupted show.  I wanted to shake him and cry out, "Quit stalling, John.  Let's rock and roll here."  But even I wouldn't dare to be that flippant in such a charged up moment.  His insecurity about himself and about me was not a laughing matter.

My only recourse was to demonstrate my fire for him.  I savagely kissed him biting his bottom lip.  He licked away a drop of blood and in that moment of last vulnerability, the decision was made.

He cupped one breast in his hand while raking my throat with his mouth.

I let my hand slide down his chest through the light sprinkling of hair, down across his belly, down into his pants until I was cupping him in my hand. 

His groan erupted as I felt him pump and grind against it.

John pushed me down on my back and while his tongue was fully occupied with my nipples, his hand too dipped into nether regions until he was able to touch the place inside that was wet and hot.

"You have remarkable breasts", he rasped out.  The moist sultriness of his mouth seared first one then the other as if he couldn't make up his mind which one he found tastier.

I undid my jeans and edged them down past my knees.

Not being able to maneuver myself to reach his zipper to unclothe him, I brushed his hair back from one ear and kissed him behind it.  I then took his earlobe between my teeth for a nibble.

"I think you're wearing too much, John."

"You could be right.  Apparel is too much of a hindrance at the best of times, but right now, it is a direct impediment to the goal of integration."

Soft laughter from both of us followed his comment.  All night long, John had been dying to use mathematical terms of reference.  I had forbidden him at the wedding to use them as I had been annoyed about something.  At this moment in time though, I couldn't even remember why I had been angry.

We joked around while he was undressing trying to top each other with how many expressions that involved math we could use while also making clear sexual innuendos.  Naturally, he won at that game.

Once more, we kissed and idly roamed over each centimeter of skin previously left unscathed.  I found out that his jaw and his neck were the most susceptible targets.

He, quite by accident, stumbled upon the areas of me that were most ticklish.

I don't know what the signal was that indicated enough foreplay had been established.  I had been absolutely flooded right from the beginning.  He had been rock hard since we danced.

It just happened.  One minute he was playing around and the next, he had pushed himself inside me.  

Gasping out in initial pain because he was well-endowed, as I am sure all the Crowe men are, and I am tight, I felt tears of emotion fill my eyes as I just held him while he rocked, pushing deeper and deeper into the very hub of me.

I pulled his head up to meet my gaze.  "Look at me."

When he did, I made sure that I captured not only his eyes but his mind and soul.  "This is what lovemaking is all about.  Two souls who can't get any closer.  You and me, John.  We are now one."

He stared at me in amazement; like it was the first time anyone had ever taken the time to convince him that this was more than just a passionate one-time fly-by-night chance encounter, that it truly was a momentous and meaningful act.

Oh John; my heart ached for him.  What kind of brief affairs that involved mere tactile stimulation and only simple fucking had he had and how many?  He was worthy of so much more than that.

Not being able to hold out any more for me to catch up to his level of arousal, he fought for breath and then with sudden force, he came violently.

I didn't let go until he repossessed himself.

"I'm sorry," he began an apology.

"Shhhh," I put my finger to his lips.  "It was wonderful."

I didn't lie.  It had been.

We lay awhile, still on his couch, and I wondered what was running through his head.

My romantic girlish notions were shot to hell when he opened his mouth and told some pretty pathetic pun worthy of Aubrey.  I laughed anyway; it was a tension breaker.

John had regained his equilibrium.  He got up and strode off to the kitchen asking me a host of questions-did I want a drink, did I want to stay, can we go to bed, may we do it again?

While I leeringly letched at him and his tight little ass as he waltzed off totally unabashed by his nakedness, I told him I would have a beer even though it's not my drink of choice.  Of course, my answers to all of his other questions was an immediate 'yes'.  But I felt suddenly shy and I didn't know why.

"Do you want me to stay, John?"

He handed me the beer bottle.  It was too much to hope for that he would provide me a glass.  Good thing I'm not that particular.  He then said something that so made total sense and was so simple in its concept that it left me reeling.

"I asked you to stay because I wanted you to stay.  I always say what I mean.  That appears to be my main problem with people.  They invariably want me to say what I don't mean and call it social graces."

It really floored me.  Most of us at the pub, including myself, tend to think that John Nash is a bit awkward, a bit of a social knob.  But that's our interpretation and our problem.  What if he's just actually saying what is true and not just what we want to hear?

Before I got over that eye-opener, he further stunned me by saying the sweetest thing I had ever heard from a man but he said it without any guile or artifice.

"I've waited a long time for you, Karen.  You've always been infinitely desirable to me."

It gave me chills and still does when I think of it.  At last, I had my answer.  John not only wanted me that night long ago when he sent me that drink but it was more than that, more than lust, more than having the hots for someone...almost like finding a kindred spirit.

He took my hand and led me into his bedroom.  He's a relatively young guy still so it didn't take long for his recovery.

Our second time was less frenetic, less groping and more sensitive embracing of each other.  I climbed on top of him, sat up, erect, and arched my back as far as I could.  I almost howled out my climax that didn't take long for me to achieve.

We fell asleep, not in each other's arms, but peacefully and satiated completely.

Where will this relationship go, and do we want anything more than being each other's security blanket?   I can't tell you that.  If I knew, I'd probably be dancing on air instead of being the clichéd 'bewitched, bothered and bewildered'.