Chapter 1: Two Virgius Finding their Way

Although Rita and I were both twenty-three when we got married in June 1964, right after graduation, we were both still virgins. Rita was outgoing and popular, but she was determined to “save herself” for her husband. I, on the other hand, had been painfully shy and awkward around girls my own age — the kind of guy who could trip over his own feet during a slow dance. Yet from the very first day I met Rita, I felt strangely comfortable around her. Go figure.

We almost lost our virginity to each other several months before the wedding — on November 22, 1963, of all days.

Rita was extremely upset by the news of the day. She signed out of her dorm early, claiming she was going home, but instead showed up at my apartment in tears. I tried to console her as best I could, though I was just as shaken. She cried off and on for hours. I offered her wine, but she wanted something stronger. Being the resourceful (and slightly shady) boyfriend I was, I “borrowed” a full liter of tequila that my roommate Mark had hidden away, along with some salt and limes. We killed the entire bottle, one grimacing jigger at a time.

Eventually, I suggested we lie down on my bed. It was a tiny single bed — barely enough room for one person, let alone two horny, tequila-soaked twenty-three-year-olds. We’d made out on that bed plenty of times before, but we’d always stopped short. Tonight, however, assassination or not, my brain had one clear mission: pussy.