Almost every college freshman I knew or heard of was cooler than me -- not to mention that they all had lost their cherries.Almost every college freshman I knew or heard of was cooler than me -- not to mention that they all had lost their cherries. Except me. Hell, I hadn't even gotten a good case of stink finger, unless you can count scratching your own ass. Instead of spending that first year getting out there and copping some actual pussy like the rest of the known world, I continued doing what had occupied my last year and a half of high school: shooting up at the dark ceiling at night, aiming between the legs of the hovering mental image of a writhing, moaning, very erotic Monica. My roommate Darrell never gave up. Every couple weeks he would try to get me to go out with a friend of a friend. `Guaranteed squat' or `Best head in Lambda Chi' he'd tout with enthusiasm. But I always found a reason to go to the library or stay in the dorm. Yeah, I know how crazy that sounds. Go figure. 'Course, I didn't end my freshman year screaming and trying to tear the urinal out of the wall when I took a piss like Darrell did. I guess it's true that God takes care of angels and idiots, and I know that I'm no angel. I had no idea what had happened at home since I had left for school, but the atmosphere between Dad and Monica when I came back for the summer was, for the first time in my awareness, uncomfortable. After the first few days, Dad seemed to always have to work late, and Monica and I just sort of had to look after each other in his extended absences. I didn't mind. I continued to worship the heavenly body my father had somehow hooked into marriage during my junior year in high school. I remember the Tuesday with perfect clarity -- like it was this morning. Monica lay on a deck lounger in my favorite peach bikini, baking to a gorgeous bronze while hiding behind sunglasses and a magazine. |