April 18, 2003

  • A girl fainted in Viticulture class.   It's one of those courses I'm taking with my boyfriend just for fun.   (You don't have to be twenty-one to just take a sip from a tasting cup and spit it out.)  We were getting a tour of the campus-affiliated wine cellars when we heard a strange sigh and down she went in a soft, crumpled heap.   She was tall and slender.  A few students couldn't stop giggling; guess she made them nervous.   The teacher quickly revived her and called the health center to pick her up.   That's about the most exciting thing that happened all week, besides my literally running into Carol--speak of the devil--jogging around the football field, and the guys going wild making footballs and bears and breasts and everything you could possibly think of out of marshmallow batter.   We must've went through a whole five-pound bag of sugar.  Brett was a real kick dancing around with fluorescent pink titties stuck to his chest, which proves even the best of men really want to be women deep down.   You don't see nearly as many female transsexuals as males.  Oh, and there was a big food fight at the frat.  You know, the usual.


    The whole thing just happens to bring back Carol's first trick of the season frosh year.   One of the few students paying for a private dorm room, she always had little intimate parties behind closed doors, with rum and coke she supplied from a big bottle of Bacardi she had stashed in her file drawer.   Having let her borrow some of my aunt's old vinyls--Carol really dug The Pretenders, groovy new wave stuff I remember jumping around to in nursery school--I often got an invite, meaning I was allowed to hang around once her fav people had collected.   One quiet Friday night we were playing a game of hearts to Eminem when I was introduced to her friend Chet, a sophomore from the neighboring dormitory.   A moody, intense journalism major with stoned black eyes and robust build, he seemed to smolder with horniness.   His intellectual, politically correct speech was laced with humor and innuendo, telling each girl what was really on his mind underneath the subtlely sarcastic bull.  He went to pass me a cigarette and our fingers touched, giving me a unexpected rush as the magnetic warmth signaled male and female contact.  I looked into his face and he smiled coolly, letting me know the feeling was mutual.  Then I looked over at Carol and saw her eyes narrow, indicating she'd missed nothing.   A few days later she started to cross-examine me in her blunt feline way to see how much I was interested.   A lot.


    "Chet's a good man," she said matter of factly, remembering her vow to end my sorry state of purity.   "And good in bed, too.   I can get you together."


    Before I could decide, he was in her room again for the second time in a week, joking around, stealing flirtatious glances at me while I feigned studying on the other bed.   Carol had told him about me, I sensed, which was okay; they were moving so fast I had no time to think about everything and get all flushed and jittery.   Suddenly, Carol announced she had to run down to the 7-11 and pick up a few things.   Would be right back.   After several minutes of awkward silence, Chet busied himself mixing a drink on the built-in Formica console, availing himself of the ice from Carol's mini-refrigerator.        


    "This is called 'cookie magic.'  Want some?"  he asked, handing me a frosty glass beer mug of what looked like molten white granite.


    "Okay."   I sucked at the creamy emulsion, which seemed to fill my mouth with cold chocolate fire.   The coldness masked the fetid sour alcoholic aftertaste I'd never cared for.  "Mmm, this is good.  What's in it?"


    "Oh, a little Tia Maria, a little creme de cacao, and a shot of white rum.   Blend with whipping cream, ice, and a few Oreo cookies.   It's a bit sweet for me, but girls usually dig it."


    As I finished it he handed me another drink in a real cocktail glass.   "Here, this is more my style."


    "What is it?"


    "Genuine martini, the stuff of which CEO's are made of.  Try it."


    I wordlessly acquiesced, soon draining this glass as well.   I don't know why.   As soon as we were alone I'd gone into auto pilot.  


    "TV?"


    "Sure."   I was feeling fine, just a little numb and sleepy in a nice sort of way, as if I'd had laughing gas.


    He flipped on the set and sat down next to me, arranging the numerous velveteen pillows behind us to make a primitive sort of sofa.   I heard him clear his throat; so he was a real person, with allergies and everything.   That made me feel at ease; he could've been my brother.  Commenting on the show, a popular sitcom, he casually put his arm around me.  All right.  That's pretty routine.  We're getting to know each other better now, I thought.   From the location of my bare shoulder he could easily reach the side of my breast, and after a while I felt his fingers absently fidgeting there as he seemed to concentrate on the show.   As for me, I hardly knew it was on.   When he leaned toward the nightstand to reach his drink, his hand lightly cupped my breast, seemingly by accident.  But it stayed there as he righted himself.   There'd been no objection, so why move it, I could almost heard him think.  Smooth, very smooth.  And then the fingers wandering across to caress my nipple.  Around and around and around they went, expertly teasing it into a tense nubbin of stupefying sensation.   Except for his heavy breathing ("Why do guys sound so much louder?"  Chelle:  "It's the deeper rib cage and greater lung capacity."), this repetitive activity too seemed unconscious, as if Chet were merely twiddling his thumbs.   So you pretend this isn't happening, too.  But the response in my body was overwhelming, far stronger than Dan's polite goodnight kiss had ever produced.  I'd never be able to play the good girl again.  Not with my heart throbbing all the way down in my vagina, which was clearly wired to my nipple--a second clitoris--just as the sex researchers said it was.   Not in this carefree ethanol daze.  It was twitching down there, contracting, grasping at the emptiness.  The feeling brought back summer days as a young teenager out by the pool, trying to tan my back by lying on the hot cement with nothing but a damp beach towel to cushion me; the rotisserie breeze fanning alternately hot and cool, the chalk smell of the concrete, my wet body sizzling on it like an egg, my pulse beating in my tummy where my own eggs were, almost visibly vibrating my entire being into womanhood.   The trembling I felt now though had an undercurrent of nervousness to it.   I seemed to be both extremely excited and frightened simultaneously, a dangerous sort of high.  What was it?   My calendar, marked with symbols denoting my time of month, suddenly flashed in my mind; it was exactly Day 14, the most likely time for conception.   No wonder it'd been so easy to launch me into the ozone.   Oh, God, I thought, I better get out of here!  Where on earth was Carole?!   She's been gone for over an hour.  I'm going to get PREGNANT!   After my first time!   Cuz that's where all this was leading to.  How shitty.  But caught like a deer in Chet's headlights, I couldn't move save for the tantalizing feelings those hypnotic fingers of his invoked.   Only my own hand, methodically pushing them off my belly as they occassionally strained to grope under my slacks, said I still was in some possession of my senses.   Jeeze.  Why did I pick this of all days to wear no panties?  Damn laundry.  I couldn't let him touch down there.   I was so wet I could feel myself oozing snail trails.   I'd be done for.   But I am Mother Nature.  I am the Supreme Commander of your body and brain! a force, some bizarre personification brought forth by the alcohol, seemed to proclaim.   There's nothing to be alarmed about.  Open your legs!  


    As if under the same spell, Chet pulled me around and invaded my mouth with a slobbery, flicking tongue.  This wasn't so pleasant any more.  Come to think of it, it was downright gross.  Worried about the next base, I quickly seized control and broke his hold, whispering, "I can't do this; I've never done anything before."


    "That's all right,"  Chet gazed deep into my eyes and murmured, surprisingly gentle and understanding.  "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Baby."


    I was full of respect for him; he was not only an excellent lover, but a gentleman after all.   And Carol had told him everything, the brat.


    After that he collapsed on the bed snoring, pulling me with him.  I knew I should get up, but couldn't find my sea legs.  So I just tried to get some shuteye, too, right on top of him.  Silly girl.  Luckily for my reputation, sleep evaded me.  I took the opportunity to get a good look at the guy, now that he was totally oblivious to me.   A sizable swell dominated my crotch shot.   Wow, he was still there.   In case you change your mind.  Just straddle it, honey.  Go ahead.  Dry hump me, baby.  Ease the pain.  And,  You bitch, Carol!  I thought.   Chet must've been the one well-hung guy she hadn't thoroughly described.


    It was four a.m. when I finally was able to put one foot in front of the other and exit the room.  Chet never noticed in his drunken slumber, and Carol was still nowhere in sight.  My own roommate was too fast asleep to mark my late return, either.   All was clear.   When Carol called me first thing in the morning, an uncommon hour for her and obviously all ears over me and Chet, I told her right off nothing had happened.   She sounded okay with it, almost relieved.   We never do let old boyfriends go.  But little did I know  my carnal-minded friend's matchmaking attempts weren't over.   Not in the least.