Tuesday, September 30, 2008


I pondered the e-mail from Jackie a bit longer and then got to work returning phone calls, responding to e-mails, signing my name to tens of thousands of dollars worth of expenditures-- all of the things that pass for work in the modern world. Dani came in for a meeting so she could fill me in on what she had learned from our field offices that day. She gave me the download on what was happening in Boston... Atlanta... Chicago... San Francisco and on and on. Lynn came in for a meeting about a marketing campaign she was shepherding for me. At 6PM the dynamic duo left for home. By 7:30 the cleaners had moved through and it now seemed like I was the only person left on a floor where 150 people worked from 9 to 5. At 8PM I'd had enough of it all. I re-read the e-mail from Jackie and then shut everything down and headed to the nearly empty parking structure.

Driving north along PCH I wasn't thinking about work. All I could think about was that e-mail. What was going on with her right now that prompted her to write to me? How did she find my personal address anyway? What would motivate me to contact an old girlfriend out of the blue? I figured there was a good chance that I'd be on a pussy quest. Was that it-- or at least the female equivalent? Maybe. Hard to say since I didn't know anything about the Jackie Sampson of the 1990's. I knew that the early 70's model loved cock though. Yes, she really did-- and it brought a grin as I drove along in the dark. But I knew that could've changed. Boy, did I ever know that a woman who couldn't fuck enough at 20 could be, apparently, all done fucking at 40. Besides, we weren't wired the same. Guys like me think about sex every 12 seconds or so on average and the other 11 seconds we're thinking of... sex. Seriously. Who are we kidding here?

I pulled into the parking lot and went in for a beverage and ambrosia burger at Coogie's. I would have asked the waitress what she thought about sending an e-mail to an old boyfriend... what it all meant... but she looked as though she had been born a couple of years after the last time I saw Jackie. To her an "old boyfriend" meant somebody she broke up with four months ago. Not twenty-four and a half years ago. I thought about how Jackie had sent the e-mail between 6:30 and 7AM Eastern Time-- assuming she was still in the Eastern time zone. Did that mean anything? Probably not-- although if she had left it at 3AM her time on a Saturday-- now that might mean something.

I hit the road for home-- not "home" exactly, since that was where Kendra and the kids lived, but my current abode. I fell into bed and wondered what Jackie Sampson looked like now after all these years. I clearly remembered what she looked like a long, long time ago. Maybe too clearly. This wasn't exactly the first time I'd gone to bed thinking about her. I wondered what she...

Before heading out the door the next morning I logged on. I re-read her message and then tapped out a reply.

Dear Jacqueline,

I am that Wil. Thank you for responding to my letter of December 197_

hold it, hold it...start over...

Dear Jacqueline,

I am that Wil.

My memory of the horse races was that you won nearly every race and I lost big. The fact that you would remember that you kept $2.50 of mine that evening is touching. But, I don't think you're totally correct. I think that $2.50 invested properly and left undisturbed for 25 years would come to about $1,239.46. I am quite willing to negotiate a plan for repayment, but I am not willing to drink that much coffee, Jackie. I'm trying to cut back. Let me know how you would like to proceed.

By the way, how are you? What are you doing these days? Where are you living? Plus a thousand other questions that your e-mail doesn't begin to answer.

Thanks for finding me. It's great to hear from you. How many William Wilson's did you disturb along the way?



I hit send.

Friday, September 26, 2008

Pause: The Casting Couch

Coquette tagged me back last Friday for a meme: Identify the leading actors for the movie version of your blog. I’m a blog-meme virgin, but I’ll try anything once. First though, if you’re a reader of this blog it may surprise you that you really haven’t even met two of the three lead characters. I’ve made mention of Kendra and Jane but you don’t know much about them yet and there’s no doubt that they are, along with your faithful narrator, the lead characters of Crack The Whip. But, let’s deal with a few people you know first. For the role of Jackie I’ll pick Karri Turner. I had never heard of her, and I’ve never seen her in anything, but when the casting consultant (AKA: IMDB) showed me these recent pictures of her I thought she looked like Jackie did circa mid to late 90’s. Amazingly so. Clear-eyed. A little world-weary. And ready for anything.

Several people were interested in Diana as our story played out. I can’t find anyone to cast as the Diana of the early 70’s, but I do have someone in mind I can imagine is a lot like the Diana of today. Except, of course, I haven't seen her in 35 years...so... I'm just guessing here-- or dreaming.
That’s Christina Hendricks who plays Joan in “Mad Men” on AMC. I don’t watch much TV other than sports. I watch movies, but I prefer ones from pre-1968 generally, so it’s a struggle for me to cast my movie with people who aren’t long dead. How fitting then that I cast Ms. Hendricks, who portrays an early 1960’s happenin' babe. Hell, I really am stuck in a time warp. But, I’ve just seen the first two episodes of “Mad Men” this week—thanks Netflix—and Joan’s character is similar to Diana. Except of course, Diana isn't around, like I said. Hmmm, I think writing about her stirred up a lot of stuff. I wonder what her e-mail address is?

Denise, my first ever, was a dead ringer for the Jane Fonda of “Klute” as I wrote in an early post. Here’s Jane’s mug shot and if I showed you a picture of Denise you wouldn’t be able to tell her from this Jane. Whoa! Right on which yer bad self there, Jane! By the way, Denise boomerangs too. Twice. Yikes! Dammit, I've said too much.

You probably know an actress named Kate Beckinsale. I did not because I'm out of it. But, I came across her picture and cast her as Jane. This gets confusing... Jane Fonda is Denise but Jane who you haven't met is played by Kate. And Cate isn't even in the movie. Whee! This is so much fun! Anyway, Kate's body and hair are so close to what Jane looked like in the mid to late 1990’s when we were fu… oops, almost gave away some of the future story! Kate doesn’t look exactly like Jane in the face but that’s mainly because Ms. Beckinsale has an incredibly tiny nose. Give her a slightly prominent proboscis and she’s well cast. Yep, take a look… the fingers… the body… the wide mouth... and oh, that hair… yes, that’s Janey.

The other lead is Kendra. In the late 70’s Kendra was often told she looked like Susan Blakely. I never quite saw that. She looked much more like Donna Dixon to me. And, when looking for a picture of Donna Dixon I discovered a fairly current picture and, damn, she still looks a lot like her. So, Donna, you get the role of Kendra both before and after. Although Kendra’s 70’s hair was more Farrah and less "styling by Sunbeam mix-master."

Yes. There are great similarities there-- and not just the face and hair.

That leaves me. If you’ve been reading this story of mine you’ve been traveling along with me in the early 70’s so far. At that time in my life I was often told I looked like Jackson Browne. If my hair got too long people said James Taylor circa Mud Slide Slim. I never saw the James Taylor similarity but, back then, I could kind of see the Jackson Browne thing. Same coloring, same too straight dark brown hair. But, James Taylor went bald and Jackson Browne refused to update his haircut over the past 40 years so I no longer see any resemblance-- and I sure never had their musical talent. But, in the early 70’s, this would be close enough…
I still have a full head of hair today but not that 1970’s haircut. Plus the brown is mixed with gray now. Or is it gray mixed with brown—kind of hard to tell. Time marches on. Frankly, to cast me, you could pick just about any average looking guy in his mid-40’s and cut and dye his hair. (Hey, I look ten years younger than I am. Really. ) The crucial thing though is the voice. Hollywood can fake anything else but they have to get my voice right. So, there’s only one guy to cast— and, hey, he’s pretty good with horses too. Yes, I cast Sam Elliott as me.

Sam, what do you think, will you take the part? Sam?

Hold it! He looks a lot like me in the 1980’s too!!!

My casting is now complete. Aside from a few dozen actresses with, um, smaller roles. I’d love to cast the rest of those parts today but I get so tired chasing around this casting couch.

Monday, September 22, 2008

Time Travel

Crack The Whip is relentless in its plodding, chronological approach to telling this story. Some would say that this is because of the author's personality type. I'm supposedly someone who seeks order and has a painstaking attention to detail. Maybe. But, we are going to depart from the chronology for a while to follow one particular tail, er tale.


I rounded the corner and headed towards my office. Assistant cubicles to the right, offices to the left along the window line. Lynn wasn't at her work station across from my office but knowing her she'd be following me in within a minute. It was 1:15PM and I'd been in meetings continuously since 9AM. Just another day in show bidness. I checked voice mail, "You have 19 new messages and 12 saved messages..." and hung up without listening to any of them. I sat and swiveled the chair to look at intracompany e-mail. I had cleared it at 7:30AM before leaving the house. 76 new e-mails. Crap. Lynn stepped in, "How were the meetings boss?"

"Same as usual," I said.

She had a half dozen pink message slips in her hand. "Here are the ones who dropped out of your voice mail and called me."

I looked through them. Too late to call the London one. I'd work through the East Coast bunch first.

"Didja eat?" Lynn asked.

"Yeah. The exciting cavalcade of cold cuts," I said.

"Want me to make a 'good coffee' run? Something to eat from downstairs?" she asked.

"No. Thanks. But here... knock yourself out. And don't forget your accomplice-in-crime either." I said as I handed her a twenty.

"Woohoo, Dani! Look! Daddy's buying us treats!" Lynn said to my second assistant Dani as they headed to the elevator leaving me without support staff. That's why God invented e-mail and voice mail after all. Another lecture about professional conduct would be forthcoming from their stern taskmaster boss. But, it was nice to be able to please two women with a simple twenty. Designer coffee and a sticky bun or something. Cheap dates.

I sat there wondering how lousy it was to spend twelve hours at the office every day attending meetings, sending e-mails, making phone calls. Life in paradise. Before diving into it all I figured I'd check my private e-mail box. Logging onto my account I went to my mini fridge to get a bottle of water. I hated bottled water but I was attempting to get off caffeine post-lunch-- wanted to see if it was contributing to the sleepless nights. When I walked back to the computer it had finished bringing up nine new e-mails. Glancing through them I saw a couple from my kids, one from Kendra, one from a buddy about our favorite baseball teams, some junk, and then a last one, sent at 3:43 AM Pacific Daylight time that kind of looked like spam. For some reason I opened it first-- just to get it out of the way and have a sense of great accomplishment-- having dealt with one of about 100 e-mails and voice mails from the past four hours. It read:

Mr. William Wilson,

I hope this is reaching the Mr. William Wilson (Wil) who graduated from ______High School in 197_. If it is, you knew me as Jackie Sampson. Maybe you remember going to the horse races in the summer of 197_ when you were working at ______ with a mutual friend, Tim _______.

I think I made a terrible mistake that night and kept some winnings that rightfully belonged to you. My rough calculation is that I kept $2.50 of yours and, with interest, it's probably now worth a cup of coffee give or take a dollar. So, let me know how you would like me to get this sum to you by writing back at this e-mail address.

If this isn't "that" Mr. Wilson, you're welcome for the free entertainment.


Jacqueline Sampson


When Lynn and Dani came back they shot straight into my office. "Here boss, we got you an iced tea with your own money. Here's your change. Hey, what happened? Bad news?" Lynn said.

"Uh, nothing. I just saw an e-mail from an old friend I haven't heard from in twenty some years and it kind of threw me for a loop," I said.

"Oooooo, kewl. An old girlfriend?" Lynn said enthusiastically.

"No, no. Some guy I worked with on a summer job during college. Hadn't even thought of him in years but, it takes you back, ya know..." I said.

Lynn often talked to Kendra when she called about something regarding the kids. And, although Jane usually called on my direct private line, the simple fact was that she and Lynn were friends. I didn't need Lynn talking to either of those women about an e-mail from an old girlfriend-- especially Jane. Not that Lynn would, she was pretty discreet about business stuff after all. But she had only been in this job for about three months so it was hard to tell how well she kept secrets-- especially from women she liked.

As Dani and Lynn walked out of the office they were grinning at me. They knew damn well I'd heard from a woman. How the hell did they know? Oh well. Nothing I could do about their imaginations-- accurate imaginations as it turned out.

Her last name's still Sampson... hmmmm...

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Piles of Ashes

Before I went home for Thanksgiving I had one last meeting with Diana. It was brief. She came back after the two week suspension to pack up her stuff and move home. She had decided to transfer rather than deal with what would happen if another policy infraction took place. I'm pretty certain she wasn't even going to say good bye but I ran into her at the elevator. I helped her load the car. A hug. A kiss on the cheek. Mutual well-wishes. Never saw her again. I don't believe I ever heard where she ended up going to school.
Jackie borrowed Beth's Mustang to come down for the concert in December. She also brought a friend along. You have to understand that Jackie didn't have a lot of girlfriends. Frankly, she got along with guys better than other girls-- a fact I understand better in hindsight than I did at the time. Her best friend Sherry was off at school and most of the people she worked with were older. But, she had a girlfriend from high school days who had a sister who went to my university and so they both were going to stay at that girl's apartment off campus. That was problem number one for Wil. See, I was pretty sure Jackie could stay in my room without anybody ratting us out to Jill the RA. And, even if they did, Jill was a friend. She would be cool, right? It isn't like we would be doing anything illegal in the room. We would just be, um, sleeping together. But, I guess we actually wouldn't be, would we, since Jackie would be staying off campus. Great.
Oh well, at least we would be together most of the time she was visiting. We did get to spend a good deal of time together. And we hung out with some of my friends. She was very quiet whenever anybody from my college world was around which I didn't think much about. She was quiet when we were alone-- which was not at all like Jackie. That bothered me a bit. Everything just seemed a full bubble off plumb. The concert was great. Roxy Music opened which I enjoyed. Jethro Tull was bombastic and Jackie enjoyed the show. Sunday morning the Mustang was ready to head north. We hugged good-bye briefly and had an uncustomary quick kiss which I chalked up to our audience of her friend. And then Jackie said, "Love ya!" and jumped behind the wheel. Off they went.
I got up to the room and took out a piece of paper.
Dear Jackie,
Love ya?
What the hell is that? "Love ya" is what girls say to each other around here when one of them has to go to class.
Please tell me what is going on. I wish you'd had a better time down here. It was nice to see you.
Love ya,
Every day through the next two weeks I checked my mailbox at the commons hoping to hear something from her. I checked the whiteboard next to the hall phone constantly to see if anyone had taken a message for me. Nothing. I got home for Christmas break and my parents wondered why I wasn't going over to see Jackie right away. I told them what I hated to admit to myself. It was over. I never heard from her again.
Until 24 and a half years later.
Yes, that's right, 24 and a half years later Jackie wrote back to me.

Sunday, September 14, 2008

Pause: For Uniforms

Last week after writing about the lunchtime fun we had I realized that Jackie was wearing a uniform of sorts at the time. The women working at my local grocery wear polo shirts and khakis and not the smocks that those FoodTown gals wore back in the 70's. Sensible shoes today seem to more often be Nikes, Keds, or New Balance-- not the rubber-soled slightly manly dress shoes of my youth. But this made me ponder the idea of the woman-in-uniform fetish. It must be a fairly common fetish among those humans who lust for human women since I've seen all sorts of uniforms offered for sale that couldn't ever actually be worn on the job-- unless the job involved a transaction in the neighborhood of $300-400 an hour for half and half no tip required but certainly welcomed; all extras to be negotiated at the time of service.
But I digress.
I think of myself as being pretty fetish-free. I'm neither proud of that nor ashamed-- I just regard myself that way. This of course assumes that 4 inch or higher heels coupled with lace-top stockings and a great garter/ thong/bra set are in no way a "fetish." And they aren't, as long as they're worn by a woman. If I'm wearing them-- that's a fetish. But, I don't, so like I said, I'm basically fetish-free. However, a couple of years ago I had to have surgery for the first time in my life. On the morning they were to slice open my abdominal cavity and root around in there for a while I arrived at the hospital ready to have the whole thing over-- and fast. Several days earlier I had been at the hospital to do all the preliminary paperwork. Everyone was so sweet to me and everyone was decidedly female. Women treating me nicely is always a good thing, but I was slightly disappointed. Nurses don't wear crisp white dress uniforms anymore. I'm not an idiot. Check that, I am an idiot, but what I mean is that I knew they didn't dress like that anymore. But, the realization that I was going to have all of these wonderful, kind, caring women looking out for me while wearing the professional equivalent of sweat clothes was (sue me) kinda sorta disappointing. I wanted to see some legs-- even if they were in white hose. Hell, especially in white hose. And trust me, the idea of a buxom nurse (and my favorite hospital has a few of those) looking like the buttons on her starched uniform might pop open was... well, dammit, I was going under the knife and I needed some diversion.
So, that morning, as the cutest thing you ever saw in scrubs was shaving one side of my most-private area (a little symmetry please, is that too much to ask!) I said, "Don't they allow you to wear the old-school nurse uniforms anymore?"
She held the disposable razor over my scrotal area and said, "You don't like my scrubs, Mr. Wilson?"
"Love 'em. Love 'emlove 'emlove 'em!" I said.
Then she winked (I swear she did, really!), and said, "Scrubs are a lot more comfortable than those old uniforms. Plus, they are easier to get into and out of. *Smile* But, unfortunately, we have to put something in your IV now to send you off to dreamland."
"Will you be here when I awaken to tell me sordid stories from the medical world, Melanie?" I asked wistfully.
She put her hand on my forehead and said, "I just might have to stay past my shift-- you are a bit feverish."
She laughed, shook her head and watched as they started the elixir that would erase several hours of my life.
Of course, when I awoke, she was gone. But another lovely woman brought me some crackers. She would have looked good in a white dress uni too. Sigh.
The polo shirt and khaki "uniform" for grocery clerks and electronics store employees is something I trace back to Southwest Airlines. (Maybe not, but that's where I remember it gaining popularity.) If you've flown Southwest in the past umpteen years or so you know what I mean. But if, like me, you flew Southwest back when they were an upstart regional airline, you know an entirely different flight attendant uniform. Yes, dear reader(s), there was a time when a Southwest flight out of Houston Hobby at 5PM to Dallas Love Field was a flying cocktail lounge. As soon as that light went out there were a minimum of fifty cigarettes torched and the waitresses, er, flight attendants, hit the aisles with beer and mixed drinks. They wore knee high go-go boots, hot pants (sorry, that's what they were called!), and very tight tops. Think Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders with a tray full of drinks. I'm not saying it was a better time, I'm just saying it was a different time.
So, now that I think of it, maybe I do have a mild uniform fetish. I better hurry and catch my plane. And upon arrival find a hospital full of nurses in white uniforms. And maybe I can get Kendra to put on an old TGIFridays uniform top-- those tight red and white stripes covering just the greatest damn rack I ever...
Ok, ok, I definitely have some minor uniform fetish thing going on here. But I don't know anything about the girl in the picture above. Seriously. She looks like a hostess on a starship... maybe a starship run by the guys who started Southwest Airlines... damn, look at her, I need a cocktail... and maybe some pictures of "amateurs" in school girl uniforms... God, it's so fucking hot in here...

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Hudey Quarts and More

The plan to head uptown for a beer quickly devolved into three guys sharing two quart bottles of Hudepohl in Pete's room. It was just as well-- I was tired. Having a third person in the room kept Petey from teasing me too much about Diana. The next day I mailed a letter to Jackie telling her how I had made it back OK after too many rides... how I really needed to buy a car next summer... how it was a long time until Thanksgiving break and my next trip north... and especially how much fun our Saturday had been. Two weeks later I hadn't heard back. When I did hear from her she didn't have much to tell me. Missed me... work kept her busy enough she guessed... Beth was hell to live with... the usual.

I talked to Jackie on the phone just before Thanksgiving break and we figured out that, due to family stuff and her work schedule, we would only be able to get together for a few hours the day after Thanksgiving. That wasn't too cheery a prospect but then we talked about her plans to come down to school the second weekend in December for a big concert. She seemed very happy about that-- she liked Jethro Tull. Me? I liked their bluesy first album better than the newer mainstream, mass-appeal "Aqualung" & "Thick as a Brick" stuff. But hey, I was a music snob, AKA: prick. The good news was that Jackie was coming to visit me at school.


I didn't have to hitchhike home for Thanksgiving. As it turned out Jill the RA lived about an hour farther north from me and said she'd take me in her VW Beetle if I'd buy the gas-- about $7 round trip. We had a nice drive and, in fact, it was a drive that would change my life although I had no idea of that at the time. And, no, that life-changing moment had nothing to do with sex. (Sorry.) Jill was a senior majoring in Radio/TV/Film and I was a sophomore majoring in, um, I had no idea. A physics class in my first term convinced me not to be an engineer-- the nation thereby lost out on collapsing bridges and falling buildings everywhere. I was taking English, Government, and Economics and had taken a Journalism class. But Jill, during our three hours riding together, convinced me to take a radio/TV production class. Her goal was to be on-air talent in TV. She had the look for it, that was for sure. We had a spirited discussion about the proper way to train to be a journalist-- written or broadcast. Jill viewed it as a profession and I saw it as a trade or craft. It was fun to gently argue and discuss the world with her.

Riding down the highway with Jill for three hours was not like riding and arguing with, say, Pete. She was beautiful, confident, and smart and, well, there wasn't anything not to like. But, I was kind of shy around her, so I wasn't sure she had enjoyed our trip as much as I had. When she dropped me off at the highway exit closest to home I told her she had convinced me to take a radio/TV production class in the next term. We also made arrangements to get in touch Sunday morning since she was going to give me a ride back. As she drove away I wondered how she still smelled and looked so great after three hours of driving her stick shift Beetle. I was pretty sure that was a talent that TV people all had. I walked a couple of miles in the cold to my folks' house. I called Jackie as soon as I got in and she sounded great and very excited that I was home. We talked on the phone Thanksgiving day for about an hour too as we were both doing family/ holiday duty. It was good just to be able to talk to her on the phone without worrying about the bill. We had missed each other a lot, that was clear.


Friday with Jackie was not nearly as great as that Saturday many weeks ago. First of all we were seldom really alone. Beth and her boyfriend were around and Beth insisted we stick around and not go to the movies or anywhere else. Jackie and I wanted to slip off somewhere and, well, fuck. We did hold hands a lot... and hug some... and kiss for a minute or two when we could. But it wasn't as much fun as we were used to having together. Not by a long shot. Jackie had to work on Saturday but we decided Friday evening that I could come by the store at lunchtime and we could squeeze an hour alone into this weekend. We had to get an hour together.


I got to the mighty FoodTown five minutes before Jackie was to go on lunch break Saturday. She had told me to wait in the parking lot and she'd come out. I guessed she didn't want to have to introduce me to her co-workers. That didn't bother me. Right at 12:30 she came sprinting out to the car-- I was driving the big-ass Oldsmobile. She jumped in and slid right across the seat to me. I pulled out and asked where we were going. In five minutes we were on a narrow country road. We pulled on to a gravel lane along a woods but visible from the road. By the time I had the Olds in park she had my zipper down. I looked down and saw her in her red FoodTown cotton uniform shirt, black cotton pants and sensible black shoes with rubber soles. And the back of her head moving up and down as she sucked my cock. She got every drop and then threw her arms around my neck and kissed my face with her cum-filled mouth. She was laughing, smiling and happy. I had just gotten a blowjob so I was pretty damn happy too-- but seeing her smiling and laughing again made it even better.

She said, "I wanted to do that all day yesterday, Wil."

"Not as much as I wanted you to," I said.

"Bet?" she said.

I stretched out on the front seat with my back against the door and she reclined back against me. Very few cars were coming down the road. I opened her work pants and put my right hand inside her panties. My left went under her uniform shirt and made its way to her left breast. I guess she was pretty wound up from blowing me-- she came quick, hard and very loud in just a few minutes.

I dropped Jackie off back at FoodTown right at 1:30PM and told her I'd call that night to talk about her trip to my school for the Tull concert. The trip back to school with Jill went well on Sunday. But the way that Jethro Tull concert weekend went-- I cringed whenever I heard Locomotive Breath come on the radio for many years after that.

Friday, September 5, 2008

The Rocks Are On Me

I opened the door to find Jill standing there. (That would be Jill the beautiful Resident Assistant. Long straight black hair, great tan, big bright smile. Remember? No, why would you?) We exchanged pleasantries as usual. She always called me Bill those days even though everybody else on the floor called me Wil or Wilson. For a moment I thought she was dropping by to spend some quality time with "Bill" but I quickly found out, unfortunately, that our lovely RA was holding a meeting that evening at 9 and attendance was mandatory. She looked pretty stressed and went on to knock on the other doors and tell everyone. Having Jill stop by should have been a mood brightener but, alas, it just led to a bunch of guys hanging out in the living room of the suite trying to figure out why we were having an emergency meeting. Lots of scuttlebutt and chatter but I didn't care about it. I still felt crappy from traveling and this odd feeling of trepidation regarding the little blond up north. Sitting in a meeting where I had to give my rapt attention to Jill wouldn't be a bad way to spend some time though. But, I still wanted to go find a beer. Or two or three.


When I got to the meeting I expected to see Diana. I figured she should have been back on campus by then but, I guess I figured wrong-- she wasn't there. Jill got right to the point. Three students from the building, one from our floor, had been suspended two weeks for violation of residence hall policy. She reviewed the policy point in question-- basically three people had been caught smoking dope in a room Friday night and Jill wanted to make sure we knew that couldn't happen. Frankly, if they were going to suspend everyone who was getting high in the dorms from dear old alma mater they would eventually need to get the state legislature to front them the equivalent of about 80% of the tuition revenue currently rolling in. On the way back to the guys' side of the floor the talk was about how everyone would be heading down to the river all the time to get high now instead of staying safe in their little dorm rooms. None of it mattered to me. I didn't enjoy smoking dope. I didn't care a bit if everybody else did, but it wasn't anything I enjoyed. Outlaw alcohol and I'd be upset-- but pot? Didn't care.

Petey caught up with me in my room.

"Wil! Did you know about that shit?" he said.

"Nah. Doesn't bother me anyway." I said.

"Really?" Pete said.

"Petey, you know I don't get high. Why would I care if some guys got busted for smoking pot in the dorm?" I asked.

"Not that, asshole. I'm surprised that you aren't upset that Diana was partying in her room at 2 o'clock Saturday morning with two guys from the 3rd floor? Didn't you know that's who got suspended?" Pete said.

I suddenly felt kind of weird. My thoughts were racing. I never thought of myself as Diana's "boyfriend." We just had a, um, mutually exploratory sexual relationship. But, I did like her and I definitely liked the attention she gave me-- even if she did like to be in control more than I appreciated. I definitely didn't like the idea that she was fucking around in her room with two guys, getting high in the middle of the night. There aren't many directions that scene could go that I even wanted to imagine. And, come to think of it, she was supposed to be out of town all weekend. Then again she told me that she was going out of town after I told her I was going home for the weekend. So maybe that was bullshit anyway. Then again... then again...

"Didn't you know?" Pete asked again.

"No," I said.

"Shit! I can't believe I knew something that happened around here before you did! And, better than that, it was about Diana! Holy shit!" Pete said, "What are you smiling about?"

"Ya wanna go uptown and get a beer Petey boy?" I said.

"Uh... sure. OK. Drown your sorrows?" he said.

"No bud. Celebration. I'm buying the Rolling Rock tonight." I said.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Back On The Highway

We didn't remain calm forever though, Jackie and me. After we had brought her energy level way down I spent a long time just running my hands over her bare frame from head to toe. Then, eventually, I found my way between her legs with my hands. And, not without great concentration and manual dexterity, I found a way to get her to make some sounds that nobody could accurately describe as intelligible words. After some time I got up and padded out to the kitchen to get us something to eat and drink at her suggestion. We had a picnic in her room.
By now all those clothes that had been piled on the bed were pretty much on the floor where we sat. We had a long talk about me being at school... her working 40 hours per week at FoodTown while living with her reckless mother... how difficult this situation was for the past five weeks and how it wasn't going to get any easier. Neither of us wanted "us" to end, that was for sure, but we also knew how tough this was. We likely wouldn't see each other again until Thanksgiving and, meanwhile, Jackie was very concerned about me being away at school on a campus full of temptation. That she made very clear. I, stupidly, never thought about her being tempted. Not a bit. Self-absorbed? Yeah. But also, she loved me. I knew that for sure. As a rookie I thought that was enough.
We had sex the rest of the afternoon. Before Beth got home from work I left for my house. It was a tearful good-bye this time unlike when I first went to school. On the drive to my parents' house, after a day full of the most amazing sexual experience of my young life, I felt very satisfied. But I didn't feel smug because I also could feel a cold hand on me.
It was a long, gray day of hitchhiking back to school on Sunday. What a 50 hour whirlwind it had been: hitchhike home, have dinner with folks, do laundry, go to Jackie's, fuck like rabbits all day, back to mom & dad's for dinner, out on the highway before noon the next morning and in the dorm by 6PM. Petey saw me come in and we went to dinner. Good old Pete wanted to know all about my weekend-at-home pussy. I told him less than nothing.
"Something's wrong, Wil," he said.
"Nah. Just tired from hitchin' back. It took five fuckin' rides today and this one fuckin' dipshit left me in a crappy part of town after I told him to drop me at the outerbelt. Just a shitty day, Pete."
He didn't buy it. He said, "Hey, if things are fucked up with your hometown pussy at least you're nailin' the hottest girl in our dorm."
"Get the fuck away from me, Pete, seriously. I went home to do my laundry. You don't know what you're talkin' about," I said.
"The machines in the basement take quarters. Those are the things that are bigger than nickles with Washington on them, if you need help," he said.
I was sitting in my room later that night contemplating finding a beer somewhere when there was a knock at the door. I knew that Diana was out of town all weekend so I was pretty sure it was one of the guys in the suite. If it was an invitation to go uptown I was up for it. I was sure as hell up for it.