Chapter 2: Yale

You will hear that it is extremely hard to get into Ivy League schools. That is usually true. It is also true that top schools recruit, sometimes fiercely. Alice pushed me to file the proper forms and essays, while greasing the wheels at her end. I spent my 19^th birthday moving into a shared flat in New Haven. It would make a fine story to say that there was a coven of witches in residence, but it was just one pharmacy major named Fiona. She dabbled a little in Wicca and sold herbs on the side. Most of them were legal.

Yale was both harder and easier than high school. Academically, few students are ready for the workload and most cannot handle it. That made it a simple challenge—just do the work. Simple may not be easy, but the grades tell you how you have done. I did very well. The easy part is that everyone left me alone to study. It was almost Halloween before I noticed I never did anything but house chores, class and homework.

Fiona organized an All Hallows house party. It was not my first experience with alcohol, but it remains the deepest. Instead of ordinary weed, our pharmacy major obtained genuine hashish, plus other things. Halloween was Friday. I woke up Sunday in a bed full of naked female bodies, with someone licking my pussy. I passed out again and never even knew her name. It suffices to say Monday's first class was not a highlight.

From that point on, I was acknowledged as a member of the house lesbian circle. I could never remember what I said or did, but there it was. For the most part, it made no difference in my life. Six days a week were consumed by school and homework. Saturdays I would occasionally go out with the other girls.

Five years later, I looked back on those two years with a critical eye. My alter ego, Frau Doktor Richards, dissected the string of one night stands. It is not something I am proud to acknowledge, but I had made progress. This was a tribe. I became a member in good standing—complete with appropriate dress.

The piercings were the simplest. I paid money, bought jewelry, endured some pain. Viola. I had a new ring or stud. Tattooing was common, but not universal. I never bothered. My look was distinctive enough without it. I almost never wore a bra, though I kept one around. Cut pants, heavy boots, torn T-shirt and black makeup can be done with surprising variety. For example, try a small bell dangling from a nipple ring through a tear in the T-shirt.