Wait – the story started here with…
and then it continued on to …
Part Three: Anal and More Anal
and then here to …
I watched her get into the shuttle. I felt like an asshole – so disappointed in myself. I felt guilt. Not for the stuff we did sexually; if anything we used each other for it. What I did was worse; I talked her into flying to another state to cheat on her boyfriend – while actually I was just drunk and had no interest in seeing her. She wasn’t stupid – she knew what was going on; She was kind enough to let me off the hook – could have made me pretend all weekend.
I drank another margarita while I thought about how I needed to moderate my drinking. At least she was gone already, so quickly. I was guilty but free. The sex was pretty sexy – so it wasn’t all for nothing. She did call out another guy’s name – thankfully – was the only excuse I could keep in mind to feel less guilty.
I’m a good guy – but my hormones and substance indulgences early in college compelled me to make some less than empathetic decisions. Talking Sheryl into visiting while I was drunk, when I hardly liked to be around her sober, felt like a new kind of bad drunken decision – one I couldn’t detach from – blame it on the alcohol.
I knew why I thought to call Sheryl – why I liked her when I was drunk – probably same reasons why anybody would. I knew she was a nice person, but her weakness turned me off. I found her inauthentic for trying so hard; for trying to be a blond bombshell despite having a face that would forever deny her such a distinction.
At the time – I thought I was not attracted to Sheryl because i saw through her – had her figured out; I had no idea that in Sheryl’s weakness and efforts to be something more than she was – I was seeing in replica – the folly in my own behavior – vulnerability of my own story.
Although it would be a while before I’d discover it – I was no better – was pretending things too. I came from not far above average money – had a bit of my own – but was trying to fit in with many around me who were wealthy enough to want to hide it. Also, I was not far above average smart – but was trying to pass for brilliant like some others around me genuinely were.
Sheryl and I both had yet to grow into ourselves and drop the pretense. Greater depth, self-awareness and humility continued to evade me for at least another year and my first several acid trips – and until the money ran out.
Being too broke to afford a toy watch, or matchbox car , is fast way to learn that wealth isn’t a watch or a car. And, confidence – or talent – even “brilliance” – toxic concepts. Talent and confidence are lazy foreman, stuffing their faces, impatiently waiting for the job to get done. Hopefully Sheryl learned that her real beauty was far more than a pretty face. One way or the other, as people grow up, most learn that greatness and strengths can’t be faked: we can fool ourselves; it’s unlikely we’ll fool others about who we’re fooling.
Sheryl was already benefiting from her insecurities: she was humble and giving; she kept her body in perfect shape and dressed classy and sexy. For all my naivete, i did appreciate her kindness – and when push came to shove, she never failed to turn me on and get me horny.
Thinking back – I hate to think what she must have thought about me – and how bad I probably hurt her feelings. I wish I could go back to that moment and kick my own ass.
Okay – damn, I’m sorry . I was supposed to be telling a hot story here. Don’t worry – we’ve only gotten up to 2pm on Saturday; there’s a lot more to tell, trust me – I didn’t chose that particular weekend randomly.
Stay tuned for the next part – where I’ll resume the telling of the weekend in life as a college sophomore.
What you might have thought to be the main act of this show – the climax – tip of the arch even, was just foothills before an Everest of what happened next; coming in Sheryl’s ass was not even the previews before the movie – more like the lame slide show of treats and refreshments that those who arrive too early must suffer though.
The next part of this story will kill the lights and fire up the projector.
And now you may read on to…