Friday, September 18, 2009

Back To School

We got on the road for home Sunday afternoon at 4. Sharon was awake about fifteen minutes and then slept most of the way home curled up in the back. Mona, who had been at Chet’s apartment all night, lasted about an hour before she asked me to drive. I was tired but always up for driving a muscle car so I locked the Camaro at 70 MPH and we cruised north on the Interstate.

Mona talked for a while before she went to sleep, leaving me with the radio to fiddle with as I tried to keep from dozing off at the wheel. Before she drifted away Mona said she’d had a great time with her blind date and that he was coming up to see her for Labor Day weekend. Well, good for her, and way better for him, I thought.

I got back home from the wild weekend in Louisville at 10PM and fell in bed only to get up at 5 AM and go off to work at the plant. Not too much time left before going back to college for my junior year. Sharon and I got together almost every night between our return from the trip and our departure for school. She left for college three days before me. I was living off campus for the first time having found a one bedroom apartment over an appliance store about a 10 minute drive from campus. It was about twice the size of most student apartments but not more expensive because it was so far out of town. I liked it—although it was very quiet at night after two years of living in the dorms.

By the second week in my new place I was getting a letter almost every day from Sharon. It seems odd now in an age where people don’t write many letters, but phone calls were pretty expensive. Every letter smelled like her perfume and was written in red pen on white stationery—never on a page ripped from a spiral notebook. Maybe today’s college students will have similar memories about their Facebook pages and txt msgs as I have about sheets of clean white paper, covered in red ink that carried the scent of a great summer. I don’t know how she came up with stuff to write about every day. Thankfully, she didn’t complain that I wrote about once for every five or six of her missives. (Black Bic pen on cheap white ruled paper if you must know.)

Three weeks after school started I drove my little two-seater Italian sports car to her campus. It seemed like we hadn’t seen each other in months. When I saw her I felt for a moment like I might be falling in love with Sharon. I definitely felt that she loved me.

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It was an eye-opening weekend. I was used to the "summertime Sharon" but at school she apparently didn’t wear bikinis, jeans, and halter tops. In fact, she was dressed up so much on Friday evening when I got to campus that I thought I had missed something in a letter about us going to some fancy place. But it was just her usual garb as a sorority sister. She looked great, by the way, but I felt dramatically underdressed. And there was another problem. I wasn’t supposed to be in the sorority house after 2 AM on the weekend so she was worried to distraction about that. She had asked some frat guy if I could stay at his place if the house mother threw me out. For me it was as if I had traveled to a foreign planet. She was so worried about someone knowing I was there that both Friday and Saturday night we didn’t even fuck. She did however blow me both nights and that was not a favorite activity for Sharon. I knew that and I thought it was pretty sweet that she would do that. Reciprocation was out of the question though. She wouldn’t even let me finger fuck her as she was so afraid she couldn’t be quiet. It was a kind of frustrating weekend but it could have been worse without her oral attention. I didn’t know why she didn’t like to suck cock, she was pretty good at it.

A couple weeks later Sharon took Trailways to see me at good old alma mater. I picked her up at the bus station and we went straight to get something for her to eat. She had been cranky when she got in—riding a bus for four hours can do that—but she started having fun immediately when we hit the bars and she got a burger and a beer in her. My school was about ten times the size of hers and she was knocked out by the whole Friday night scene. We finally got out to my apartment at Midnight.
“God Wil, this place is huge,” she said as we walked in.
She checked out the living room and kitchen. “Is this your furniture?”
“Nah, it’s a furnished place. The landlord runs the store downstairs. He’s a cool old guy,” I said.
She looked in the bathroom (which I made sure was sparkling clean) and put her makeup case on the counter. Then she went in the bedroom.

“Jesus. It’s a Kingsized bed!”
“Queen actually,” I said.
“If I transfer can I live here with you?”
“Sure,” I said knowing her parents would never let her go anywhere but the school where they had met and where her sister had also gone.
“Thanks baby. You’re so good to me,” she said.

We hugged.
We kissed.
And finally it started to feel like things were back to the way they’d been over summer and down in Louisville.

We never left the apartment until Sunday afternoon when she had to catch her bus back. It was thirty-six hours of fucking interrupted only by meals and hygiene breaks and it was amazing.