April 11, 2003

• I know you're probably itching to hear about parrrr-DEE!, but I don't know how to talk about it without giving everyone away. Believe me, I've started it several times, with much telltale detail.   Carol won the "door prize," I think it's safe to divulge,  a felt school banner for her bedroom wall and greatly deserved.  Haha.  Suffice it to say it was, well, FUN.  All the guys dug my new outfit, including Jake.   But I came down with a cold the next day and feel like a naughty little freshman still living in the dorms.   My first year here, I had a cold every two months.

  
  

  I have to credit Carol for my first forays into sexuality.  A savvy, mature-minded, brick shithouse of a gal who transferred from a j.c. and entered the dorms two years later than the average resident, her goal was to lay every guy in Muir Hall before the end of the school year.   My high school steady, a friend of the family and quite the gentleman, had left for the military without giving me a proper prom night.   When I revealed this to Carol in the privacy of her smoke-filled room winter quarter, she commented nonchalently,

  
  

  "Wow.  He must be huge."

  
  

  Um, HUH? 

  
  

  "He didn't want to do you the honors, babay, and cause a big blood bath.   Well-hung guys are shy that way."

  
  

  "I dunno.  He didn't look big through his clothes."

  
  

  "Oh, so he wouldn't even get it up for you.  Then he has a penis problem, most definitely."

  
  

  I nearly gasped in shock.  Dad was hoping Dan and I would marry, formally uniting the two families.  It had never occurred to me--

  
  

  "Dave's like that, too," she went on.

  
  

  "Dave Edgeston?"   He and a chick like Carol?  Gad, the man seemed so pure.  I'd kind of liked Dave--until now.  But he was just being human.   I tried hard to hide my disappointment.

  
  

  "Um, hmm.  Him and Mike Morgenstein.   Talk about being REAMED.   But still not as bad as Barry; the penis head on that man must be as big as my fist!  I thought I was gonna DIE!"

  
  

  Her loquacity eased my shyness, and soon I was asking about every boy on our floor in a round-about attempt to get the low-down, so to speak, on my favorites.   Unlike the rather potty-mouthed Chelle, whom I'd met the previous summer during a freshman orientation hayride, Carol had no reserve at all and put the first girl to shame with her vast experience.  I couldn't believe she'd slept with almost each one.  More than a little guilty over this level of gossip, the names burst from my mouth like a command.

  
  

  "Bruce!"   Now, he was a cutie.

  
  

  "Ummm, sort of on the small side but excellent staying power.  Trys hard, which is more than I can say about Matt."

  
  

  "Matt.  Really?"  Another good boy into the gutter.

  
  

  "Uh, huh.   In and out in ten seconds and so nervous he had to run to the window for air."

  
  

  Gaw-ee.   Had he not been such a horny little fool, I would've felt embarrassed for him.   Next:  "Trevor!"

  
  

  "Not bad.  Great cock.  Gentle and slow.  Handled me like glass."  She looked at me knowingly, blowing out her Virginia Slims, which she held with talonlike pink nails.  "Too slow for me, in fact.  You should go for him."

  
  

  Even though I ignored the tip for the time being, I saw my interest had registered in my confidante's distant green eyes.  Carol had just given herself a new assignment, disposing of my virginity, which she saw as a mark of failure.  

  
  

  Actually, my feelings about the matter weren't far off.  Getting laid had been on my agenda all year, but nobody I went out with seemed to want to go that far--not without my making the first move, and I was too nervous and unsure to be that aggressive.   (Most guys don't want to "do the honors," Chelle explained thoughtfully to me later.  It can be painful even for boys; "That's why they call it 'cherry.'")

  
  

  "So, who's the best in bed?"  I asked Carol.

  
  

  "Rich Hodgekiss.  If he weren't so hot for Sue I'd have him for my boyfriend."   Carol gave me a hands-off look, letting me know she had some feeling in that hard heart of hers.  So we wrapped it up for the night and I went back to my room to study.  (To Be Continued.)  

  
  

  This quarter, I'm really excited about Introduction To Film.  When I got home from the hospital, there was nothing much I could do but watch tv all day.   Brett would blame it on my medications, but I started really getting into the commercials, understanding their ulterior meaning and manipulation of the audience for the first time.   I'm trying to steer myself towards advertising, but I haven't told anyone yet, just in case I freak out and give up; the dog-eat-dog nature of the field frankly terrifies me.   My boyfriend would say I watched too many old Bewitched reruns, though.  I'd like to do my term paper on fear of death and ads.   I notice that not only commercials for alcoholic beverages use this a lot, but it also sells new cars.

  
  

  Achoo!  Chelle says that, from the way it stinks around here, you'd think we were the ones who'd held the party and some joker got into the butyric acid.  But it's just another bum who puked in our garbage can.  Thank god my nose is so plugged I can't smell it.  For those of you who don't know, butyric acid is the "active ingredient" in butter and what makes it smell sour; in concentrated form it reeks like the worst barf.  Every fall some upperclassman majoring in food- or bio-sci snatches a tank of the stuff from lab and sprays it all over campus to introduce newcomers to college life.   You can tell who's a (brave) freshman by their anxious questioning, "What's that obnoxious smell?"  But most of us wait to get the answer indirectly.  Woo hoo.

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