She was cute, about 5' 3" and lean, with muscular legs and small, firm breasts

Back in the ‘70s during the first oil embargo, I was living in Houston and attending the University of Houston. My roommate Ahmet was a Persian student I'd met at another low rent dive in the Montrose district, the bohemian section of Houston popular with hippies and hipsters. We had taken up residence in a cheap 2-BR apartment in the southwest part of town.

One day we met this cute little hippie chick out on the apartment grounds near the pool. She was wearing a sack like hippie dress, with a leather strand on her wrist that she wore as a bracelet. Within about a half hour, the three of us ended up at our place.

The girl was cute, about 5' 3" and lean, with muscular legs and small, firm breasts. She did not say much, but always smiled and rocked her head from side to side in a perpetual sort of groove. We learned that she lived in the apartment complex with her family, and that they had recently moved from Alabama.

Before long, we had her naked in bed with us both, and Ahmet and I were lathered up and ready to go. Problem was, she did not want to do us -- she only wanted to kiss. The magic pleasure triangle was off limits. Go figure. After about an hour of this, Ahmet gave up and went out to a bar. She and I stayed with it for another hour. I had tried everything I could think of to gain access to Mr. Fuzzy, all to no avail. Every approach met with her knees tightly closing.

Finally, I slipped my right hand behind her back, she moaned, and I could feel her legs relax, as she sort of offered herself fully to me. After we made love, she asked if she could sleep over, then grooved off in the morning with a smile, saying little if anything. Back in those days it was not unusual to meet people with this affected kind of personality. I did not think it unusual that she never chose to speak. I figured she was probably stoned most of the time.

The next night after I came home late, she appeared on the second floor landing we shared with a neighboring apartment, asking if she could come in. It was late, so I asked her if she wanted to sleep with me, and she nodded yes. It went on this way for about two or three weeks. I'd go off and attend class, go to my part time job, or whatever, and when I got home, there she would be, sitting on the top step of the apartment landing waiting for me. We never talked much. I did not think it unusual that she never discussed birth control, or the war in Vietnam, or anything. She never tried to kiss me or express any affection out of bed. She just wanted to come over, where she would sit on the floor patiently listing to the stereo. Then she'd follow me to bed, screw my brains out, and drift off to sleep.

At first I thought she was the perfect student accessory. She was a lot of fun and was no bother at all. Her only downside was her persistence. She was out there every night when I got home. My next door neighbors complained that she made their dog bark at the front window. Our neighbors were two Swiss Air stewardesses who about a decade older than Ahmet and I and who were both absolutely smoking. They never returned any of our attention, although a Swiss photographer friend in his 50's that we knew from the local bar used to screw them regularly and tell us what fools we were for not banging them every night. Anyway, these Swiss gals hated the hippie chick because she kept their big white German Shepard agitated and barking at the front window. The Swiss girls thought the hippie chick had mental problems, something I had never really considered.

One night I finally told the hippie chick she could not come inside my apartment or sleep over. She just stood there and looked slightly hurt, though still smiling. I closed the door and left her standing there. Next night it was the same story. And the next night.

Meanwhile, I had met her dad at the little shit hole bar that was in the apartment complex. Such bars were de rigeur in 'singles' apartment complexes of the time, envisioned as discos but always ending up as the supreme empty dive for lonely hearts. Her dad was a disabled pilot from the post-WWII years, who had a shriveled up leg from a bad crash. Her family lived on a disability check that kept her dad on the bar stool. He was always very nice to me, even though I'm sure he knew I had been banging his daughter like there was no tomorrow.

One day she shows up at my door with her left arm wrapped in bandages and gauze. She told me she was slicing some meat in her family's kitchen, then suddenly found herself slicing her forearm repeatedly, until her mother came over and made her stop. This was certainly disturbing. Maybe the Swiss girls are right, I thought. I told her she could not come in, and she merely turned and walked away. Later when I went out, she came running behind me trying to hail me. Trying to avoid her, I went out quickly through the pool area. I heard her yell out in pain behind me. She had stepped in an uncovered hole missing a grate. She had skinned her leg severely.

Scared, I just kept on going.

I did not see her for some time. When I did, I had nearly forgotten about her. She stood there on the landing with some young blond kid wearing a simple white T-shirt and buzz cut hair. He looked a little younger than her. She said he was from her hometown in Alabama and they were getting married. I wished them well, and they left.

Years later I'm still unsure what in hell was going on. Was she mentally handicapped? Did I get her pregnant? Did she love me, or was there some other reason she was so desperate? Did she move away to Alabama and bear my child? This was one situation that was literally too good to be true. There were many other escapades from that era, many where I got laid, or crashed my car, ended up in jail, or had some crazy thing happen that I've always talked about with friends.

But not this story. It has probably affected me more than any of the others and I wanted to finally share it, here.