Friday, January 9, 2009

Black Horse Ale

Linda was average.

Most people hearing that would think it was a disparaging remark. We strive to be above average, so calling someone average sounds like a pejorative to our ears. But I actually mean it as a positive. Think about it for a second from the standpoint of a major college campus in the 1970's. The average co-ed was probably between 5'4" and 5'6". While there were girls with black hair, plenty of blonds, and a few redheads, the average woman on campus was a brunette. Some graduated in four years, some never graduated at all, so Linda's five year plan was probably about average.

My guess is that she was a 34B. Average.

She wasn't underfed skinny nor overly chubby. Average.

There were sorority girls in expensive clothes and then there were some women on campus who were just plain slovenly. Linda was somewhere in the middle-- blue jeans, sweaters, boots or tennis shoes. Average.

The campus was multi-cultural, of course, so a white girl with olive skin would be.....? Average.

You end up with an attractive young brunette, 5'6", with a nice shape, dressed to fit in with the prevailing currents on campus. What's wrong with average? Not a damn thing.

But in one area I discovered that Linda was below average-- at least in terms of my limited experience at the time. There is no kind way to put this. She was a bad lay. She was without any passion at all. She was nearly motionless as well as emotionless. At first I blamed myself. Then I blamed the fact that she was probably still stoned while I was stone cold sober. Bless her heart, she was ready, willing, and almost able. Yet it was sort of like riding a surfboard on dry land. No thrills. No spills.

Perhaps more foreplay was the answer. I might have been in a rush due to the long drought I'd been experiencing. But, seriously, I had put on my new Al Green record and what more foreplay could possibly be needed. Despite the vague disappointment I felt after we had, um, coupled she seemed quite happy. Which made it worse in a way because I started to wonder if that was the best it could ever be with Linda. I mean, if that made her happy...? Maybe more practice would improve our joint performance. Or maybe next time I'd get high too and then I wouldn't give a damn.

After a while in the dark of my room she said, "I'm thirsty."

No doubt the cottonmouth had set in so I got her some water in my trusty college mug. She drained it at once and said, "Let's go drinking."

It really wasn't all that late and in those days I was always ready for a beer so we headed up the hill again in the cold rain and dropped in at the tavern in the basement of the student union. They sold imported beer, including ones from the exotic, uncharted land to the north called Canada, so I bought us both a Black Horse Ale. It was cold, wet, and without character. (The ale-- not me, smartass!)

After two rounds Linda looked like she was nodding off to dreamland so we walked the few blocks over to her apartment above the store. She asked me in and I decided she should get some sleep so I begged off. She asked me to call her Saturday and I said I would.

Back out on the street I thought I'd stop in at my favorite bar, The Union, not to be confused with the student union. After all, I was out in the cold and rain anyway, I'd had two beers and could find room for a couple more, and... well, fuck it, I wanted to drink. It would still be busy on a Friday night at The Union and the jukebox was the best in town. I ducked in out of the driving rain and was surprised to see the place only about half full. I dropped onto a stool at the end of the bar where the waitresses loaded their trays-- the barback was working at that end too and he pulled a Rolling Rock out of the cooler, nodded at me and said "Rock?" A simple nod from me and I quickly had a green bottle in my hand and 50 cents gone from my pocket.

When the waitress and part owner of the place, Annie, came to fill up a tray I asked her where everybody was.

"New owners at The Button. Changed the name, 2 for 1 drinks, ladies' night all night, for all I know they're givin' head in the back room. Plus the weather's shitty. Guess I don't need to tell you, ya look like ya might drown, Wil. But you do look happier than usual. What happened, ya get laid?" she laughed, "Anyway, they'll be back. Nuthin' could kill this place. Once spring hits for sure we'll be busy as hell."

"What's the story with those three?" I asked.

"Them? Freshmen, I think. Never saw 'em in here before. They're on a two-beer-buzz, but not drunk. Yet. What do you have in mind, Romeo?"

I was asking her about three young ladies at a table about twenty feet away. Every one of them had put on the freshman fifteen for sure and probably had been on the chubby side when they arrived at dear old alma mater. Two white girls, one black girl. One white girl was cute as hell, the black girl's back was to me, and the other white girl looked very sullen. Maybe she was a mean drunk. I wondered for a while how I could cut one of the other two out of the herd. Just something to muse on while sitting, warming up from the rain, and thinking about Linda and the last few hours. It really had been head-spinning. There I was walking across campus looking at my shoes, certainly the biggest mope in the tri-state area. Then I ran into Linda and my view of life had changed in a few hours. Hope was back. There really was pussy after Jackie, even if it didn't show much enthusiasm. I also realized that I was way too dependent for my well-being on the affection of females. But, it was just as clear that Linda had been my slumpbuster. I could feel it way down inside. Actually, I could feel it in my balls and that twitchy feeling in my cock.

Maybe it would be fun to try to have two of those big girls tonight? Maybe? Oh, hell, it would definitely be fun. But how would a shy fellow like me go about that?