Oct 19, 2002
It was the middle of spring and the campus had an atmosphere of optimism. I was finishing up my sophomore year at a small state university, and was excited about summer break being only a month away. It had been a hard year, I'd kept myself busy between work and school. The hardships of being a poor college student - I know you've heard it all before.
One afternoon, my friends and I were in a dorm room, sitting around passing a joint. There was a new girl, named Rebecca, hanging out with us. She was apparently a friend of Jeff, a friend of mine. He introduced her as someone he'd met at summer camp a couple of years ago, and she was in town visiting him. I was curious to find out more details, but didn't want to ask.
She was slightly overweight, but kind of cute. She was kind of quiet, and apparently hadn't got high too many times because she kept going into these giggling fits and then acting all embarrassed about it. She had short brown hair, and really gorgeous blue eyes. Her tits, which of course were the first thing I checked out, were medium-largish size, probably a C cup.
As the afternoon wore on I finally admitted to myself that I was attracted to her, since I was a little overweight myself. The girls that looked like the playboy models I was always jacking off to were very unavailable to me, probably because I lusted after them so badly I couldn't even talk to them. Every now and there would be a semi-intellectual hot chick that would hang out with us, but we were a little too intellectual for most people.
Rebecca was different though. None of the other guys I hung out with (that were straight) really seemed all that interested in her. They seemed to treat her like she was a tolerated house guest, which I guess she was. She had just sort of showed up in town, begging for a place to stay.
Later, we decided to head off to one of our favorite spots to hang out, a secluded little park out in the countryside by the river. As usual, I and a couple of others brought our guitars to plink on while we drank and got even higher.
When we got to the park we built the pre-requisite campfire, even though it was getting to be almost too warm for one. As we settled in for an evening of social fun, I made sure to find a spot to sit right next to her. I didn't have to give one single dirty look for the privilege, it seemed Jeff and I were the only ones brave enough to sit by her.
Through the evening we did our normal thing, which was to discuss whatever the freaky subject of the day was. I think we wound up discussing some book by Aleister Crowley, and his ideas of using the Tree of Life to categorize and compartmentalize understanding of the universe. I told you we were freaky intellectuals. You didn't believe me, did you?
So after an hour or so, the group (there were about eight of us I think) fragmented into smaller conversations with comments crossing over between groups.
Shay, the drama queen (and one of the two admitted fags), stood up and starting reciting Edgar Allan Poe, high as a kite. His arms would flail and his head would rock from side to side as he affected some half-British, half-midwest accent that always cracked everybody up. I think he always did this half for attention, half because he loved poetry and half because he enjoyed cracking us all up. The attention and cracking us up part are pretty much the same thing, I guess.
"Lo, tis a gala night
within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
in veils, and drowned in tears,
sit in a theater to see
a play of hopes and fears,
while the orchestra breathes fitfully
the music of the spheres."
Of course, that was my cue to start some little guitar riff I'd done once when he was acting out like this. It had become a ritual, and I kinda liked it. As he went on, I played faster. He was working up to a frothy spittle. I was surprised he could stand, scream poetry and hop around while dead drunk. But, then, he was always a surprise. Then when the last stanza came, I would slow it down as he did also.
"Out - out are the lights - out all!
And, over each quivering form,
the curtain, a funeral pall,
comes down with the rush of a storm,
while the angels, all pallid and wan,
uprising, unveiling, affirm
that the play is the tragedy, 'Man,'
and its hero the Conqueror Worm."
As we finished, Rebecca laughed and clapped along with everybody else. And then, when we had all quieted down, she gave me The Look. Every man knows the look, that's the one women give you when they WANT you.
I didn't even notice it when she did it, because I'd never had a girl I was halfway interested in give me The Look. Usually, it was some really ugly girl, and she wanted me on some false pretense - not because of anything I was proud of being or doing. I know that's probably a bit complicated, but "a considered life" has implications that a lot of people don't, well, consider.
But here - now - was a real flesh-and-blood girl that I was attracted to, and she was attracted to me. Thankfully, my guitar playing keeps me from spending all of my time smoking and drinking. What I mean is that if I had been as high and drunk as Shay, I'd have passed right out because a large volume of my blood went straight into my dick. Since I was only slightly high I was able to avoid hypovolemic shock, although I did get a little dizzy for a bit.
I struck up a conversation with Rebecca. I found something completely new, and that was a conversation with a member of the opposite sex where both of us knew that the other was ready to fuck at any given time.
Laugh, go ahead. It's not like I was a virgin, but I was virginal enough. Getting drunk and fucking some girl whom you barely know is generally the aim of most college students, and I'd pulled it off a time or two. Okay, once.
It was a new kind of high for me. As a matter of fact, I kind of wished that I wasn't high at all, so I could really experience the feeling. We talked about things, even though we didn't have much in common. We talked about dreams (the sleeping kind) and dreams (the future kind), the things that any two humans always have in common.
I kept playing the guitar, trying to remember anything I could that would impress her. She wasn't impressed by Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath or Rush. Getting desperate, I tried the few riffs I knew of the normal radio fare. Every time I'd play the two bars I knew of the song, she'd look expectantly at me for the rest of the song, or ask me if I knew the words.
Eventually I gave up trying to impress her and just farted around with chord progressions that I liked.
"That's pretty, what is it?" she asked.
Thinking amazingly quickly for being neither on my feet nor having a full supply of blood to the brain I said "Oh, just something I made up."
Her eyes lit up. "You wrote that?"
"Uh, yeah. I did," I ventured. It was true enough, I was just making it all up off the top of my head.
She gave me the first non-shy smile I'd seen, and scooted over closer to hear. I was playing really softly, and the group was working itself into a fairly good roar. Of course, that meant that she was now actually touching me. I surprised myself by not freaking out at all or getting nervous. I just smiled and kept playing.
By now, everyone was getting totally shitfaced. Quite a few joints had been around the circle, and the sixth bottle of Boone's wine was being emptied. I had noticed that Rebecca had passed on most of the tokes (although not all) but had taken plenty of drinks. I was nearly sober by then, because I usually volunteered to drive. I guess I liked living.
Rebecca had been pressing closer and closer in to me until she was holding me as I held the guitar. I could feel her breasts press into my back and left side and had been enjoying the hell out of it for a while now. She had stopped talking some time ago, and I guess I was thinking she was just enjoying being close. But when things were wound down and it was time to think about finding a tree to piss on and closing down the party, I realized that she was passed out.
Then it hit me - we weren't going to be fucking tonight. I guess I had assumed that we were going to go back and find some private spot to make out, make love and then sleep in each others arms. It had seemed pretty much inevitable, but now it was unlikely.
I entertained thoughts of taking her over to my apartment and making separate sleeping arrangements. Then we'd wake up in the morning before class eat breakfast and maybe each other.
I approached Jeff and asked "So where is Rebecca staying? She could stay at my place -".
"Dude, are you taking advantage of drunk women now?" he interrupted. "She's staying at my apartment, I have an extra room and a bed. Would you help me get her into the car?"
That nixed it, I didn't want the only person she trusted in town to think I was an asshole. "No way, man. I just wanted to make sure she had a place to crash, that's all."
Jeff and I loaded her into my car. I checked with Chad, the guy driving the other car to make sure he was safe, sane and sober. He was.
We drove back to town, and I helped Jeff take Rebecca up a flight of stairs to his apartment. She was halfway conscious and kept saying "Oh... I think I'm gonna be sick."
.... There is more of this story ...