Romantic Interlude

This is a chapter from my (as yet) unpublished book Men of the Skull.  It's a memoir of my college years.  Fraternity life in the 1980s.  I wrote it trying to find out the source of my pain, using the journals I kept (and still keep) as primary sources.  After seven years of research and writing, I finished it in November of 2008.  But by then, I KNEW what the issue was... I was a woman... so the book became superfluous, really.

Me, 1988.  Bartending at a house social

I tried hard to get an agent, etc, but no one wanted it.

As with every chapter, it is dated, and a headline from that day follows the date.

In any case, this chapter is an example of who I was in college (and who the person I dated was.)  And yes, this happened when and how I say it did.

Note:  contains adult situations and language.  

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Chapter  2.108: Lights Out

Tuesday, January 20, 1988 U.S. to send more arms to contras

“Lance.”

“What?”

“Turn on the light”

“Why?”

“I gotta go to the bathroom.”

“So go.”

“We’re on a loft.  I need to see where I’m going.”

“So turn on the light.”

“You’re closer.”

“It’s more fun if you do it.”

“Why?”

“I love it when your tits rub against me.  Especially while we’re naked.”

“I fucking hate that word.  Tits.  I’m not a cow!”

“What would you prefer?”

“I don’t know!  Boobs.  Why not boobs?”

“That’s childish.  Why not gazongas?  Hooters?  Yabos?”

“You’re an asshole.  Turn on the fucking light.”

“I think this is a legita-legitimate issue.  What would you like me to call them?  Do you have names for them?”

“No.  I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“My dad called them tits.”

“Yours?”

“Moms and mine.”

“I don’t get it!”

“You never do.”

“I just did.”

“Just turn on the fucking light before I pee in the bed!”

“Feel better?”

“I used the last of the paper.”

“Oh well.”

“I love you.”

“Whatever.”