Chapter 3: Second Opinion

September 1973

Any time Jim had a project or an assignment he tried everything he could to meet the expectations of those who expected him to perform. He tried his best every time, but he wasn't successful on each and every occasion, of course. When that happened he felt bad and hoped for another chance.

"Hey Rich—hey Rich, are you here?"

Jim had his arms full with two suitcases as he shouted out his roommate's name.

"Yeah, I'm here," was the muffled reply. "I'm in the can. Keep your shirt on."

Jim went back to the car to fetch another load of boxes while Rich finished up his business.

As Jim returned with more of his gear Rich was standing in the living room of the apartment he and Rich would be sharing for the second year in a row.

Rich Garland and Jim were well-suited to be roommates, having been pals for the entire previous four years of their college careers. They were tuned in to each other's attitudes and probably knew more details of each other's private lives than their respective parents.

They had a lot in common, too. They both studied engineering and understood the academic demands of that field. Rich, like Jim, was athletic and had been on the university's rowing team when he had been eligible. In their younger years they had enjoyed the rough and tumble of fraternity house life, but the years had mellowed them.

Like Jim, he was clean-cut, a bit bigger than Jim at just over six feet and had a big frame. He had good—but not pretty boy—looks, fair-complected with dark hair. It was probably his easy-going personality mixed with his air of self-confidence that drew girls to him.

"How much more stuff you got to bring in?"

One more trip if you give me a hand," Jim answered.

"Let's do it," his roommate said and soon they had Jim's gear sitting in the middle of the living room floor.

"I got tired of waiting for you," Rich said. "I was about to go down to the frat lodge."

Rich and Jim had pledged the same college fraternity five years before when they were freshmen. They still belonged, but had found that the 'frat lodge', as they liked to call it, was a good place to visit but not to live in if a person had some serious studying to do. Rich had already earned his degree in Mechanical Engineering the year before and was staying an extra year to earn his Masters.

"I'll start putting this stuff away," Jim said.

"That can wait," Rich answered. "Let's have a beer first."

He reached into the refrigerator and pulled out two cans of brew. He tossed one to Jim and they each found a place to sit amid the clutter.

The apartment, which was attached to the landlord's house in the hills overlooking the town, was also a good place for them to pursue the kind of social life that suited them. After three years of fraternity house life, something a little more refined was to their liking.

"So," Rich began, "are you ready for the 'big push'?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Jim answered. "I've got my Fifth Year Design Project ahead of me. That's going to be a bear. I haven't even outlined a project to submit to the faculty committee. I'd like to get my track letter this year, too."

The 'Fifth Year Project' was a sort of final thesis for Chemical Engineering Degree candidates about to graduate. Instead of a discourse it consisted of a plant design that encompassed all of what they'd learned during their first four years.

"You'll get through it," Rich said. "You've got the chops for it."

It was true. Jim had always been a good student and often tutored his less-talented fraternity brothers.

"No time to back off now," Jim said.

"You can do it," Rich repeated.

"Winning the Track letter might be more of a long shot," Jim admitted. "I need ten points and last year I just barely made it."

Jim liked being on the Track and Field team. He could do most of the workouts early in the morning, before class, which left most of the time for academics. He played football and basketball in high school, too, but those sports meant a big time commitment. Five years ago the football coach asked him to walk on and Jim had turned him down. It had been a tough decision.

Track wasn't Jim's best sport. His only event was the Pole Vault. He had a final year of eligibility because he had to sit out a year after injuring his shoulder when he was a sophomore. He missed his letter as a junior but made it as a senior. A member of the Track and Field Team had to earn ten points during the season, based on placing in the track meets. Jim worked hard, but at the level he was competing an occasional third was his best hope and Third Place was usually only worth one point.

"Maybe you should try to get into a second event," Rich said, "like a relay or something."

Jim nodded. It wasn't a bad idea.

"We haven't talked about the main thing," Rich said.

"Main thing?"

"C'mon, man, you know what I'm talking about. You were going to resolve a certain—uh—physical deficiency over the summer."

Of course Jim knew what the 'main thing' was. He and Rich had talked about it over a few beers many-a-time before they parted for their summer jobs. Jim had been dreading the question as he drove the Rustmobile from his parents' home to the apartment overlooking the University town that day. He didn't think it would come up so soon, although he should have realized that it would.

"Oh, that," Jim started, "Well..."

"I already know the answer by the way you're avoiding it," Rich said.

Rich was more experienced in sex than Jim. It was no secret. In fact, he was a lot more experienced. If they gave out Master's Degrees for bedding pretty co-eds, then Rich would probably be a candidate for it. But, alas, Mechanical Engineering would have to do.

"Well, I tried," Jim pled. "I tried hard—and I nearly hit pay dirt, too. But in the end things just didn't work out."

Rich shook his head. He'd heard the 'almost made it' stories from Jim a number of times. But, they were fraternity brothers, bound to mutual understanding, and Rich was a patient man.

"Well, what happened this time?" he asked.

Jim drew a deep breath.

"I was dating this girl named Hildy for most of the summer. In fact, I just saw her night before last. She's a receptionist at the company I worked for last summer."

"A working girl," Rich proclaimed, "sounds promising."

"It was," Jim went on. "One night I had her in my car. Her panties were down around her ankles and my pants were down around mine. I was on top of her, ready to go in. At the last second, I just couldn't do it."

Rich shook his head and stared out the window.

"How could you not do it?"

"Well, I didn't have any Trojans and I asked her if she was on the pill. She said 'no' and a chill ran down my spine. I backed off."

"Didn't want to hear the 'pitter-patter' of little receptionist feet? I can understand that. But why didn't you go for it another time?"

"She let it slip that she's a virgin, too. I didn't want to pop her cherry in a car in a parking lot. She might have regretted it, and remembered me in a bad way for the rest of her life as the guy who popped her when she didn't want to be popped."

Rich was laughing to himself and shaking his head again.

"You'll never learn. All girls guard their cherries, but they're all glad it happened after the deed is done. It takes a big load off their shoulders. They're a lot happier when it's over. They can relax because they don't have anything to guard anymore."

"I don't know, Rich..."

Jim's friend turned and faced him all of a sudden.

"You didn't let her know that you're a virgin, too, did you?"

Jim shook his head.

Rich settled back down.

"Good," he said, "never admit that."

He opened the refrigerator and drew out two more cans of beer.

"We're going to have to deal with this," Rich said. "I think I'm going to have to give Ashley a call."

Jim always appreciated the help and advice from his friends, and especially from Rich, whom he had known so long.

"Ashley—are you sure it has to be Ashley?"

"Yup," Rich pronounced as he gulped down a swallow of beer. "Ashley's the best for this job."

"But, Ashley..."

"Who else would you suggest?" Rich shot back at him.

Ashley Woods was a coed starting her senior year at the University. She was one of the girls who hung around the fraternity house. Jim knew her a little, but not real well.

She had good looks. Her makeup was always perfect, so her face was always set in the classic beauty look, framed by jet-black hair that reached past her shoulders. She was average in height with a slender form. Despite her thin build, she had ample volume inside her bra. It pressed out against her always-tightly-tucked-in blouse in an aggressive pose that served as an introduction to men whom she hadn't yet met.

"She's in town," Rich went on, "arrived a few days ago. I helped her move in her furniture."

Ashley had a nickname the fraternity brothers called her when she wasn't within earshot. It was 'Thunderpussy'—and she didn't acquire the nickname by owning a cat who made a lot of noise.

"Who else would you suggest?" Rich asked again after emptying the last drops out of his beer can.

Jim sighed. He knew Rich was determined.

"Well, I thought that Hildy and I were heading in that direction when the time was right..."

"And you are," Rich insisted. "In the meantime you owe it to this Hildy-person to get some experience under your belt so you can break her in right."

What Rich said seemed to make sense to Jim, but something wasn't fitting together just the right way. He sat in a chair, nursing his beer, thinking it over. One advantage about Ashley was that she never expected anything more from her bed partners except breakfast the next morning.