Rensselaer

Chapter 23: Freshman Year

I tried reaching Jeana for the rest of the summer. I did a few drive-bys, and called every girl I knew who knew Jeana. The response was the same. They could get in to see her, but Jeana was on lockdown, and probably going to parochial school, a private girl’s parochial school, in the fall. She was depressed, but otherwise okay. Whenever one of the girls brought my name up, Jeana would sigh and or cry, but she didn’t ask to see me or send me a message. It was over in more ways than one, I guessed, but it was very depressing.

Tusker came over one afternoon. For the last year he had known about my apartment, but he kept it quiet. “I heard you and Jeana are broken up. Her old man do that to your face?”

“Mom joined in, too, but yeah, her dad tagged me pretty good.” I gave him a condensed version of what had happened, though I left out some of the graphic details. “I’m worried about her. I can’t see her or talk to her, and nobody knows anything,” I finished.

He nodded silently, and then went to my refrigerator and grabbed a couple of beers. “You ever think that maybe this wasn’t an accident? That maybe Jeana had this planned out?”

“Huh!? What?!” I just stared at him, my bottle frozen halfway to my mouth.

He shrugged. “Hey, you’re about to go away and she isn’t going to want to wait for you, is she? So maybe she managed to get caught by her parents, and that breaks you two up nice and neat?”

I rolled my eyes at this. “You’re shitting me, right?”

“I’m just saying, are you sure?”

“You think Jeana managed to time this so that she was buck ass naked and sitting on my face getting hosed with a facial just in time for her parents to walk in!?” I exclaimed.

Tusker’s face lit up. “You’re kidding me, right!? You gave her a facial while her parents were coming in the door? No wonder they went nuts! You’re lucky to be alive! Oh, that’s tremendous!”

I was less than thrilled by being able to liven up my friend’s afternoon. Still, I wondered, could Jeana have been cold-blooded enough and ruthless enough to manage our breakup in such a way? I couldn’t imagine she would have ever wanted to be caught the way we were, but what if she had been planning on me getting caught just ‘fooling around’ with her, my hands down her pants or her top up around her neck? What if our timing was off or she got hornier than planned? I just didn’t know what to think.

I stopped bothering her or her friends.

I spent the balance of my last free summer finishing my classes at Towson State and getting ready to move to Troy. I hate moving. I did before and discovered I still did now. I split things into two separate categories, stuff I would take with me and stuff I would put into storage. I rented a small storage locker/building out in Timonium, and went out and bought a bunch of storage boxes. Even though I had been renting a furnished apartment, I still had spent the last couple of years accumulating a huge pile of shit. I rented the storage unit for a year, and paid in advance.

Moving into the freshman dorms was going to be a wrenching change. I could have afforded an apartment, but RPI required all freshmen to live on campus. The only exceptions were students whose parents lived nearby, and I only ever met one guy who qualified. Everybody else lived in the freshman dorms, which a national college guide had described as being constructed in ‘the neo-penitentiary style.’ I could attest to that. Short of bars on the windows, the freshmen dorms had all the coziness of Alcatraz. The rooms were small, able to fit in two small desks, two single beds, and not much else. They had two built-in closet/dresser assemblies, one on each side of the doors as the inmates would enter their cells. Linoleum flooring, and cinder block walls completed the charming atmosphere.

I began packing up what I was going to store. I also brought out one of my trusty foot lockers, for the trip to Troy. I would fill a foot locker and bring it, my IBM Selectric, and a small half-size refrigerator which I picked up at a local appliance store. Those were allowed, although hot plates or toaster ovens were not. I would also bring several cardboard boxes holding my clothes, which I would chuck once I was unpacked. Lastly would be my stereo, a small but very nice Bose system.

Everything else went to the storage locker in Timonium. I called Tusker and he came over with his dad’s pickup truck, and we loaded it all up and drove over. This was just returning the favor I had done him. After graduation he had gotten a job tending bar at a place in Towson, and was also working at a repair shop. He had moved into a small apartment in town. A bunch of us helped him move, four fellow bikers, and me, the preppy college kid. Fuck it, we moved him, finished off a couple cases of beer, and fucked around and arm wrestled. I won a few and lost a few.

After we moved my stuff, we went back to the apartment and drank all my beer, finished off my open jugs of cooking wine, and ate or threw out the last food in the fridge and pantry. I was ready to travel by August 23, a Thursday. Freshmen could start showing up on Friday August 24, but most wouldn’t show until Saturday August 25, which was when the Freshman Dining Hall opened. The following Monday, the 27^th, class registration would happen, and classes would start the next day, Tuesday August 28. My plan was to drive up on the 23^rd, spend the night in a motel, and be first in line Friday morning. I wanted to be in the dorm room and unpacked by Friday afternoon. Saturday was going to be a fucking zoo! Worst of all, RPI has very few parking spaces. I needed to have the car parked Saturday before a zillion parents and kids showed up to drop Little Johnny off at school.

Mom, Dad, and Suzie came over Wednesday night to say good-bye. Dad and I hauled the stuff I was taking out to the Galaxie. The only heavy stuff was the foot locker, the Selectric, and the mini-fridge. They took me out to dinner and then we got the hugs and handshakes out of the way. I promised to write. I ducked any questions on when they would see me back home. That night I slept in my clothes on the bare mattress. Early the next morning I showered, dressed in my clean travel clothes, and stuffed everything into a duffel bag. I handed my keys to my landlords and was off.

I stayed the night at the same dump motel I stayed at in Watervliet when I came up for my school visit. I was up bright and early Friday morning and had breakfast at a diner in Green Island. I was parked in the parking lot between the Student Union and the Armory by 8:00. I looked around with quite the sense of déjà vu all over again. I actually wandered around the campus for a bit before heading into the Student Union for check-in.

Physically, Rensselaer is split into several different sections. You have the old school area, which borders on Sage Avenue and 15^th Street, with a residential quadrangle for upper classmen and a number of stately brick and ivy covered buildings dating back to the 19^th century. You can see these buildings for miles around because they are on the side of a big hill and have green copper roofs. South of this section is a newer academic area, where the new chemistry, physics, materials science, and library buildings are. The old school was engineering and architecture only.

East of 15^th Street was a vast area that had been developed by the college during and after World War II. The Student Union was here, a three story modern building, the Armory (which actually had a fully functioning tank lift in the basement, in case your M-4 Sherman needed a tune-up!), and all of the newer student housing. The freshman dorms were over there, along with the dining hall, as well as some newer grad student housing.

I grabbed my paperwork and went into the Student Union about 9:00 or so, and the line for check-in was mercifully short. Tomorrow it would be much, much longer! This was still in the pre-Internet, pre-computer days, so it was a matter of standing in line until you got to the table, where somebody would pull out paper files on you and check you in. Still, I was an early bird and the people at the desk weren’t going crazy yet. By mid-morning I was marked as present and accounted for, had my room key for Hall Hall (The residence hall was named after a guy named Hall. Go figure.), and I had registered the Galaxie and gotten a parking sticker for the student lot (And the student lot only! The campus police were vigorous in their detection and prosecution of cars where they weren’t allowed.)

The Student Union was a fair sized building. Check-in was held on the second floor, which was the main level, and normally had some meeting rooms and a large dining area for formal college uses or small concerts. Upstairs was where the student government lived, along with rooms for clubs and the school newspaper. The basement held the bookstore, a branch of Key Bank, a small bowling alley and billiards room, and the Rathskellar, or Rat, which was a sandwich and pizza shop you could get a beer at. Before I left the building, I went downstairs and opened an account with Key Bank, funding it with a certified check I got when I cleaned out my accounts at Clifton Trust.

Next I was off to Hall Hall. By getting there a day early, I was able to snag a good parking spot near the main entrance. In those days, the key was an actual physical key, not a card. The main door was unlocked, and I grabbed some stuff and wandered up to the second floor. I was going to be in Room 206. My roommate wasn’t there yet, so I grabbed the left side of the room and tossed my duffel on the bed.

I wasn’t the only one checking in early, so I made nice with my new neighbors and offered to help them move in if they returned the favor. This was readily accepted, especially after they noticed I had a small fridge and an unopened case of Budweiser in my car. I promised we would work on that later, so that got carried in first and set up, and then loaded with beer to cool down, while we went back out and finished bringing our shit in. After that the guys gathered in my room and we cracked open a few cool beers, cool but not cold, since that little fridge was a bit anemic. Nobody cared.

It was all guys in the room. It was all guys in the dorm. It was all guys in all four freshman dorms! This place had the highest testosterone factor I had ever been around, at least until I went through basic training in the Army. Up until about five years ago, RPI had been men only, sort of like The He-Man Woman Hater’s Club for nerds. Historically, the only time women had ever attended the school had been for things like World War II, when no men were around and they needed women engineers. As soon as the war was over, the women were sent packing. As it was, in 1973, after five years of co-ed education, it was still 14 to 1 guys to girls. You didn’t go to this place to get laid! There were so few women in the freshman class (40–50? Less?) they were all put into the graduate apartments, where they had private bathrooms!

The dining hall wasn’t open until the next morning, so after we got hungry we all got into the Galaxie and headed down to Hoosick Street. There was a strip mall there I remembered with a Price Chopper and a few other stores, but also a small Italian place we could order a couple of pizzas. When somebody asked how I knew about the place, I just replied that I had spotted it coming in from 787 off the Hoosick Street Bridge. In a different life I had taken girls down there to wine and dine them.

Saturday dawned sunny and bright. The dining hall was open, which was fortunate in that I didn’t want to have to drive into town. It was unfortunate in that, well, the dining hall was open! Imagine the worst meals you ever had in your high school cafeteria. Now, imagine them as an adult, seven days a week. Exactly what was being served at any given time was decidedly questionable. Nobody was ever able to prove anything, but most people noticed a suspicious lack of stray dogs and cats in the local area. That’s probably not what really happened, since I’m positive they would have tasted better. There were reasons I moved out of the dorms sophomore year, and the dining hall featured prominently in those reasons.

I woke up early and pulled on some gym shorts and jogged around the campus for a bit before heading back to the dorm and showering and changing. Then I wandered over to the dining hall, where I grabbed some OJ and an apple. Part of my strength and weight control conditioning was that I usually skipped breakfast. I don’t know who came up with the crap about breakfast being the most important meal of the day. Whenever Marilyn gave me that shit, I would always ask if she worked for the American Breakfast Board. By the time I got back to the dorm the day’s rush was started, and a huge number of cars were trying to cram themselves into the parking lots, as parents tried to get rid of their offspring. Nobody showed up in the morning, and by noon I was hungry enough to actually go over to the dining hall and eat a real lunch.

I got back to my dorm room to find the door open, and somebody’s crap on my bed. Whoever that somebody was I had no idea, and he was nowhere to be found. I threw his stuff on the other bed, the one conspicuously empty, and closed the door. It seemed as if I wasn’t going to be running a singleton, but as I remembered back, that was never going to be the case anyway. Back when I did this the first time, I hadn’t been early acceptance, and for the first few months, until Thanksgiving, I was in a temporary dorm carved out of a corner of the lounge on the first floor, sleeping on a bunk bed and living like I was in boot camp. By Thanksgiving enough students had flunked out to let us move into real dorm rooms.

Ten minutes later there was a loud thumping on the door. I roused myself off my bed to greet my new roommate. I opened the door to look out and found a fellow about my height, maybe a touch less, and about ten pounds smaller. He had a soft look to him, though he wasn’t quite pudgy. His hair was long, down to his shoulders, and very curly, and he had a wide, round face. He looked at me and asked, “How come the door was shut?”

What a fucking moron! “So that nobody would come in and take anything,” I replied.

He laughed and pushed his way inside. “Nobody would do that!” Then he noticed his stuff was on the right side of the room. “Hey, how come you moved my stuff over here?”

“Because I already set my stuff up on this side yesterday. Didn’t you notice it when you came in?” I asked.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Who are you?”

“I suspect I’m your roommate. Carl Buckman. You’re assigned to 206, also?”

He gave me a funny look. “Yeah, why else would I be here?”

“Okay then, pleased to meet you.” I stuck my hand out and he absent-mindedly shook it, even as he was looking around the room.

“Yeah, great.” His eyes found my mini-fridge and lit up. “Hey, we’ve got a fridge! Wow! That’s great!” He immediately went over to my refrigerator and yanked the door open. “Wow! Beer, too!” He reached in a grabbed a can of Bud, before I could say anything, and popped open the top. Next, as I stood there in disbelief, he threw the door to our room open and yelled down the hallway, “We’ve got some beer in 206!”

Enough of that shit! I moved past him and slammed the door shut before I was mobbed. Even then it shut in the face of a pimply kid from across the hall. My roommate stared at me. “What’s the problem? Let’s have a party!” He drained the can of beer in a single long swallow, and moved back towards my fridge.

“Hold your horses. Let’s get a few things straight,” I said.

“Like what?”

“Like who the hell are you?”

“I’m your roommate,” he said.

“Yeah, we’ve been over that part. What’s your name?”

He relaxed at that. “Oh, yeah, my name’s Jim Connolly, but everybody calls me Buddy. What’s your name?”

“Carl Buckman.” Like I told you the first time.

“Great, Carl, let’s get the party started!” He made another move towards the fridge.

I stepped in front of him again. “Hold it. That fridge doesn’t belong to the college. It didn’t come with the room.”

He looked at me curiously. “It didn’t? We don’t get fridges in the dorm rooms?”

“Not unless you buy your own,” I answered.

It took a few seconds for that to sink in. “You mean you bought that fridge?”

“Precisely.”

His face lit up. “Well that’s really great! We can keep our beer cold!” He moved to open it again.

“Wait!” He stopped to stare at me. “That was my beer. That wasn’t our beer. My beer involves my money. Our beer involves our money. Follow me?” He had a puzzled look on his face. “If you want some of my beer, you can ask me first. Okay?”

He shrugged. “Jeesh, it’s only beer. Whatever. Can I have another beer?”

“Of course.” I opened the fridge and took out two beers, popped them both open, and handed him one. “Cheers. Welcome.”

Once again he downed his beer is a single prodigious swallow, which was then followed by an equally prodigious belch. Buddy began to start putting his stuff away, but after a few dispirited minutes, he opened the door and marched off down the hallway, greeting new people, leaving our door open. After five minutes I went to the door and looked around. There were masses of milling freshmen, but no Buddy. I shook my head and closed the door.

Five minutes later, Buddy was back and pounding on the door. “How come you closed the door?”

“Buddy, you’ve been gone fifteen minutes. Close the door when you leave the room.”

“Why?” Buddy put away some more of his stuff and then headed out the door again. This time I was able to call out to him to take his key with him and to close the door after him. I got him to take his key, but he was gone before he closed the door. I didn’t bother closing it.

Ten minutes later, Buddy came back. “See, I didn’t need to close the door! Hey, want another beer?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Great!” Buddy opened my mini-fridge and pulled out another couple of beers, handing one to me and popping the other. I should have expected that. He puttered around some more, putting away more stuff, and then wandered down the hallway again. Fifteen minutes later he was back, and this time he closed the door behind him. I put down the book I was reading and watched curiously as he rooted around in one of his drawers before pulling out some rolling papers. Then he pulled a baggie of pot out of his pocket and started rolling a joint. “I found a guy with a stash.” He lit the joint and took a deep draw on it, sucking down almost a third of the joint, and held it in longer than I thought humanly possible. “Want a hit?” he asked.

Oh Lord, give me strength. I didn’t have anything against smoking pot, and God knows I smoked enough of it when I went here the first time, but there was no way I was smoking dope in the middle of the afternoon with Buddy Connolly. “Thanks, but no thanks.” I got up and cranked open the windows.

“You don’t smoke pot?” he asked.

“Not in the middle of the afternoon, and not when parents are wandering around the hallways. You don’t think anybody can smell that shit?”

“Hey, it’s no big deal!” Buddy finished the joint and rolled a second. “You sure you don’t want a hit? Payment for the beer?”

“Thanks, Buddy, but no.”

He shrugged and said, “Okay, maybe later.” Then he set up his own stereo, a cheap piece of shit with one of the speakers missing the foam cover, and started blasting Aerosmith through it.

He must have had that thing set to 11, and the fillings in my head started coming loose. I yelled for him to turn it down a couple of times, but his eyes were closed and he was totally zoned out. I got up and turned the volume down to about halfway on the scale. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“Too loud.”

Buddy shrugged and wandered down the hallway, leaving the door open again, the reek of the pot followed him like a cloud. He came back after a few minutes. “Where’s the phones?”

“There’s a pay phone down in the lounge,” I told him.

“Oh.” He wandered out. The album was ended, so I turned off his stereo. Five minutes later he was back. “Hey, there’s a phone down the hallway, but it doesn’t work. You can’t call out.”

I remembered that. It was a Centrex system designed to only allow people to call around the campus. That was the theory, anyway. Putting a system like that in a college full of nerds and geeks was like waving bloody meat in front of a wolf. By the Christmas break somebody had managed to figure out how to call anywhere in the world for free, and the school yanked all the phones out of the dorms when they saw the bills.

“I know. It’s a Centrex system. It only calls around the campus.”

He looked at me funny. “How come you know so much about phones?”

Because I spent thirty years running telecomm networks. “Because it says Centrex Telephone on the label on the phone.”

“Oh.” He wandered away again.

I shook my head in disbelief. A few minutes later I decided to get out and wander around myself. I ended up down two doors and across the hall, drinking beers with the residents. They were in the process of emptying some beer cans through their kidneys, so they could fashion a cannon out of the empty cans. Sounded like a fine idea. We cut the ends of the cans off and managed to stuff the ends one into another so that they were stacked together as a long tube. Then one of the guys poked a small hole in the closed end. We balled up some newspaper and dropped it down the barrel, and then squirted some lighter fluid in through the hole. We aimed the gizmo out the open window, yelled ‘Fire in the hole!’, and held a lighter up to the hole. There was a satisfying ‘WHOOMP!’ and a flaming ball flew out of the cannon into the center of the freshman quad. Everyone gave a loud cheer, and more people crowded into the room for a second shot. Eventually we ended up with a bunch more cannons and a duel with Cary Hall, before being shut down by the Resident Advisers.

I headed back to my room just in time to meet Buddy coming back. “Hey, did you know there were flaming cannons around here?” He smoked some more dope and drank my last beer, and then fell asleep on top of his still unmade bed.

Okay, so the guy was an idiot, but he was an amiable idiot. The thing was, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember him from before. RPI isn’t that big a school, and by the time you graduate the odds are you have at least seen everybody, even if you don’t know their names. I was already able to look at the guys in the dorm and at least remember seeing their faces around campus. I couldn’t remember Buddy Connolly for shit. That left me with two options: either we had managed to get through four years of a small school without running across each other or, more likely, Buddy didn’t last. I was definitely going with Option Two. No way was I going to last with a drunken stoner roommate.

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t all that terrible. Buddy could be annoying, but he didn’t have a mean bone in his body, or a smart one. He was constantly drinking up all my beer or scarfing down any snacks I had around, but it wasn’t like when Hamilton took my stuff to destroy it. Buddy was just a party animal and couldn’t understand why I wasn’t. I stopped buying beer, and kept my liquor and some small bottles of mixers in my foot locker, which I kept locked, along with anything else I didn’t want him to eat or drink. He didn’t seem to mind when I came in and turned down the stereo he had blasting heavy metal.

Buddy really cemented his reputation as a doper supreme the following weekend. It was the long Labor Day weekend, and I don’t think he was straight a single minute. He wasn’t very straight the rest of the time, for that matter. On the plus side, we had absolutely no classes together.

That was very, very unusual at RPI. As a general rule, every freshman in the school had an identical schedule. Every engineer and every scientist took the same classes, certainly through the first semester, and almost certainly through the second semester. They didn’t really separate until sophomore year. Every single freshman would take Calculus I, Chemistry I, Physics I, and for the engineers — about 60 % of the school — Engineering I. Second semester was more of the same.

These classes were done in two parts. First you had massive lecture halls that held hundreds of students at once, where professors delivered canned lectures covering the week’s topic. Then, groups of up to 20 students would assemble at different times with grad students or more junior professors to review the topics and go over homework. This was where you would go for help if you didn’t understand the lectures or books.

The real fun came every Friday morning. Starting about three weeks after classes began, at 8:00 AM on Friday was the dreaded F-Test. F for Friday? F for Freshman? F for Failure? Nobody knew. It started with Calculus, the next week was Chemistry, the following week was Physics, and it finished with Engineering. The 40 % of us who weren’t engineers got a break that week. After the four week cycle ran its course, you immediately started a new cycle. It continued this way right up until the end of the semester, ensuring that every class had at least two or three major tests before the final. Since almost everybody in the school was required to take at least two semesters of these courses, the procedure continued in the spring.

It was actually funny, in a macabre sort of way. The freshmen dorms and dining hall would empty out at about 7:45, and the entire freshman class would begin a Bataan Death March style hike across the campus, generally using the Ho Chi Minh Trail, an asphalt pathway that connected the freshman quad with the main campus, so named because it was so cracked and potholed it resembled the heavily bombed supply line in Viet Nam. It was like a mass migration, lemmings’ marching to the sea, with the always remembered proviso that the lemmings ended up drowning at the end of it.

The only ones who got out of this were the ones who managed to test out in high school on AP classes. I was very, very different, in that even though I was technically a freshman and living in the freshman dorms, I was actually already taking sophomore and junior level math and computer courses. Nobody else in the freshman class was doing that!

Buddy went to his first round of classes, but then forgot to go to the bookstore and buy his textbooks. Of course, as his roommate, I could be expected to loan him mine. I mean, what are roommates for, right? By Wednesday, he was asking, “Hey, can I borrow your Resnick?” A Resnick was our physics book, named after Professor Resnick, who wrote it.

I looked over at him from my desk where I was studying Finite Math. “Sorry. I don’t have one.”

He looked very confused at that. “You don’t have a Resnick?” He glanced over at the pile of textbooks on my bookshelf. “How come?”

“Because I already took Physics last year.”

“Yeah? Like AP in high school?” he asked.

I turned to face him. “No, like I’ve already taken about two years of college while I was still in high school.”

Buddy was quite perplexed at that. “So, if you’re, like, a sophomore or something, what are you doing here?” He waved his arms around, indicating Hall Hall and the freshman dorms.

I shrugged and smiled. “Buddy, I’m only 17. Where the hell else are they going to put me?”

It was like I was explaining quantum mechanics (which I had actually studied once) to an aborigine. We didn’t even have the same language. “You’ve been in college since you were 15?”

“Not quite. Just the last half of my junior year and my senior year, a little after I turned 16.” I told him how many credits I already had, and which courses I already had finished. He was still confused.

“So, you don’t take Calculus or Chemistry either?”

“Nope.”

“You mean, I can’t borrow those books either? I haven’t had a chance to get them yet.”

“Sorry.”

“You can’t give me your notes from the other day?”

“Ask down the hall. I wasn’t there,” I replied.

Buddy was starting to look like I’d hit him in the face with a two by four. “So, where were you?”

“Buddy, get real! I was taking different classes.”

“Like what?” He came over and grabbed up my Finite Math book and flipped it open. A string of calculus equations stared back at him. “What is this shit?”

I grabbed my book back and looked at the page. “That’s an explanation of Bayes’ Theorem.”

“Huh?”

I tried explaining the use of finite and discrete math as advanced set theory in applications of probability, but his eyes were starting to glaze over. “What, are you some sort of genius or something?” he asked.

I just laughed. “Go down the hallway, Buddy. Somebody down there must be able to loan you their notes and book.” I waved him away and went back to studying.

Eventually some of the other guys on the floor figured out what was going on with me and the advanced classes, but mostly they didn’t care. I did get asked for some tutoring help, which I was generally able to provide. Otherwise I just tried to be as normal as possible. Looking at people, with decades of experience, I was able to start making my own internal predictions on who was going to last and who wasn’t.

I had seen the same dynamic back when I taught at Mohawk Valley Community College in the late 1990s and early 2000s. I discovered early on that I was very comfortable in an academic environment, to the point that my mother used to joke I was a professional student. After I got my Associates in Computer Science from MVCC and my Bachelors from SUNY-IT in Rome, I taught for several years at night at MV as an adjunct. We had the same issue then, and among the teachers we called it Grade 13. We would see kids start college and thinking it was still high school and they could get away with the same nonsense they did the year before.

College is not high school! Most of the students are already 18, or will be in a matter of months, and the system treats them as adults. Nobody is going to call home and tell Mommy and Daddy that Little Johnny is skipping class or not doing his homework. Nobody cares! In fact, if Mommy or Daddy calls to ask why we flunked Little Johnny, we weren’t legally allowed to even tell them. Most freshmen courses have two intended effects, to teach the basics for future courses, but also to winnow out the wheat from the chaff. If a student complained that a teacher was tough, among the teachers it was considered a sign of prowess! I remember when students told some of the other professors that Mr. Buckman was really tough and strict, the other teachers all would smile and give me a thumbs up.

I could look around the dorm and tell who was going to survive and who wasn’t. I was not going to bet on Buddy making it. In fact, I wasn’t even willing to bet he would last until the end of the semester, or even the month!

I knew there was one set of classes I would be attending that Buddy wouldn’t be at. Monday morning I had my first muster with the ROTC class. It was time to learn to be a soldier. To be fair, it wasn’t that big an imposition. Being in ROTC meant you got to skip out on gym class. I guess the theory was that we would be drilling and doing our own calisthenics and running and didn’t need to do those things as students in gym class would. Academically, we had one class a semester in Military Science. Mostly this was military history and all sorts of stuff on leadership and management.

This was all at a time when military service and ROTC were in a decline across the country. Some colleges kicked ROTC off campus as a way of protesting the Vietnam War, and there were riots and protests across the country, often centering on college campuses. RPI was different. While there was one protest where the main administration building, the Pittsburgh Building, was taken over by students during the war, it was very brief and peaceful and was over almost before it started. In reality, engineering students are generally fairly conservative thinkers. Most of them were hoping to land a good paying job at an aerospace company or defense contractor when they got out! We were a pretty mercenary bunch. Certainly I never saw any issues with ROTC being unpopular when I was there.

From what I remembered the first time, ROTC had a fair number of students in it, but it was very low key. You almost never saw anybody in uniform. ROTC operated out of the Armory, which was also one of the gyms, and everybody stored their uniforms there. You would show up, dress, take your class, change, and leave. I was there on a four year scholarship, which meant I had to serve for four years active duty. The minimum was two years, but they only paid for junior and senior years then.

At the time, most of us were four years. We were just starting to come off of the Viet Nam War, and ROTC was filled with the biggest collection of draft dodgers you would ever want to meet! These guys all signed up in 1969 and 1970, when the war was at its ugliest. As long as they were in ROTC, they couldn’t be drafted and sent to Viet Nam! Furthermore, there were a couple of separate deals available. ROTC would only pay for one degree, but since Rensselaer had a program for a five year combined Bachelors/Masters in Engineering degree, a lot of the ROTC engineers got the Army to pay for that fifth year, so they could get the masters. Likewise, you could defer your service if you paid for grad school on your own. The ranks were full of grad students doing anything they could to avoid the military while there was a war on.

However, the theory went, sooner or later they would have to serve. But, luckily, the war was winding down by the time they became juniors and seniors. Further, they would graduate and be commissioned with multiple degrees. The thinking was that nobody was going to send these RPI geniuses to war; no, they would do desk duty in the States where nobody would shoot at them. It was incredibly cynical and mercenary, but it worked. By the time they graduated Viet Nam was over, and these guys had just gotten free high end college educations.

There were also some of us who knew we were going into the Army and didn’t plan to delay it. I wasn’t the only guy there with military tradition in the family. It’s like anything else. You get out of something what you put into it. You put the effort in; sooner or later you’ll be rewarded. I decided to make my time in uniform worthwhile. I knew the Army would respond. For one thing, you could get more training during the summer. At the time you took boot camp (I know, it was called something else, officially, but that’s what we called it) during your last two summers. However, if you wanted to, and your grades were good enough, and you were in for a four year scholarship, you could add to it by taking airborne school after your second summer. I knew a couple of guys who did that. Wally Miskowitz was really hard core, and ended up going Special Forces. One winter, during the January break, he even went on an Arctic survival course!

I wasn’t quite that crazy. I had spent fifty years in upstate New York. I was already an Arctic survivor. Still, what else was I going to do? Go back to the old homestead and move in with my brother again? Boot camp and jump school sounded a whole lot easier and a whole lot safer.

Chapter 24: Kappa Gamma Sigma

Despite my above average success with the ladies in junior high and high school, I saw very little action that first semester. Okay, to be honest — almost no action. It’s not that I wasn’t interested, because I certainly was. This was the longest dry spell in my life since I had lost my cherry for the second time with Shelley. However, I had several very large issues to deal with. The first was that as a freshman, my ranking on the social scale for the average girl ranked somewhere lower than whale shit. Even if I managed to hit up a girl at a Friday night dance at the Rat, when they learned I lived in the freshman dorms it was ‘see you later.’ Secondly, there were no girls to hit up. Like I said before, with a 14:1 ratio, the place was a total sausagefest.

Finally, there was my course load, which was heavy. After a few weeks of classes I knew two things. One, I was probably going to be able to accomplish my goal of a doctorate (or at least a masters) in four years, and Two, I was not going to be valedictorian again, although I should be able to at least be in the top half of my class this time. That first semester I was taking around 22 credits — Differential Equations, Finite Math, Linear Algebra, Basic Algorithms, and Computer Science I (each 4 credits) and Military Science I (2 credits). This was complicated by the fact that I’m a really good programmer, so I was already blowing through the programming course and my professor came to me to ask if I wanted to get both it and Computer Science II done in one semester. That would give me 26 credits, which some students only get in a year. At that rate, by the end of my freshman year, I was going to be a senior.

The only way I was going to have time for a girl was if one of them crawled under my desk and offered to give me a blowjob, and even then I’d still end up multitasking!

Still, I didn’t spend the entire time buried in books or the library. I actually enjoyed my time at Rensselaer the first go-around, and I saw no reason not to now. I was just going to be a hell of a lot smarter about it, starting with partying. It was one thing to party on weekends, but there was no excuse for me to get stupid drunk and stoned in the middle of the week. I think I really blew Buddy’s mind in that regard. I never said anything to him about his smoking dope, but I didn’t join in. Then, the Friday night of Labor Day weekend, he gave me his perfunctory “Want a toke?” question and I said yes. He watched in utter amazement as I expertly rolled a fat joint, lit it, and smoked a fair bit before handing it to him.

“I thought you didn’t smoke pot?” he asked.

“Not on school nights,” I replied.

“What’s the difference?”

I just laughed. If Buddy didn’t know, I wasn’t going to be able to teach him in the time remaining until he flunked out. After that first week I had him totally pegged. Buddy was from a small town in Vermont, with just enough brains so that he was able to glide through high school without needing to crack a book, which got him mostly As and Bs, and a decent enough SAT score. What he totally failed to understand was that now he was playing in the big leagues, where everyone and their brother had managed to do that. He was now competing against guys like me, people who actually studied and went to class, and we were going to bury him.

By the end of the second week I had a nice little rhythm going of studying like a madman until the end of classes Friday, and then getting a little bent on Friday night and Saturday. I scored a lid through Buddy and his connections, although I had to keep it under lock and key so that Buddy wouldn’t smoke it all up himself. I also kept the boozing under control, not out of some moralistic sense, but because I didn’t enjoy the hangovers. Most Friday or Saturday nights there would be a band playing down in the Rat. I would sometimes hit the Rat weeknights, too. It stayed open most nights until 11:00 or 12:00, for people looking for a place to study and grab a late meal. I started going down every few nights late to play pool. I had enjoyed it before, but gave it up when I moved off campus.

So it went for another week. That Friday Buddy managed to sleep through the first F-Test. Well, it wasn’t a shock; he had managed to sleep through every other 8:00 AM class he had signed up for. He even had the gall to complain that I didn’t wake him up, but I told him I wasn’t there, since I had my own classes to go to. Regardless, the sheer shock of the F-Test was finally sinking into my classmates, and a major party was planned down at the Rat that night. Lots of people were going to get stupid.

I had a beer in my room after class and then headed down to the Student Union, skipping out on whatever fresh hell the Dining Hall was preparing to serve up. I wasn’t quite hungry yet, so I wandered into the billiards room. All the tables were taken, so I found the one with what seemed to be the shortest line and plunked a quarter down on the table. The pool tables were coin operated. Once the balls went into the pockets, they fell into a track mechanism and would only be released by a quarter in the slot. Only the cue ball managed to escape this indignity, and I never figured out what magical method the table used to determine which ball was the cue ball. You placed a quarter on the edge of the table. When it was your turn, you put your quarter in and played for rights to the table with the previous owner. If you lost, the reigning owner of the table took on the next challenger. If you won, you were the new owner of the table.

The present king of the table was a loud mouthed sophomore, supported by his equally loud mouthed friend. They were playing as a team, alternating turns with the cue ball. There was some degree of skill present, but only enough to whip on somebody who had never played pool before. They beat, barely, two freshmen in a row, and then it was my turn.

“Lookie, lookie, fresh meat!” crowed the first guy, a tall and skinny guy in an RPI t-shirt and faded jeans.

“Just leave the quarter with us, little boy,” added his partner, slightly shorter and heavier, who was wearing a Led Zeppelin sweatshirt and jeans.

I smiled. These assholes weren’t just marginal pool players, they were also half drunk. Another freshman had queued up behind me and laid down his quarter. I turned to him and said, “Give me ten minutes, and I’ll take care of you, too.” The freshman grinned as the two sophomores started loudly mouthing off.

“Hey, knock it off and keep it down!” The manager of the billiards room/bowling alley yelled at them. They looked at him and shrugged but still were ragging on me in a lower tone. I ignored them.

We were playing 8 Ball. Normally we would have seen how close to a full rebound we could get with just a cue ball to determine who got to break, but these two clowns said the rule was that the owner of the table got to break. I didn’t care to push it, and despite a truly vicious break shot, the tall and skinny guy couldn’t sink a ball. I took my cue and promptly sank the 2 ball. “I have solids,” I commented, and promptly ran the 1, 3, and 7 balls before scratching on the 6. The other guy managed to get both the 9 and 10 balls before scratching. I then ran the 6, 4, and 5 balls before calling, “8 ball, corner pocket.” I nailed it with a flourish.

“Thank you very much,” I said with a smile. I nodded to the other freshman to come up and take his place.

“Fuck you!” said the first sophomore. “What are you, a hustler?”

“Nobody hustles us!” said his friend.

They both puffed up their chests and tried to crowd me off the table, but I just stood there and kept my mouth shut. They got loud enough that the manager came over and threatened to throw them out.

“He’s cheating! He’s hustling us!” said the first guy.

“Yeah!” agreed his partner.

Not the sharpest tools in the shed. I was trying to figure out how a four ball run was a hustle. I settled it by asking the freshman if he minded waiting another five minutes. He gave me a curious look and said it was okay by him.

I turned back to the manager. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll take these two on again. I lose, it’s their table; I win, they get lost.”

He chewed their asses another minute and then washed his hands of them. I broke this time, ended up with stripes, and cleaned them out in another couple of runs. They started bitching and moaning again, but this time the manager just yelled at them and pointed them towards the door. They wandered out with no good grace.

I joked about it with the other freshman, who perked up when the two sophomores left but still couldn’t break me. I will admit, he had more talent that they did. Next in line were a pair of upper classmen. They were dressed in matching red and gold fraternity shirts, with the Greek letters Kappa Gamma Sigma on the front. “I bet you’re feeling all sorts of brave now, aren’t you!” said the first one, a guy roughly my height and weight.

“Yeah, he’s feeling like it’s his table now,” agreed the second guy, a little shorter than the first.

“It costs a quarter to find out,” I replied, with a smile.

“Oh my, somebody needs an asskicking,” commented the first fellow. He pulled out a quarter and flipped it through the air to me. “You’re on.” He fished a cue out of the rack, rolled it on the table to see if it was warped, and put it back. It took him another two tries to find one he liked.

He must have really liked it a lot. I got nothing on the break, and he ran the table. I glanced over at the manager, who was grinning at me. “Sonny, you’ve just been hustled.”

“I guess so.” I turned back to the frat boys. “I guess you’ve played before.”

That set them both to laughing. “They’re the frat champions.” The manager pointed at a plaque on the wall. There were a number of small brass plates, one for each year, and the current winners were James Easton and Rubin Goldstein, Kappa Gamma Sigma.

I shook my head. “You two are these guys?” I asked, tapping on the plaque. They howled in laughter again. “Okay, so who’s who?”

The guy who played me grinned and stuck out his hand. “I’m Jim Easton. This is Boris.” The other student put out his hand.

I gave him an odd look. “Boris? The sign says Rubin Goldstein.”

“That’s my nickname. Come on, let’s get a beer. I’m buying,” said the second guy.

“You’re on.” I hung up my cue and surrendered the table to the next pair of students. We left the billiards room and settled into a booth. Jim and I sat down, while Boris wandered off towards the counter. “You stood up to those clowns pretty well,” commented Jim.

“Nothing to it. They were too drunk to play anyway,” I answered.

“Drunks like to fight.”

I shrugged. “Well, I wasn’t born with this nose.” I gave a lousy impersonation of John Wayne: “A man’s got to do what a man’s go to do!”

Boris came back with a pitcher of beer and three plastic cups. “What’s a man go to do?”

Jim said, “He was about to tell us how he busted his nose.”

I grinned. “My girlfriend’s parents came home early.”

Both Jim and Boris grinned wildly at that. “And were you being naughty?” asked Boris.

“Extremely. They kicked the shit out of me.”

“They?” asked Jim.

I gave them the condensed version of what happened, which led to howls of laughter and a lot of beer drinking. They asked for my name and what classes I was in, and were very surprised when I told them I wasn’t in any of the freshman classes. That discussion took us through the first pitcher of beer. Jim paid for the second, and we continued to talk for another half hour.

I was definitely feeling the beer, and I wasn’t surprised when Jim said, “It’s time for dinner. You want to come back to the house with us for dinner.”

“It’s got to be better than whatever the mystery meal is at the dining hall,” added Boris. He got his nickname from playing chess like Boris Spassky last year. He also looked like a Russian, with a round face and slightly Tatar eyes.

“That’s got to be the truth!” I agreed. I grabbed my jacket and followed them outside.

Boris had the world’s ugliest and most decrepit Chevy Impala, which looked like it was held together by twine and bubblegum. “Behold, the Galactic Derelict!” commented Jim. We climbed inside, and I tried not to think about what I might actually be sitting on. At least it didn’t squish. The engine started with some difficulty, and it knocked and rattled the entire trip to the frat house. Worse was the fact that not one of us was really in shape to drive, but we made it the mile to Kegs.

“Welcome to Kappa Gamma Sigma!” said Boris as we climbed out of his junker.

“Home sweet home!” added Easton.

We were parked behind a couple of houses on Burdette, surrounded by a chain link fence, and with a swimming pool in the back yard behind one of them. The house and grounds were both large and lived in, with a comfortable feel to it and both nice and dump-like aspects. “Which home is it?” I asked.

“It’s both buildings,” answered Boris.

Jim said, “The frat house is actually two houses.” He pointed to the larger of the two houses, a rambling three story Federalist monstrosity. “That’s the main house. The other one is Grogan’s, which only has bedrooms. The main house is where we have the kitchen and dining room and living room and shit.”

“It has the bar, too. Come on, let’s get a beer,” finished Boris.

I followed them inside to find a beer keg tapped and set on a folding table in the front room of the main house, in what was known as the living room. I was handed a beer and told to make myself comfortable. I saw a surprising number of people I knew. First, I ran into Stew Sokoloff. He was a junior in my Finite Math class, and looked shocked to discover he was taking classes with a freshman. Stew was a math major and wanted to become an actuary with an insurance company. We talked about the upcoming test for a few minutes, and then I noticed several guys from ROTC. I started talking to several of the guys and figured out what was happening.

I had been invited over for an informal rush party kegger. A fraternity is a living organism, and every year the seniors would graduate and move away. The brothers needed to recruit, or ‘rush’, enough freshmen to make up for this loss. Since you couldn’t just run an ad in the newspaper (“Wanted: RPI freshman to join deviate social fraternity and live in filth and squalor. Must be heterosexual alcoholic drug fiend. Be prepared to show proof of being able to pay a hefty bar tab. Call now! Operators are standing by!”) it was necessary to hold various parties and keggers to introduce freshmen to the fraternity lifestyle. Further, sophomores and juniors would be told to meet freshmen and invite them back to the frat to attend these parties. It’s sort of like luring a four year old into a darkened van with candy and toys, only with beer and without the grisly ending.

For the freshmen, it’s a chance to load up on free beer and, in effect, audition for the brothers. The brothers use this time to see if any of these little assholes have what it takes to become Keggers and if they could stand living with them for a year or two. All this occurs during the first semester. At the end of the semester, the freshmen selected would be formally invited to ‘pledge’ the fraternity, and announce their intention of joining the frat. Pledges gained several privileges, including the right to hang around, automatic invites to all parties and functions, free meals on weekends, and getting to run up a bar tab. On the other hand, they get used for scut labor by the brothers. Towards the end of the spring semester they would go through ‘Hell Week’, a week long ordeal of abuse and hazing. At the end of the week they would be initiated into the fraternity and become full members, entitled to live in the house the following year. It is a ritual that goes back to the 19^th century with fraternities, and probably thousands of years with equivalent organizations around the world. Hammurabi and the Babylonian Army probably had a similar system of recruitment.

I quickly ran across Bruno Cowling and Joe Bradley, another couple of freshmen in ROTC, and chatted with them about what brought them here. It turned out they had been invited by a couple of the older brothers in ROTC. I nodded in understanding. I had been chatted up by a guy in Crows (Alpha Chi Rho) about coming out to their house. Since Kegs and Crows were the two ROTC houses, I suspected every freshman cadet who wasn’t a total hose job was going to be invited to one or both houses for a visit. That was when I looked around and started counting noses. About two-thirds of the brothers were in Army, Navy, or Air Force ROTC. To be fair, they looked about as degenerate as the non-military brothers.

I had another couple of beers before the Friday night meal of burgers and fries. I looked in the kitchen and saw it was only one step away from a Health Department shutdown, but the food still tasted better than the dining hall. I kept wandering, and at one point walked over to Grogans’ with Boris and looked around. The main house consisted of a living room, a formal room (same as the living room but cleaner), and the kitchen/pantry/dining areas. Upstairs were two more floors of residential rooms and a big communal bathroom. Grogans’, the house next door, had been bought in the late Fifties from a family named the Grogans when the frat outgrew the main house. There was nothing in there but two floors of residential rooms and a couple of bathrooms.

Kappa Gamma Sigma was one of 24 fraternities on campus. There were no sororities yet, since there were no girls. Greek life, as it was called, was a major element at Rensselaer. No matter what the antics of the frats were, RPI didn’t have enough dorm space to hold the 750 to 800 students in the frats, and Troy didn’t have enough apartments to hold them either. They added up to almost a quarter or more of the undergraduate student body.

There were all sorts of different frats. Tau Kappa Epsilon, ‘Teke’, was the frat for the football team. Lambda Pi was a nerd frat, and with a nickname like ‘Lambie Pies’, heavily ridiculed. ‘Castle’, Pi Kappa Phi, actually owned a Victorian era frat house down in the middle of Troy that was so authentic that every year or two a movie company would come in from Hollywood and shoot a movie there (hence the nickname Castle.) Kegs and Crows were the two military frats, though non-ROTC guys were allowed in as well.

Dad hadn’t wanted me to join a fraternity before, not that he ever got a vote. He did tell me that if I moved off campus, he wouldn’t pay my room or board anywhere else. My father’s animus towards fraternities always confused me; he had been in Delta Upsilon at the University of Pennsylvania. Then again, he told me once that they didn’t have a frat house. They met once a month in a rented room at a hotel. My bet was they would have their meeting and then use the room to get liquored up and bring in a few hookers. Hey, it was the 1940s and times were different. Now he didn’t want anything to do with fraternities.

Most of the freshmen wandered back down Burdette to the dorms somewhere after 11. I got there just in time to find Buddy floating in on a cloud of pot smoke, followed by a small group of guys from down the hall. I crashed on top of my bed and slept through whatever they were planning to do.

I woke late the next morning, to find Buddy staring at me from where he was sitting on his bed, lighting up a bong. “So you do know how to party!” he crowed.

Oh, I knew how to party. I felt it throughout every bone of my body. Maybe this frat business wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. My tongue felt like somebody had been hiking on it. I rolled out of bed and flipped Buddy the bird, which set him to laughing, and grabbed my toilet kit and a towel. I stumbled off to the bathrooms at the end of the hall and took a long hot shower and then shaved. I simply wrapped the towel around my waist and stumbled back down the hallway to our room, carrying my used clothes in my hand.

A good looking middle-aged woman was coming the other way, leading the rest of her family, which seemed to consist of a number of very nice looking high school age girls. “Awfully informal, aren’t we?” she asked with a smile.

“No ma’am. This is just basic informal. Awfully informal wouldn’t require the towel. Care to see the difference?”

The girls started giggling, as Momma laughed loudly. “As tempting as you make that sound, young man, I think I’ll have to take a rain check.”

“Too bad. You ever get informal yourself?” I asked.

The girls giggled even more, as their mother blushed. “How do you think I ended up with a son and four daughters? Speaking of which…”

I eyed her figure, which was quite satisfactory. “Five kids? No way! Stop by 206 on the way out!” I slipped past the ladies as she laughed and her daughters giggled, and headed back to my room.

Five minutes later, I was dressed and working on a gin and tonic as a hair of the dog, when the door started pounding. I opened it to find a very, very large fellow named Bo Berzinski from down the hall and around the corner. “What’s up, Bo?”

“Were you hitting on my mother?” he asked.

Buddy was staring at us, his mind reeling with questions. I sipped my drink, and wondered if my repartee was going to get my ass kicked again. Bo just might be able to pull it off!

“Damn straight! Your sisters, too. They’re all a lot cuter than you are, Bo.” I opened the door wide. “Come on in. Drink? It must be after five somewhere.”

Bo laughed and came in. “Yeah, they are. I’m the sane one, I think.” I mixed him a drink and handed it to him. “They wanted to know if you wanted to go to lunch with us. You must have really impressed them.”

I raised an eyebrow at this. Was Bo pimping me to his Mom and younger sisters? “And what did your Dad say to that?”

“Wouldn’t know. Haven’t seen the bastard in years! Interested?”

I shrugged. “Why not.” I changed into some decent clothes and followed Bo back to his room.

Bo’s room was the same size as mine, and it was packed to the rafters. Between his mother, his four sisters, a roommate, and a couple of guys trying to hit on the oldest sister, it was loud and cramped. Bo and I weren’t helping. Bo solved the problem by picking up one of the interlopers by the waist from behind and turning around, to face the door. Jerry Kozak, the victim, squawked loudly, but was quickly shoved out the door. His roommate got the idea and vamoosed on his own. Bo kicked the door shut. “There, that’s better.”

“You do have a way about you, Bo,” I commented. “Hey, Frank.”

Frank Dittmers, Bo’s roommate, nodded. “Hey, Carl.”

Bo’s mom smiled at me. “Is that your name? Carl?”

I looked her over and got a better view than when I was passing in the hall. She was a very attractive lady, probably about my mother’s age, or maybe a few years younger, with wide hips and an impressive bust, but a surprisingly narrow waist. She was tall, almost as tall as I was, in her heels. Her hair was a deep auburn, and her eyes were blue.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m Carl Buckman.”

She held out her hand. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Carl. I’m Sophia Berzinski. I have to apologize for teasing you in the hallway. I had forgotten what it’s like to have a young man around the house, now that Bo has moved out.”

“Please, Mrs. Berzinski, it was my fault for speaking out of turn. I apologize for that. My mouth tends to get me in trouble at times.”

She grinned. “I just bet it does! Would you care to join us for lunch? Bo says the food is better off campus.” She looked at Frank. “Frank, you’re invited too, of course.”

Frank smiled. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m going out in ten minutes to see my girlfriend.”

Both Bo and I stared at him. “You met a girl? Here? On campus?” asked Bo. I nodded in agreement with the question.

Frank grinned. “It’s true! They actually do exist! She’s in my Chem 1 section.”

I smiled. “Will wonders never cease!” I turned back to Sophia and her daughters. “Well ladies, that leaves me free to escort all of you.”

“Forget it, Buckman. They’re all too young for you!” commented Bo, which got him a loud collection of raspberries from his sisters.

I looked at the oldest girl. “I bet he was a real problem with boyfriends back home.”

She stuck her tongue out at her brother. “Yeah, but not anymore!”

Bo’s eyes opened wide at that, and he started quizzing the girls on boyfriends, which they ignored. Sophia laughed and motioned us towards the door. “Enough! I’m hungry. Where are we going?”

Bo’s sisters all started arguing about that, with each one wanting a different restaurant or style of food. It was decided in the end to go out for pizza, since this was the one thing that everybody liked. I told them about the place down at the Price Chopper mall and they agreed to that. “How do we get there?” I asked. “Unless you’re driving a bus, we’re going to need two cars.”

“Bo and you can go in his car, and I’ll take the girls. You can show Bo where this place is, and we’ll follow,” said Sophia.

We headed down the hallway and I found my room door closed, with music blaring from the inside. I pounded on the door, and Buddy opened it, letting out a pungent cloud of smoke. I ran in and grabbed my jacket, and then went out again. Sophia was smiling and inhaled theatrically, which her daughters missed, but both Bo and I caught. I blushed and muttered, “Buddy!” Bo snorted and nodded. By now, Buddy’s antics were legendary.

No, Sophia wasn’t driving a bus. She had a late model Cadillac De Ville in pristine condition. “Very nice!”

“Thank you. I would have thought you’d prefer a little sports car like Bo drives.” Bo had a late model Mustang. It appeared that the Berzinskis were loaded.

“Sporty is nice, but not all it’s cracked up to be. I prefer the quality of the ride, myself, something smooth and comfortable,” I replied, winking at her.

She smiled. “I see.”

I wasn’t introduced to the daughters until we got to the restaurant. There was Maria, the oldest girl, who was a senior in high school and the reason they were visiting; she was thinking about going to Rensselaer next year. The next two girls were Julietta and Margreta, a pair of fifteen year old identical twins, and bringing up the rear was Antonia, a twelve year old just starting junior high. The entire family was visiting from the Boston area.

Sophia asked, “So, Carl, are you in Bo’s classes?”

Bo laughed at that. “Carl’s the dorm genius. He’s not in any of our classes.”

I tried to play it down. “It’s not like that. I’m a math major and Bo’s in engineering.” I looked at Bo for help.

He nodded. “Chemical engineering. Still, you aren’t in classes with any of us. You’re what, a sophomore or junior?”

Sophia eyed me curiously. “Really?”

I just waved it off. “I simply had some advanced classes in high school. It’s no big deal.” Time to defuse this. I looked over at Maria. “So, if you’re looking to go to school here, what’s your major going to be?”

Maria and her sisters were all duplicates of their mother, real knockout redheads, in other words, even the baby of the family, Antonia. Maria answered, “Mechanical engineering.”

“What are your grades like?” I quizzed her about her grades and SAT scores. They were perfectly adequate to get into RPI. Add in that she was a girl, and the school was actively recruiting women and other minorities to fill Federal quotas, and she was a shoo-in.

While we were talking, a pair of large pepperoni pizzas were ordered, along with breadsticks and drinks. The girls all ordered sodas, but Bo ordered a beer, and I ordered a bottle of wine with Sophia.

“Wine, Carl?” she commented.

“Something Italian, I think, since we’re having pizza. Not too full bodied, no Barolos or Tuscans, so maybe a Chianti, but it’s pizza, so nothing as fancy as a Classico or Riserva.” I glanced at the wine list for a moment and then ordered a bottle of Gabbiano. She nodded approvingly.

I looked over at the twins, who were teasing their brother. “So where do you two want to go to school?” I asked. “And do you always dress alike?” They were wearing identical jeans and t-shirts, and even sneakers. Antonia was dressed informally, too. Only Sophia and Maria had dressed to impress, for Maria’s college tour.

The twins giggled at that. Antonia piped up and said, “That way nobody can tell them apart.”

“Not true. I can tell,” I answered.

Sophia and the girls all laughed at that. “Even I can’t tell, and I’m their mother,” she said.

“No way, man. These two have been playing this game since they learned how to walk!” agreed Bo.

I shrugged. “Well, Julietta’s the one with the piece of bread stuck in her braces.”

Instantly, the twin on the left slammed her mouth shut, as all eyes turned to the twins. You could see the twin on the left moving her tongue around in her mouth, and then she looked at me and said, “No I don’t!”

I smiled. “Yeah, but now I know you’re Julietta.”

The twins immediately started complaining, “That’s cheating!” as the rest of us laughed at them. We refused to hear their complaints, so the two of them went off to the bathroom together.

“They’re going to switch places,” said Maria after they left.

“Or maybe just say that they’ve switched places,” rebutted Antonia. She looked at me and said, “They do this all the time.”

“Doesn’t matter. Unless they swap clothes, Margreta has a tiny string hanging off the sleeve of her t-shirt.” I had been eyeing the two girls trying to find something to tell them apart. They really were identical. “I just bet they’re going to be a handful when they start dating. The guys won’t know what’s hit them. Or who!”

Both Bo and Sophia started at that thought. A few minutes later, the twins returned. “Now you don’t know who we are,” said the twin on the right, and they both stuck their tongues out at us.

I looked at their mother and siblings. There was a definite thread loose on the left sleeve of one of the Aerosmith t-shirts. I pointed at her, “Margreta”, moved my finger to the other, and said, “and Juliettta.”

Both girls gave shrieks of disbelief and pouted when their mother laughed at them.

“You’re a very observant young man,” she commented, especially after she caught me looking at her ring finger. She was missing either an engagement ring or a wedding band.

“I’m an observant kind of guy,” I returned with an easy smile. Shortly after that, I felt a stocking clad foot running up the outside of my left leg. Since I was sitting to the immediate right of Sophia, and Maria was on the far side of Bo from me, I was left with an interesting observation of my own. My cock also stiffened inside my pants. I didn’t know what happened to Mr. Berzinski, but he didn’t seem to be a factor anymore.

After a very pleasant lunch, we all headed back out to the parking lot. Bo’s Mustang was parked next to his mother’s Caddy, and I smiled again when I saw it. “You got to love that big Detroit iron,” I commented.

“You like a car like that?” asked Sophia.

“Nothing like it for a soft and comfortable ride.”

She smiled at that.

It was time to go. I waved to the twins and Antonia, and shook Maria’s and then Sophia’s hands. As I touched Sophia’s, I felt something in the palm of my hand. “Thank you for the lunch, Mrs. Berzinski.”

“It was my pleasure. Let’s hope we run into you again.” She smiled and got into her car.

Bo went around the side to the driver’s side, and I took the moment to glance at the note in my palm. Holiday Inn, Room 312, 10:30. Well, maybe I just might run into Sophia again. I bet I wouldn’t be calling her Mrs. Berzinski the next time. I climbed in Bo’s car and we rode back to the dorms.

Chapter 25: Midnight Rendezvous

I goofed off that afternoon in the dorm, and had dinner in the dining hall. After dinner, Buddy pushed me to go to a frat party with him and get totally drunk and wasted. I declined. “Buddy, I’m going out tonight. Sorry.”

“Hey, it’s free beer and dope!”

“Buddy, with you it’s always free beer and dope.” I had never seen him actually buy beer or pot, although he certainly seemed to mooch it pretty quickly.

“So, where are you going?”

“That’s secret, Buddy. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“But…”

“Trust me, Buddy. I’m going to have even more fun than you will, and I won’t get a hangover from it,” I said, laughing.

By nine, Buddy was history, off to wherever he was getting drunk and stoned at. I grabbed my toilet kit and a towel and headed down the hall. I took another shower, and shaved again, because you never want to be the one to cause rug burns. (Actually, that was sort of overkill. My beard really didn’t get heavy until I was almost 20. A second shave in one day was more along the lines of wishful thinking.) Afterwards, I went back to my room and changed into fresh khakis, a clean white dress shirt, and my deck shoes. I skipped the socks; I definitely skipped the briefs and undershirt. My dress shirt I wore casually, with the sleeves rolled up to mid forearm and a couple of buttons at the collar undone. I left the room a few minutes past ten.

I parked in the Holiday Inn parking lot away from the building, in a spot not well lit, and waited in the car until it was closer to the appointed time. No way did I want to be in the hall when one of the girls came wandering through. I figured that the girls were sharing a room or two, and that Sophia was in her own separate room. By 10:30, the girls would have settled down, but I didn’t want to chance running into them. At 10:27 I got out of the Galaxie, locked it, and went in through the lobby. The clerk glanced at me, but I went through to the elevators and went up to the third floor. Room 312 was to the right side. I walked down the hallway as quietly as I could, and tapped lightly on the door.

After a moment, the door opened wide, and Sophia Berzinski smiled when she saw me leaning against the door frame. She didn’t say anything, but stepped aside and invited me in. I followed her inside, and she closed the door behind me, and set the latch. “I was hoping you might stop by,” she said.

“I was hoping you would invite me,” I replied.

Sophia was looking extremely seductive. She had on a long black silk robe, and the way she moved underneath it led me to believe it was almost all she was wearing. She was also wearing black stockings and black stiletto heels. I eyed her frankly and approvingly. She was carrying a champagne flute half filled with sparkling wine. She wiggled it in my direction. “Would you care to join me?”

“I’d like that.” I followed her over to the table in the room where she had a bottle of champagne sitting in an ice bucket, along with a second glass. I took off my jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. I looked around the room. It was your basic Holiday Inn style room, with a single king size bed, a dresser with a television bolted to it, and a small table with a couple of chairs. A pair of small armchairs was in one corner facing the television.

Sophia handed me the glass of champagne. “I’m not so sure of the vintage,” she commented.

I had to smile at that. “I think I’m more astonished that you got champagne through room service at a Holiday Inn.”

We sipped our champagne and looked into each other’s eyes. She gave me a smile and I sat down in one of the armchairs and held my hand out to her. She settled sideways on my lap, with one arm around my neck and the other holding her flute of champagne. I kept an arm around her waist and the other on my own glass. “I debated picking anything up before coming over,” I said.

“Oh?”

I gave a small shrug. “I figured that the girls might notice flowers tomorrow morning, and I’m still not old enough to buy booze.”

“How old are you?” she asked, surprised.

“Does it matter?”

It was her turn to shrug. “No, I don’t suppose it does.”

I finished my glass of champagne and set the empty glass on the table to the side, and then put both hands around her waist. The silk felt very thin, and her body felt very warm and supple beneath it. “I didn’t think so, either.”

She smiled at me, and continued to sip her champagne. “You are very sure of yourself.”

I tried to sound innocent. “Am I? I just try to be myself.” I tightened my hold on Sophia’s waist slightly and began running my hands slowly over her. She shifted slightly, and her robe came apart slightly on her legs. First I saw the elastic band at the top of her stockings, and then she shifted a touch more, and I saw some pale white thigh above the stockings.

Sophia closed her eyes and gave a slight shudder as my hands moved over her back and side, and her eyes closed as she slumped against me. This brought her head close to mine, and I turned my head slightly, to where I could whisper into her ear, “You should be yourself, and relax. Let me help you relax. You’re an amazing woman. Let me make you amazing tonight.” I nuzzled her neck and extended my tongue, and traced a thin line along her neck up to a spot just behind her ear. I flicked my tongue across her ear lobe, and as I did, I brought the hand wrapped around her from the front, back and up. I lightly traced a line using just the tips of my fingers across her side and up along her breast. Sophia gave another small shudder, and this time she let out a soft sigh.

I continued to lightly tease and taste her, slowly letting my fingers wander across the front of her robe. Sophia’s breathing became a little raspy, and I glanced down at the front of her robe. Her nipples were clearly aroused and tenting out the front of it. She was showing a lot of cleavage by now, as her squirming in my arms was opening her robe up, and her chest was becoming flushed. It was time. I slipped my hand inside her robe and cupped a large and warm breast, lifting it and running my thumb across the distended nipple.

Sophia moaned, and her eyes snapped open. She pulled her head away from mine and looked me in the eye, and then her hands came up to cup my face on both sides. She lowered her lips to mine and kissed me, her tongue dueling with mine, as I peeled her robe open enough that I could use both hands on those beautiful full breasts. We continued like this, and I undid the tie holding her robe together. I slid one hand between her legs, and she quickly spread them as much as possible while staying on my lap. She had a small patch of coarse and curly hair, which seemed drenched, and her clit was throbbing as I ran a fingertip up through her slit. Sophia’s musk filled the room.

Sophia moaned loudly as I touched her clit, and to keep her quiet, I held her face to mine with the hand to the back of her head as I began to finger her pussy. She was shaking as she moaned into my lips, and I refused to let her go until a quiet shriek and a flood of warm juice to my fingers indicated a crushing orgasm. At that point I let up on her, and let off of her clit and simply used my fingers to rub her wet pussy from the outside. Sophia pulled her head back and looked at me with glazed eyes, and with a weak voice, said, “Oh, God, fuck me!”

I shook my head and smiled. “No.”

“No?” she asked weakly.

“Not yet. We have lots of time. I plan to use you all night long. You want that don’t you? You want one orgasm after another, don’t you? You want me to make you do things, don’t you?” As I whispered these things into her ear, I began touching her pussy again, and pinching her nipples again.

Sophia responded with a gasp. “Please, just fuck me!” she pleaded.

I licked her ear and backed off on her pussy a touch. “No, not until you tell me what you want me to do to you.” She whimpered and tried to twist out of my grasp, to get in bed, but I held her tight. “Do you want me to lick your pussy? Do you like that?” I gave her clit a vigorous rub for a second.

She barely stifled a scream and then nodded. “Yes!”

“Do you swallow?”

It took her a second to understand me, and her eyes opened wide, but she nodded, and whispered, “Yes, sometimes.”

“I’m going to want you to swallow. I’m going to make you swallow.” If anything, the idea of force seemed to excite her. She nodded and flushed at the thought. “Then I’m going to use you. I will make you do things, nasty things. I’m going to touch you and kiss you and make you do things. You want to be nasty for me, don’t you, Sophia?”

Again she blushed, but she nodded and whispered haltingly, “Yes.”

“You’re so much of a lady, Sophia, but you’re also a whore.” I fingerfucked her hard as I said this. “The only difference is what room you’re in at the time. Now you’re in the bedroom, so you’re going to be my whore for the night, aren’t you?”

Another flood of pussy juice greeted my fingers and her back arched as she came. It was almost a silent cry of orgasm, and I kept up my torture until I didn’t think she could handle it any more.

It was time for the bed. I put my hands on her waist and lifted Sophia up, and she got the idea and climbed to her feet. I stood up myself and faced her. Her robe was already hanging around her waist, loose off her shoulders, so I pushed it down and let it slip to the floor.

Sophia was looking nervous as she stood there in her thigh top stockings and black stilettos, but I simply smiled and licked my lips in anticipation. Despite having five children, including a pair of twins, she was in excellent shape, with large and proud breasts, wide set hips and a soft but not saggy rear, and the slightest hint of a womanly belly, which I found quite intriguing. She had a few stretch marks, but nothing I hadn’t seen on Marilyn, and Sophia was very enticing.

I stood facing her and slowly unbuttoned my shirt. I was in good shape. I had managed to keep up with my running and some weight training since I got to college, although my aikido training had suffered. While there was a karate club at the school, that was it for martial arts, and I had been too busy to find a new dojo. I had managed to earn my black belt right before high school graduation, but I knew I was sliding backwards there. Anyway, Sophia seemed to like what she saw as I opened my shirt and took it off. I tossed it aside and moved closer.

“Sit on the bed,” I ordered. She looked confused, but I put my hands on her waist and pushed her back against the bed, and her legs automatically buckled and she sank down onto the bed. Now, with her face at my waist level, Sophia began to undo my pants, but I surprised her when I took her hands in mine and stopped her. “Not yet.” I knelt down at her feet and put my hands on her knees, to spread her legs apart. I smiled as I stared at her pussy, neatly framed by trim auburn coils.

“Oh,” she commented, as she understood what I had in mind. I pushed her back down on the bed and put my face to her pussy. She was very wet and very warm, and her juice was almost pungently fragrant. I teased her by licking the edges of her pussy lips, which elicited a tiny squeal from her, but then I started licking her clitoris. Sophia’s back arched as she gasped with pleasure. Her entire body seemed to go rigid, but then as I continued licking her pussy, she tried to hump her cunt up into my face, and her hands were grabbing the back of my head and trying to force me deeper. Soft animal mewing was coming out of her, and it was all I could do to keep her from suffocating me. Wouldn’t that be a hell of an autopsy!

After another few minutes, Sophia suddenly gasped and whined, her entire body went rigid, and a flood of warm wetness surged onto my face. I had often heard of women like this, but I had always considered them a myth — the squirter! Apparently it was true that some women could ejaculate. Sophia made the concept of the ‘wet spot’ more of a ‘drenched spot.’ At that point I backed off slightly and allowed her to relax some.

While she was still a touch dazed, I managed to undo my pants and pushed them down on my legs until they hit the floor where I was kneeling. As soon as she looked down the length of her body at me, I stood up. It was my turn to have some fun. I could hear her breath catch when she saw me between her legs, my cock stiffly erect, but I wasn’t going to give her any time to catch her breath. I lifted her legs up and held them behind the knees, spread wide, and leaned forward to rub the bottom of my erection through her slit. Sophia gasped again, and as soon as I could, I slid my cockhead inside her gaping hole and pushed inward. A single thrust had me buried balls deep.

“Oh God! Fuck me, fuck me…” Sophia lifted her ass up off the bed to meet my thrusts. I levered my body forward, keeping her legs upright and tucked into my arms, my elbows behind her knees. She was bent almost double, a position which made me thrust incredibly deep into her. Pussy juice was flowing freely from her, and my cock pistoning in and out made a loud squelching sound. With each thrust I pushed her further up the bed, so we were no longer hanging off the end. Sophia continued to babble as I rammed down into her. Otherwise she was twisting and squirming underneath me, and her arms were almost flapping as she orgasmed. It wasn’t long before I grunted and slammed down one last time, as my cock pumped a load into her. At that point she wrapped her arms around me and hugged me to her.

We slowly disentangled ourselves, first by my letting go of her legs, and then by Sophia stretching out underneath me. “Oh my God, I’ve never been fucked so good!” she said. “I could feel every little squirt of come. Oh God!”

I caught my breath and rolled off to the side. “Yeah!” I agreed.

Sophia tried to roll onto me, but I felt soaked at the crotch. I looked her in the eyes and said, “Clean up time.”

Her eyes widened, and she glanced down at my wet dick. When she looked back up at me, she asked, “You mean…”

I nodded and smiled. “Yes.” I squirmed a bit on the bed, moving up the sheets, and this brought my midsection closer to her face.

She smiled and nodded, and then moved her face down to my cock. It was wet and shriveled when it went into her mouth, and wet and shriveled when it came out ten minutes later. During that ten minutes it got quite a bit larger. Sophia was an excellent cocksucker. I think her natural instincts were to spit, but I told her several times I was going to come in her mouth, and that she was going to swallow. I used my hands on the back of her head to keep her in place, and she sucked and jacked me to completion.

Afterwards I lazed on the bed happily, and Sophia crawled up next to me and snuggled against my side. “Are you sure you’re only seventeen?” she asked, giggling.

“I don’t turn eighteen until November,” I answered. “Trust me. I don’t plan on calling the cops on you.”

She laughed. “I didn’t think you would.”

“If nothing else, I don’t need Bo to kick my ass!”

Sophia laughed again. “I think you’re right about that.”

“So where’s Mr. Berzinski?” I asked. Sophia wasn’t wearing either a wedding band or an engagement ring, but the conversation earlier indicated she was, or had been, married. “Divorced?”

She grimaced, but nodded. “Divorced. The bastard decided he preferred his secretary to me about ten years ago. Bo actually walked in on them once.”

“Yuck!”

She continued. “The really awful part is that his secretary has a mustache.”

It took me a second to understand her, but then I blurted out, “Double yuck!” I had to think about it for a bit, because several of Marilyn’s female relatives had mustaches, too.

“I hired a lawyer and a private investigator, and my lawyer took him to the cleaners,” she concluded. Well, that explained a lot. Mrs. Berzinski and family were very well off, and money did not seem to be an issue.

“Well, I don’t know what to say about that. I know about such things, but I’m damned if I understand it. You’re a hell of a woman, Sophia. Do you have anybody back home who… uh… helps you handle the occasional itch?”

“That’s one way to put it, I suppose,” she giggled. “I see a few gentlemen. Nothing serious, and nobody as young as you.”

I laughed. “Maybe you need to tutor some deserving young high school students.”

“Oh, God, that would be all I need!” she laughed. “I think I’ll stick to Mister Happy before I try that.”

“Mister Happy?” Sophia actually blushed deeply at that. I pressed her. “So, who’s Mister Happy? Or is it a what”

She blushed again. “It’s a what.” I motioned for her to explain, and she continued, “I have this toy. Some friends of mine got it for me after the divorce went through.”

“A dildo?” She blushed again and turned her head away, obviously embarrassed, and nodded mutely. “Did you bring it with you?”

Her head whipped around in astonishment, and her jaw dropped. “What?!”

“Did you bring it with you? I’ve never seen one.” Not in this lifetime, anyway. Marilyn and I had several. “Show me.” She hesitated, so I asked, “Please?”

Blushing and rolling her eyes, Sophia sat up and climbed off the bed. She rooted around in her suitcase and brought out a small plastic bag. Inside it was a non-vibrating plastic dildo and what looked to be a small bottle of baby oil. She brought it over and sat down on the bed and handed me the bag.

I opened the bag and pulled out the plastic dildo. It was a fairly standard model, a little over an inch wide and six or seven inches long, ridged and with a slight curve to it. I smiled and looked over at her. “Have you ever used this with somebody else?”

I think I shocked her at that. “No, of course not! That’s only when I’m alone!”

“Would you like me to use it on you?” Sophia’s mouth opened, but she was speechless. “I bet you’d like it,” I said slyly.

It took a moment, but she nodded, and quietly said, “Yes, would you?” My cock took this moment to begin lengthening again, which Sophia noticed, and she smiled at me. “You actually like that idea.”

“Have you ever tried the electric versions? You know, the vibrating types,” I asked.

“I have one at home, but I don’t travel with it.”

I just nodded and handed her the dildo and the oil. “Show me what you like, and then I’ll take over.”

Sophia stretched out on her back in the middle of the bed. She said, “Normally I start by squeezing some of the baby oil out, you know, down there, but tonight I don’t think I need any.” She spread her legs and laid the dildo along her slit, and began to slowly rub it back and forth, letting the ridges work on her aroused clit. “Just like that.”

I reached out and took her right hand, leaving her left to manipulate the dildo. I squirted some of the oil on her hand and then placed her hand on my cock. She promptly began fisting me, and it was my turn to say, “Just like that.” I reached out and placed my hand over hers on the dildo.

I suppose we could have continued like that, masturbating each other until we both came, but I was looking for a little more active fun. Before I got to the point of no return, I pulled away and lay flat on my back. “Get on top.”

Sophia put the dildo aside and scooted around into a position where she could swing a leg over my midsection. With one hand she lifted my cock upright, and with the other she spread her pussylips apart and dropped down onto my greasy cock. I slid in easily.

Sophia began a very natural rocking motion, lifting up and down and twisting from side to side every once in awhile. She smiled when I handed her the dildo. “Use this too.”

“Then you can do something, too.” Sophia leaned forward and lowered her tits to my lips. Her fingers and the dildo went to work between us, rubbing her clit as she rode me, and I began to suck on her nipples. I also reached around, to cup her ass cheeks and guide the ride. I decided to take it one step further; I reached between her cheeks, to slide an oily finger into her asshole. One of two things was going to happen, she would either stop me abruptly, or enjoy it. Sophia was a real wild woman in bed, and she shuddered and orgasmed. I continued to rub her asshole and finger her butt as a flood of pussy juice came down onto my crotch. I kept it up until I came again.

Sophia climbed off me and rolled onto her back. “Oh my God, I’ve never done that before,” she exclaimed. “Where did you ever learn that?!”

“I never kiss and tell. Or do anything and tell,” I answered.

She looked over at me. “Earlier I wondered if I was going to be your first. It actually kind of excited me. I would guess that isn’t the case.”

I laughed. “Hardly.”

“May I ask that sort of thing?”

It was my turn to shrug. “I started learning back when I was fourteen, if that was the question.”

“And how many girls have you slept with?”

“We almost never sleep.” That got me a little jab in the ribs, so I laughed and said, “About a dozen, dozen-and-a-half, somewhere in there.”

“Oh my God!”

I smiled. “I learned a lot more in high school than you might imagine.”

“I guess so! I wonder about Bo and the girls.”

“You’re going to have to ask them about that. Do you really want to know?”

We continued to chat for a bit longer. By now it was well after midnight, but neither of us was all that sleepy. When Little Carl decided it was time for one last playtime, Sophia noticed, and we both smiled. She got me stiff, and then I decided to try something new for her.

“Get on your hands and knees,” I told her. She had already stripped off her stockings and heels, so she was completely naked as she knelt on the now soaked bedding. I slid up behind her and used my hands to hold her position as I guided my cock into her cunt. She was so wet and slippery that I wasn’t getting much friction, but I knew a cure for that.

I grabbed the bottle of baby oil and squirted some on her asshole, and then slid a finger in. Sophia bucked slightly, more in surprise than anything else, and then she moaned and thrust back at me. A second finger followed, again to moaning approval. At that point I slid the ribbed and ridged dildo in and began double fucking her, with my cock in her pussy and the dildo in her ass.

Sophia was really into this. She was shaking and fucking back at me, hard, and her pussy was tightened up like a twelve year old virgin. She was babbling, “Fuck me! Fuck me!” over and over.

It was about to get better. I squirted some more oil on her asshole, allowed the dildo to work it in, and then yanked it out and tossed it aside. I pulled my cock from her pussy and slipped my cockhead into her ass before it could close up. I was able to push in easily.

Sophia’s eyes snapped open, and she moved away, but I rode her down to the bed and lay atop her with my cock buried in her ass. She turned her head to look at me, and nodded. “Fuck my asshole!” she demanded.

I smiled. As she lay on the bed, I brought my legs up so that I was straddling her thighs and buns, and kept my cock buried in her rear. Then I started hammering her. She was very nice and tight at the back door, and I was well sated from our earlier fucks. I fucked her ass almost fifteen minutes before I came inside her, and Sophia lost track of her orgasms.

Sophia was almost comatose by the time I finished and pulled out and rolled onto the bed. It wasn’t the first time I had assfucked, but it was the first time on this trip on the roller coaster. I went to the bathroom and showered quickly. I wasn’t sure about Sophia, but I didn’t think Little Carl was going to be able to come out and play anymore. When I came out, she was asleep. I dressed and pulled on my shoes and jacket. I finished off the champagne, and then took the bottle, the glasses, and the wine cooler out the door. I figured the girls didn’t need to know Mommy had been entertaining a guest. I set them down by a door halfway down the hall and left. It was almost half past four by the time I crawled into bed.

Chapter 26: Thanksgiving Dinner

I slept late Sunday morning, not even waking when Buddy started drinking and smoking pot. After the mandatory shit, shave, and shower, I grabbed my books and headed out. I needed something for lunch, and then I had to study on campus. I ran across Bo almost immediately, when I was leaving the dorm and he was just coming in. “Good morning,” I said, eyeing him to see if he had any suspicions about me and his mother.

He must not have, because he simply greeted me in return.

“Next time you talk to your mom, tell her thank you for lunch yesterday.”

“No problem,” he replied.

“So, is your sister planning on applying to this place?” I asked.

He gave me a shrug. “I think so, but I’m not completely sure.”

I grinned at him. “You know, she’s awfully pretty. If she does come here, she’s going to need a friend, an older friend, maybe a sophomore that she already has met, to help ease her into things and be a mentor. I mean, she really is pretty.”

Bo’s eyes opened wide at this. “Oh, shit! No way, no way! I’m going to be responsible for her!”

I just laughed. “I’ll be happy to help share that burden.”

“No way! She’s going to be the only girl on campus who doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

I just laughed at Bo and continued on my way, leaving him to wonder how he was going to keep his sister from meeting 4,000 new men, all of whom would be happy to show her around.

I grabbed some fruit and juice at the dining hall, and kept on going. Five minutes later I was walking into the basement of Amos Eaton Hall, also known as ‘Amos Eat-Me’, which was where the math department made its home. The basement was where their pride and joy lived, an IBM 360 mainframe, a state of the (then) art computer. This behemoth was generally treated better than the students who used it. It, for instance, lived in air conditioned luxury, surrounded by technicians wearing white coats. You could see it at work behind a massive glass wall. No students could even get close to it.

Just that year it had been massively upgraded. It now had an entire megabyte of memory! That 1 MB cost roughly $1.5 million. That megabyte was what they called core memory, but not because it was at the core of the machine. No, core memory was memory that stored the ones and zeroes on what looked like steel washers, or cores. 1 megabyte equaled 8 megabits, which meant that they had bought gigantic boxes holding 8 million washers tied together in racks by wiring. If you wanted one of the bits to be a 0 or 1, you energized the wires and flipped the magnetic direction of a washer. This was some serious high technology!

(Remember, in 1973 even hand held calculators were ridiculously expensive. While they had come out just a few years before, a decent scientific calculator might run $300-$400. That was over 10 % of tuition, so you had to be rich to be able to buy one. Most professors wouldn’t even allow you to use one during your tests because that would favor the rich students, at least until the price dropped a few years later.)

Most undergraduate computer programming was done on this beast. The language was a flavor of Fortran, and the programs were run batch style. You actually typed your program on a card punch machine, one line of code per card, and then fed the cards through a card reader which stored the program in memory until it was your turn in the batch. If you had a thousand lines of code, you would have a thousand punch cards. One of the standard jokes was that you could tell a computer science major because they walked like a gorilla; the boxes of punch cards were so massive they dragged your arms to the ground.

After feeding your punch cards to the machine, you went away. Later in the day, or maybe even the next morning, you could pick up your printouts. Hopefully it worked. The odds were it wouldn’t. You would have a typo on one of the cards and the whole thing would be rejected. You would fix the problem and submit the cards again, which simply meant another card would have a typo. Screaming students bitching about typing were commonplace.

There were rumors that in the subbasement were computers which actually had keyboards and monitors, but these were just rumors. Nobody had ever seen them but some grad students.

The computer center was one of the few buildings that were open all night. Batch processing of programs went on 24/7. Also open until the wee hours was the library, which was actually in a converted Gothic cathedral on campus. A new modern library was under construction but wasn’t anywhere near ready yet. As I recall, it wouldn’t be in use until senior year. During finals week it and the Student Union would be open 24/7. I found myself an empty punch card machine and started typing in code that I had already written out long hand on paper. The program was one that was normally only taught towards the end of the semester, so it was fairly long. I was burning through the programming course, and Professor Nichols had agreed to let me take the follow on course independently when I finished this class’ assignments.

I spent the rest of the afternoon typing code and then going over to the library. I alternated between Amos Eat-Me and the library until the early evening, skipping the deliciousness of the dining hall. Later I grabbed something in the Rat. Back in my dorm room I found Buddy missing, but what the heck, it was a weekend and he was off somewhere goofing off. Mind you, it didn’t matter that he also did this the other six days of the week as well. The man was a serious student of moral dissipation. If they offered classes in that, he’d be magna cum laude!

I must have passed my first audition at Kegs, since the next morning at ROTC muster, Ricky Holloway, a junior in the ROTC program and one of the Keggers, invited me back for dinner. I thanked him and agreed, although I did mention I wouldn’t be able to drink and get too stupid on a school night. He laughed at that. Ricky was one of the supreme partiers of the frat, and his room was almost a shrine to marijuana. About ten years ago a couple of upper classmen had spent almost two years painting the entire room flat black and then covered it with intricately linked paisley artwork in neon green, red, yellow, and orange patterns. The room had been wired for sound and UV lighting. Ever since then the ‘Black Light Room’ had been passed down from generation to generation, with the residents morally obligated to keep up the tradition and care for the room. Whenever parents were around, the room was kept closed off, lest they get the wrong idea (well, actually the right idea) about what went on in there.

And so things went for the next few weeks. I made it a habit to visit Kegs on Friday and Saturday, and maybe a short evening during the week, and I noticed several other freshmen doing the same thing. Fall Rush was doing its job, and a new slate of freshmen were being groomed for an invitation to pledge.

The one really, really serious task I was overseeing had nothing to do with school. I was about to become a millionaire. I had managed to finish high school with my brokerage account right about $125,000. On October 6, the Yom Kippur War would kick off, and within weeks, OPEC would raise prices and cut production. Currently the price of oil was about $3 a barrel. By early 1974 the price would be up to $12 a barrel.

And I knew it. Shortly before I had left Towson and driven here, I had sat down with Missy Talmadge and outlined my future plans. She had been highly skeptical of my move into oil, which she thought was just one more commodity. I knew better; it was also the one single element which the economy of the world moved on. The only more important resource is water, without which we die. I knew the price of oil would quadruple, which would get me from $125,000 to $500,000. That wasn’t good enough. Missy and I worked out a series of derivatives and futures which was predicated on the rise in pricing. If the Arabs started shooting at the Israelis again, I was going to be a millionaire. If peace broke out, I would be bankrupt.

Peace didn’t break out. Yom Kippur was not a holiday the school closed for, and by Monday morning’s ROTC muster every military tongue was wagging over what was going on halfway around the world. We followed it closely in the Military Science classes. Ten days later OPEC starting playing games, almost doubling the price of oil overnight. That was only the start. I had left instructions for Missy to keep her nerve until the price hit $12 a barrel, at which point I wanted to dump everything and diversify. 1974 was going to be a disastrous year for the stock market. We were going to invest in Toyota and Nissan, sell short the American car companies, and buy stocks in Exxon and a few other oil companies.

Missy also suggested buying stocks in building supplies, like companies that made insulation, since people would want to insulate their houses more, but I declined. What I knew but she didn’t was that most of those same companies were about to face massive tort exposure related to asbestos. Many would go out of business entirely. Unfortunately I wasn’t sure when this would happen, but I didn’t want to go anywhere near asbestos, not even as an investor.

November 5 came and went quietly. I was now officially and legally an adult. It was a Monday, and after dinner I called home and said hello to my parents and Suzie. They had mailed some presents to my new PO Box address. There was even one from Hamilton, but when I told Mom to thank him for me, she gave me a very hesitant response. It was obvious he hadn’t actually gotten me a birthday present. They asked if I was coming home for Thanksgiving and I told them no; it was an eight hour trip or more by train or bus, and would leave me just a few days at home.

The only thing I did different that day was apply for an American Express card. Times were different then. The idea of unemployed college kids having credit cards was not even considered, but I had sufficient assets that I was sure I would get the card. Besides, American Express was not (at that time) strictly speaking a credit card. You paid off your balance every month — or else! — and couldn’t roll the balance over. Additionally, there were very few places that accepted American Express back in the early Seventies. It was almost entirely restricted to hotels and restaurants. On the plus side, no matter where I was in the world, I would always be able to get a meal and a bed, and that was sufficient for me.

By early November I was already well on my way to being a millionaire thanks to the oil crisis. Buddy was well on his way to a totally different type of crisis, this one involving his grades. Even though he started attending a few classes and no longer slept through the F-Tests, Buddy had uniformly flunked every single midterm. You could see a haunted look start coming to his eyes when he tried to get me to help him. I did try, but the boy was hopeless. He would buckle down for a day, but then go right back to drinking and doping. By the beginning of November his parents must have found out about his grades, because he was suddenly getting long phone calls on the pay phone in the lounge. Buddy was frightened, but didn’t have the discipline to do what was needed to catch up. He didn’t do much better on the next round of F-Tests, and I knew time was getting short for my roommate.

The hammer fell Thanksgiving. I wasn’t going back to Baltimore, and Buddy’s parents showed up at our door bright and early Wednesday morning. They were not amused by their son’s antics. His father peremptorily ordered Buddy to pack up; his mother looked me over disdainfully and demanded to know why I hadn’t helped her son get the A’s he deserved. Buddy must have been throwing me under the bus all semester. There was nothing to say, so I kept my mouth shut and watched. It got really amusing when his father opened his closet to help pack and found Buddy’s bong. Buddy immediately claimed it was mine, at which point I just laughed. Buddy was gone fifteen minutes later. He left ‘my’ bong for me, but I noticed he managed to hide his stash and take that with him.

It was a perfectly serviceable bong. I cleaned it up and put it in my closet.

The school closed after all classes on Tuesday of Thanksgiving week, and wouldn’t reopen until Monday morning afterwards. That left me with a major dilemma. The dining hall would be closed from Tuesday after dinner until Sunday after lunch. If I was already a Kegger, I could eat there, but we hadn’t been officially rushed yet. I was going to be eating out for several days. I had already mentioned the problem to Jim Easton and Mark Malloy. I couldn’t move in, of course, but I was invited to eat there for a few days. Two or three of the brothers lived far from home, and wouldn’t travel until the Christmas break. The same sort of thing occurred even during the summer. There were always two or three guys living there and not moving back home. I would have to talk to them about that.

As it was, three guys were staying over, Jack Jones and Bill Swayzack, a pair of sophomores, and Marty Adrianopolis, a junior. I asked if I could come over for the day. They agreed, and I sweetened the deal. If they coughed up a few bucks, I would stuff and cook a turkey dinner. That got an enthusiastic agreement, although they were all very curious about whether I could cook or not. It was one more way to cement myself as a guy worthy of being a Kegger. I collected a fiver from each of the other three and went on my way.

Wednesday I woke up and went jogging around the eerily deserted campus. It was kind of chilly to start; the snow season in upstate New York is considered to start by Thanksgiving, or sometimes even sooner. In later years Marilyn and I had occasionally taken the kids trick-or-treating in the snow! We had already had several inches of snow, but it wasn’t snowing just then. I was almost warm by the time I got back to the dorm. By lunchtime I was showered and shaved. I drove the Galaxie down to the Price Chopper mall on Hoosick and went into the Italian place for a couple of slices of pizza and a (now legal) beer. Then I went shopping. The fifteen I had collected from the three brothers, plus another five from me didn’t really cover the dinner, but I had sufficient funds to cover the difference. The house was very quiet when I rolled into the parking lot. Marty heard me coming in through the back door by the kitchen and helped me carry the load in and put it in the fridge. Afterwards he invited me into the living room and we had a couple of beers while watching television.

Afterwards, Marty and Jack Jones and I drove to a diner in Albany for dinner. I remembered it from way back, Jack’s Diner, an Albany landmark since the dawn of time. Many a night we’d get stoned and get the munchies and drive over there at two in the morning and demolish an entire cheesecake. We ate and then I drove the guys back to the house and I went back to the dorm.

Thanksgiving morning I skipped the run and drove around until I found a Denny’s that was open for breakfast. I loaded up on bacon, eggs, and toast, and then drove out to the frat. It was time to start prepping for dinner. Even though it was the smallest turkey I could find, I figured I would need to cook it about four hours and would need a good hour of prep time before that. I let myself into the kitchen.

I had left the turkey in the refrigerator overnight, but it had been frozen and hadn’t totally thawed out yet. I filled up one of the sinks with scalding hot water and dropped the unwrapped bird in. It wasn’t pretty, but it was effective. I also got out my stuffing mix and started making that. Dinner was going to be a fairly traditional Thanksgiving feast, just cut down in size a bit — turkey, stuffing, gravy, fresh green beans, rolls, sweet potatoes, and pumpkin pie. No, I wasn’t going to make a pumpkin pie, but I had bought one at the Chopper. The rest I could do. It felt good to be working in a kitchen again. I hadn’t really done any fancy cooking since breaking up with Jeana.

Bill Swayzack came in and found me with my hands inside a turkey’s guts, pulling out the bag of gizzards. I set that on the counter and dropped the bird back into the water to finish thawing. “Wow, you really are going to town on this, aren’t you?” he exclaimed.

“You bet.”

“What do you need me to do?” he asked.

I thought for a second. “Got a corkscrew?”

Bill stared at me for a moment. “A corkscrew? What for?”

“For removing corks from wine bottles. Just see if you can find one.”

He shrugged and departed. He must have looked all over, because he didn’t come back for another ten minutes. By that time I had the turkey out of the water and draining onto some paper towels. I had a stick of butter melting in a pan on the stove, and I had opened a can of chicken broth (I don’t think they make turkey broth, or at least I’ve never run across any), all to be added to the stuffing mix.

Bill returned with a battered looking corkscrew. “I found it down behind the bar.”

“Hopefully it’s sanitary,” I commented. “The alcohol should kill any germs anyway.” I pointed at a gaudy case over on the far counter. “If you want to help, open the case, and open a bottle of wine.”

“Now?”

“Why not!? You’re the boozemaster for today.”

Bill laughed at that, and opened the case on the side. He gasped slightly when he saw what was inside. He pulled out a bottle and set it on the counter. Marty came in just then to see what was up. “Go get some glasses,” said Bill.

Marty shrugged and wandered off, returning with three matching water glasses. Okay, so we were being a bit more informal than normal for a wine tasting. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Well, I know you’re supposed to normally have a white wine with poultry, but this is the first week of the Beaujolais Nouveau, and I thought that would be a nice change. It’s also pretty cheap,” I explained.

“Beaujolais new… what?” he asked.

“Give the glasses to the boozemaster,” I answered. Bill laughed at that and went to work on opening the wine up. Meanwhile I started mixing the melted butter and some broth into the stuffing. “Every year on the third Thursday of November, that year’s Beaujolais Nouveau is released. It’s a fairly inexpensive red wine from France.”

“And you bought an entire case of it?” asked Marty incredulously.

“Well, it isn’t that expensive, and you’d be surprised how fast it will go. Besides, there are four of us, and the normal ratio for a party is one bottle of wine per guest.”

“Yeah, but there’s twelve bottles here.” Bill had finished opening the wine and had poured some in each glass.

I sampled the wine. It was about average for a Beaujolais Nouveau. Marilyn and I had gotten into the habit of buying a case every year. If it was a good year, we would buy a second. This year’s was a touch tannic, but otherwise quite agreeable. “A good year. Not a great year, but a good year,” I pronounced.

Marty and Bill sipped their wine. Neither had much experience with wine, but they didn’t just swill it down, either. “So we end up drinking three bottles apiece?”

I laughed at that and sipped some more wine. “Not necessary. Listen, if you guys cough up another five apiece, I’ll split up whatever’s left with you. Otherwise, I’ll just take it back to the dorm with me. It’s no big deal. I like wine and I’ll just drink it myself.” I stirred the stuffing in the bowl and mixed in the butter and broth.

I got Marty to help by holding the turkey upright while I loaded the stuffing inside. Bill seemed to like the wine, and started asking, “So how do you know so much about wine?”

“I’ve been drinking wine for years. I prefer it over booze and beer, actually. Plus, it’s an excellent way to get your girlfriend in the mood while still acting sophisticated and cool.”

Bill wasn’t buying it. “You’ve been drinking wine for years? You want to explain that?”

I looked at the two of them and shrugged. “Okay, but I’m just asking you, don’t go blasting this all over the house, okay?” They both nodded, and I finished stuffing the ass of the bird and carefully lowered him to the counter. I quickly grabbed a few skewers and closed him up. “Where’s your home?” I asked.

“Huh? West Babylon,” said Marty.

I turned my head to Bill. He shrugged and said, “Sacramento. Why?”

“My home is wherever I’m standing. These days it’s Troy. The last couple of years it was Towson, Maryland. Before that it was Lutherville, Maryland. Two years ago I moved out of my family’s home and started living on my own.”

“I’m not following you. Your parents threw you out?” asked Marty.

“More like the other way around. Things were really bad at home, like really bad, and I told them I was either moving out and getting an apartment or I was going to leave and never come back. We struck a deal, and I moved out just after I turned sixteen. I had my own place through most of high school.”

“That is so cool!” gushed Bill.

“Whatever it was, it wasn’t cool,” I replied. “But it was necessary.”

“Why was it necessary?” asked Marty.

“I’ll get to that, but let me finish this.” I stuffed the neck of the bird without any help and found myself with just a little left of the stuffing. I tossed that out and turned the oven on. “Where’s a roaster?” We found one on a shelf, and I rinsed it quickly. Finally I set the bird in the roaster, basted it with cooking oil, covered it with tin foil, and stuck in a meat thermometer. Then, after I put the bird in the oven, I had time to answer their questions. I washed my hands and sipped some wine, and then refreshed our glasses.

“Okay, back to me moving out. The problem is my little brother, who’s kind of nuts. I couldn’t live there anymore.”

“So what? My little brother is nuts too,” commented Marty.

“No, you don’t get it. I mean my brother is nuts!” I waved a finger in a circular pattern around my ear. “As in, my brother is a raving psychotic. He’s dangerous for me to be around. I think he’s a paranoid schizophrenic, and his delusions are aimed at me. Towards the end, I was sleeping in a different room behind a locked door, and I still wasn’t safe.”

“You’re shitting me!” said Bill.

“I wish.”

“You mean he’s actually crazy? What about your parents? Couldn’t they do something about him?”

It was my turn to shrug. “That’s a big part of the problem. I think my Dad knows something’s wrong with him, but he won’t go up against my mother, and she thinks the sun rises and sets because my brother tells it to. She doesn’t see any problem at all. I finally had enough and got out of there.”

Marty eyed me curiously. “We’ll get back to that in a moment, but what does that have to do with wine?”

I grinned at him. “Hey, I was sixteen and had a bachelor apartment by myself. I got an older buddy to keep me stocked on booze. It was great for wining and dining pretty young ladies.”

It took a second for it to sink in, but you could see the comprehension in their eyes. This time the ‘Are you shitting me?’ comments were much more appreciative! Jack Jones picked that time to wander in and after hearing how I had been living for the last two years of high school, simply said, “You dog!”

While this was going on, we finished the first bottle and the boozemaster opened a second. I started getting all the sides ready. The canned yams were opened and put into one sauce pan, the bottled gravy was opened and put into another, a baking pan was pulled out for the rolls, and I grabbed the bag of green beans and a cutting board, and started cutting the ends off the beans. Meanwhile, the guys peppered me with questions about the crazy shit my brother used to do, and I went over a lot of it, all the time explaining that I had to move out.

Eventually we exhausted that topic, and Jack said, “So that’s why you know how to cook. You’ve been on your own for two years.”

“Bingo!” I agreed. “I do like to cook, though. I used to go over to my girlfriend’s house and cook a big meal about once a month for her and her family. Still, we broke up over the summer, and this is the first chance I’ve had to cook in months! I really appreciate it!”

“What’d she think of you having your own apartment?” asked Marty.

“She really liked it. I mean, really, really liked it.”

“And her parents?” quizzed Jack.

“Somehow we never got around to telling them the story. Jeana would come over to ‘my place’. We just weren’t too specific about where that was,” I commented.

“So you lied to them.”

I gave a thoughtful look. “I think of it more as a sin of omission, rather than one of commission.”

That got a snorting laugh out of the others, and we ended up talking quite awhile about high school girlfriends and who had done what to whom. Once the preparations for all the side dishes were out of the way, we grabbed another couple bottles of wine and headed to the living room, and continued the discussion. Jack said, “We need to give Carl the Purity Test!”

“What’s the Purity Test?” I asked.

“It rates how pure you are!” replied Marty with an evil laugh.

“Oh, it’s a requirement!” agreed Bill. Jack was sent upstairs to find a copy, and a Bible.

The Purity Test consisted of 100 questions, all related to some form of sexual activity, from the mild (’Have you ever seen a girl?’) to the deviant (’Have you ever fucked a barnyard animal?’). Your score was the number of NOs you gave. A score of 100 meant you were probably an alien from Mars and had just landed. A score of 0 meant you generally spent your nights gangbanging sheep. Male sheep!

Jack came back down with a stack of tests and handed them around, and placed the Bible in front of me. I was ordered to place the Bible in my hands and swear on pain of eternal damnation and torture to tell the truth. I then took the test. It only took about five minutes or so, maybe less. I scored a 29, which seemed very impressive to the others. Jack wasn’t sure he believed me, since my score was actually a good 15 points lower than his, but the truth came out that his girlfriend had just popped his cherry that September, which got him razzed by the other two.

The scores actually broke down into several categories. The first cutoff point was about 80; above that number was a virgin who had never even dated. The next major range was in the 60s, and meant you were a virgin who had dated, maybe had a handjob or a blowjob, but never actually gotten laid. There were enough points involved in actually getting laid that the moment you became a non-virgin, your score dropped into the 40s. After that, as your sexual proficiency and the number of partners increased, your score would continue to drop. For fairly conventional heterosexual college seniors with a degree of sexual proficiency, they usually stabilized their score in the mid 20s. The lowest on record in the frat was Ricky Holloway’s, somewhere around 19. Much lower than that and neither pets nor your fellow brothers were safe.

We sat around and drank wine and swapped lies for another hour or so, and then I had to return to the kitchen to check on things. Marty had fallen asleep on the couch and Jack went upstairs to his room. Bill wandered out to the kitchen with me and watched me working. “You could be the Kitchen Steward,” he said.

“What’s a Kitchen Steward?” I asked.

“Well, I’m actually jumping the gun, but just suppose you were to be invited to join Kegs and you did so, then you can run for a frat office,” he told me.

“Like what? Chancellor?” I asked.

A hundred years ago, when Kegs had been invented by a bunch of drunken assholes at Amherst, they had created a bunch of positions and titles to run the place. What most frats called the President was named the Chancellor. The Vice-President was the Minister, the Treasurer was the Exchequer, the Secretary was the Scrivener, and the fifth guy, the tie breaker, was named the Provost. These five brothers were voted in every year by the brotherhood and was the Ruling Council, and their names and titles were on the pictures of the brothers in the Formal Room.

“No, the Steward runs the kitchen. There’s all sorts of jobs around here.”

“Like what?”

Bill shrugged. “You name it. The Chairman of the Social Committee runs the parties. Rush Chairman is in charge of recruiting you new guys. The Steward runs the kitchen. The House Manager keeps the heating system and stuff working. There’s all sorts of shit that needs to be run.”

“Freshmen can do this?”

He shook his head. “No, you have to live in, but we have elections for the following year in the late spring.”

“I still have to get in first, don’t I?” I said with a smile.

“There is that.”

Dinner was a rousing success. I used the pan drippings from the bird and separated off the fat, to pour the remainder into the gravy base. I also whipped up a very quick white sauce for the green beans. I cooked the bird until it was quite thoroughly dead, but still juicy, and for the last half hour I had the tin foil tent removed so it would brown. Then, while the other guys set the table, I destuffed the bird and carved him up. By the time we were done, I was fairly certain I had cemented myself into the frat. It was late when we split up. We had gone through two-thirds of the wine, and I left three bottles behind me and drove back to the dorm with my last bottle.

Chapter 27: A Very Important Date

Two Mondays after Thanksgiving, Marty Adrianopolis showed up knocking on my door in Hall Hall. He had in his hand a large envelope in a creamy parchment sort of paper, and he told me to open it while he stood there. Inside it was a formal request to pledge Kegs, also done on the fancy paper. I read it over and asked, “What do I do now?”

“Are you accepting?”

I nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

“That’s good enough for me. Friday we’ll have the induction, so make sure you’re around for that,” he replied. We shook hands and he headed out.

That Friday night the incoming pledges were assembled in the basement, dressed in suits, while the brethren, dressed in black robes, swore us in as pledges. Then we were given our Pledge Books and we went upstairs, where we took off our coats and ties and got drunk.

Pledges had to learn all sorts of strange shit, like the frat’s colors (magenta and gold), history (founded at Amherst College, otherwise known as the Oracle), and even the secret alphabet, a collection of stick figures. A century ago, those clowns at Amherst — excuse me, the Oracle — had way too much time on their hands! We were also taught proper attitudes for proper pledges, namely utter subservience to higher forms of life, like bacteria and viruses. For instance, when the pay phone in the lobby rang, it was a pledge who had to answer, even if he was upstairs in the bathroom, and even if a brother was sitting in a chair underneath the phone. Likewise, pledges were assigned duties helping in the kitchen and around the house.

Now, looking back, I can explain some of what was happening at the time. The Sunday after Thanksgiving, a week after the vacation, Kegs had a house meeting. These were usually held once a month and were supersecret burn-before-reading sorts of affairs. All non-brethren were thrown out onto the street. It was time to select pledges.

House meetings were brothers only. They were held either in the basement (dark, foreboding, formal) or in the formal room, which was a lot more comfortable. You only did basement meetings during the secret ceremonies. Upstairs in the formal room there were couches along all the walls and carpet to sprawl out on.

Selecting pledges was similar to the scene in Animal House, only with a few twists thrown in. They didn’t have a projector with slides, but they did have Polaroids taken at parties that could be passed around. Generally the procedure was that the Rush Chairman would have a list of prospects, and one by one, would propose a name. Often there would be a discussion on the guy, but not always. Occasionally comments such as “We need the dues!” would be heard. Then they would pass the box around. The box was a clunky gizmo with a tray of white and black balls in it. You would reach in and grab a ball, and then drop the ball through a hole into the box. The whole thing was constructed so that nobody else could see what color ball you were grabbing. The box was then passed to the next brother. Generally only sophomores and juniors would vote, since they were the guys who would have to live with their choices. Traditionally seniors would allow the box to pass by, although technically they had the right to vote. A white ball signified acceptance, a black ball signified decline. It had to be unanimous. A single black ball killed the prospect.

You could almost always figure out who was going to vote yea or nay, but not always. Sometimes the most promising candidates would get a single mysterious black ball and be out. Sometimes the biggest assholes would get in. If you went back in history, for many years the national Kappa Gamma Sigma organization had a rigid and written ‘no blacks or Jews’ policy, which wasn’t formally revised until a lawsuit in the Sixties changed it. This was especially bizarre since during the Forties and Fifties the RPI chapter was the Cuban house, where all the rich expatriate Cuban students lived. Even so, I knew of at least one current resident who explicitly stated he’d never vote to allow a nigger to move in — and he was a Jew! Go figure.

After the selection of candidates, the Rush Chairman is out of a job, and a Pledgemaster is selected. His job is to nurture and train the incoming pledges so that they can assume their rightful position as future masters of the universe, or something like that. Generally this was a simple job. He made sure they showed up on time, knew the rules, and didn’t fuck up too egregiously.

A second vote was held before the formal induction ceremony in the spring as a full brother. Theoretically, you weren’t a brother yet, but you really had to fuck up to get thrown out at this point. In four years there, I only saw one case where a pledge was deemed so screwed up that his invitation was rescinded after he pledged. Likewise, once you were a full brother, it was next to impossible to vote you out, requiring a unanimous vote to do so. Again, I only saw this once in four years, and even then the hose job wasn’t formally voted out; a group of brothers met with the asshole and told him he was not being invited back to live in the house the next year, and that if he pushed it, a vote would be forthcoming. He chose to move out.

We ended up with a fairly large class of pledges, fifteen in all:

Bruno Cowling — a civil engineer in ROTC. He was from Maine and talked funny, like everybody else from Maine. Ay-yuh!

Joe Bradley — a math major like myself, in ROTC. More about him later.

Leo Coglan — an aeronautic engineer in Navy ROTC. Leo had several misfortunes. For one thing he actually took a black girl out on a date (quite unusual in 1974, when it happened) and got all sorts of shit over that (“Once you go black, you never go back!” and “You’re not a man until you’ve split a black oak!”) Also, during the final stage of pledgehood, during Hell Week, we were renamed Neos, for Neophytes, and Leo became known forever afterwards as Leo the Neo.

Tony Defrancisco — an electrical engineer. Tony was 6’3" tall, 325 pounds, shaped like a pear, and had a pockmarked face. He was probably the ugliest human being on the planet. Dumbest, too. It took him six years to graduate. Nicknamed ‘The Cisco Kid.’

Joe Brown — a cocky and arrogant pre-med biology major. Got caught cheating in organic chem lab when synthesizing caffeine, after he ground up some No-Doz and submitted it. Still graduated and actually went to medical school — in Guadalajara!

Bill Pabst — electrical engineer, nicknamed ‘Pigpen’ after his room condition.

Bill Schlitz — electrical engineer. Pabst and Schlitz became best friends and roomed together. Every Christmas during gag gift giving, Schlitz would get a bottle of Pabst beer and Pabst would get a bottle of Schlitz beer.

Jack Dawson — mechanical engineer. Had an expensive stereo system and held himself out to be an expert on all things audio, even though he was deaf in his left ear.

Barry Lewis — chemistry major. Turned out to be a major league asshole, but he was quiet and we all just ignored him when he was being a dork.

Homer Simpson — yes, that was his name, but this was long before the show ever got on TV. Homer was a computer science major. He was also a concert pianist. He had turned down a full scholarship to Juilliard to accept a full scholarship to RPI. As soon as he joined the frat, the brothers went out and bought an upright piano for the house, and he played all sorts of stuff for us. He had a photographic memory for music.

Andy Kowalchuk — civil engineer and doper supreme. Flunked out at the end of sophomore year because he was always stoned and never went to class.

Bill Keswick — chemistry major. Definite doper, he actually ran a hash oil still sophomore and junior years. Made some really amazing stuff! You would see colors unknown after smoking pot laced with his hash oil.

Jerry Modanowicz — electrical engineer and the only guy ever kicked out of the frat that I ever heard of. Pretty much a hose job.

Harry Haroldson — civil engineer, Air Force ROTC. Eminently forgettable. Total zero.

Yours truly!

All in all it was an eclectic group. One major change was in the ROTC makeup. For a number of years, Kegs had been a ROTC house, and roughly two-thirds of the brothers were in ROTC. By 1973 it was obvious the Viet Nam War was over and nobody needed to hide at college from their draft boards. My pledge class was only one-third ROTC, and we were the last to join for a long time. It was very disconcerting to some of the upperclassmen.

We were also assigned our Big Brothers, a mentor among the upper classmen who was assigned to ease us into the frat. Mine was Marty Adrianopolis. I think he volunteered to be my big brother, since he had effectively left home like I had. His parents were divorced, his father was long out of the picture, and his mother had remarried a few years ago to an asshole Marty couldn’t stand. He knew some of what I was going through. He never went home either.

The semester ended with a final round of F-Tests for my fellow pledges, and finals for everyone, and then most people went home for a few weeks. I ended up sleeping at Kegs in my sleeping bag on a couch, since the dorms and dining hall were completely shut down. I didn’t bother driving back home. They mailed me presents and I returned the favor. Four guys stayed there with me, and I acted as cook. For Christmas I did a ham with horseradish and mustard glaze, mashed potatoes, asparagus with Hollandaise sauce, rolls, and brownies for dessert. It was suggested that next year I try to get in the Sunday rotation for cooking. We had a house mother cook for us Monday through Saturday, at least for lunch and dinner, but Sundays we had to fend for ourselves. Cooks got paid ten bucks, and rotated among three or four guys who knew what they were doing in the kitchen. One of them was Ricky Holloway, he of the dope smoking hall of fame.

I also went over to the school infirmary and got the name of an optometrist. I knew this was going to happen. I started needing glasses by the end of fall semester, both this time and the last time. Before, I had mentioned it to my mother, and I had gotten the glasses back home. Now that wasn’t an option. Further, once I started at RPI, my dad had cut me out of his medical insurance and told me to get the student policy through the college. I was going to have to pay for my glasses out of pocket. I bought three pair, wire rimmed clear, aviators’ frame sunglasses very dark, and a pair of birth control glasses for the Army. These are hideously ugly black plastic framed glasses that are totally indestructible, but so catastrophically ugly that no soldier who wears them will ever have a chance of actually meeting with and talking to a girl.

School restarted in January, sort of. They had a four week mini-semester called January Term, or simply J-Term. You could take a single course for credit, if offered, at a high intensity. A lot of freshman had to take calculus or physics or chemistry if they had flunked it first semester. Otherwise there were some interesting one-off courses you could take, without credit. I once took a class on urban planning, where we actually worked with real politicians and urban planners from Albany. It was actually pretty interesting, and gave me an early appreciation of politics.

This time was different. The military science department (ROTC) was offering a J-Term class on Tactics. They were playing a board game called Panzer Leader, which simulated armor tactics on the western front in WW2. I actually had once owned this game and it was very good. Yeah, I know, board games, the ultimate nerd diversion. Hey, I was a nerd, sue me!

(By the way, the official spelling of nerd at RPI is ‘knurd’, which is ‘drunk’ spelled backwards. Only at a nerd school do you have an official spelling of nerd.)

This was all done before computer games became possible. Boards, physical maps, were carved up into square, hexagonal, or octagonal spaces, and small cardboard counters representing units would be moved around on them. Panzer Leader used a hexagonal grid, and the counters represented various tank, infantry, and artillery units found in the war. A given tank counter might represent a company of American Shermans or German Panthers, and so on. There were elaborate rules about what each unit could do, how fast they could move around the board, and what they could shoot at.

What they did differently was that they had bought a shitload of the games, nine of them. There were three boards to a game and they could be linked in any number of ways. They combined all the parts and boards of three games and set them up in three separate rooms in an identical fashion, one for the Allies, one for the Germans, and one for the umpires, who would be the teachers. Half the students would play the Allies and half would play the Germans, and each team would only see their board, plus what the umpires would show them of the other side’s moves. The umpire’s room would have everything. Each team would move in succession and their move would be duplicated in the umpire’s room. The umpires would then modify the appropriate boards, if necessary in the adversary.

For example, on the American board, a tank unit might be moved from one spot to another, and they would move the counter. The umpires moved the counter on their board, and since they had both sides showing, would be able to tell if the Germans saw them. If they did, the German side was told and shown the move, and they could then respond. It was cumbersome, but realistic. On each side, the teams were split along functional and unit lines. There was an overall commander, several subunit commanders (brigades and battalions), and other separations as well, so the students would only be responsible for what they ‘owned.’

I had played this game before, quite a bit, in fact, and knew a lot of tricks. I volunteered to be artillery commander, and made some of my own rules for my subordinates, speeding up the process and making sure we were always shooting somewhere at someone. This paid off repeatedly when my surprise fires would catch enemy units on the move or trying to deploy. The Air Force and Navy have a saying — ‘Fighter pilots win the glory, bomber pilots win the war.’ I told the others that ‘Tankers win the glory, gunners win the war.’ The teachers all agreed with me.

I knew I was going to be in the Army, but I think that’s when I decided to go for artillery. No matter what I did, I was going for combat arms. I should explain that. There are two types of Army officer, combat arms and everything else. Combat arms includes the infantry, armored, airborne, artillery, and engineers; other stuff would include communications, MPs, transportation, medical, supply, chaplains, and so forth. This stuff is pretty important when the shit hits the fan, senior officers are killed, and bullets are flying. It is not unheard of that a lieutenant in the engineers or infantry finds himself commanding units with much more senior (majors, colonels, etc.) non-combat officers, for instance if a headquarters position gets hit hard by artillery or gets cut off behind enemy lines.

This was actually one of the major differences between me and my father. He was a staff officer, and hated being a line officer. The same applied in civilian life. He loved being in a staff engineering position and hated being a line manager with final profit-and-loss responsibility. I’ve had both types of jobs. Staff managers are important; line managers get promoted and paid more. They also get fired more, but that’s the breaks. No guts, no glory.

That took us through most of January. The second semester was starting the last week of January, and we all needed a blowout party. Kegs had one scheduled for Friday night, February 8. Everybody was back from winter break and had a week of class under their belts. Now I got to see the mechanism for organizing a party and the most important thing of all — getting girls to come!

The Albany-Troy-Schenectady area has a lot of colleges. Aside from RPI, you had Russell Sage, Samaritan Hospital Nursing School, Albany State, Union, Siena, St. Rose, and probably a few I’ve forgotten, all within fifteen to twenty minutes. Every frat had a few selected colleges they found women at. Teke always hit on Russell Sage, for instance. Kegs liked Samaritan, St. Rose, and Albany State. It was a self reinforcing system. You were dating a girl at a college, she posted a notice a party was happening, girls would come to the party, some brother would start dating a girl there, and the cycle was repeated.

All the pledges were expected to show up after classes Friday and work on the house. Mostly it was a matter of cleaning the place up and putting shit away. The formal room, for instance, was gutted. The furniture was taken out and put on the porch under a gigantic tarp, and the carpet was rolled up and carried out as well. In the living room the foosball table was hidden and the furniture rearranged. The basement was shoveled out and a stereo system was set up. Most of the brute work was done by pledges under the tutelage of a brother. A fair bit of beer was consumed during this period.

My part was actually different. Marty was actually the Social Chairman, the guy who ran the parties, and he acted as a bartender. He grabbed me, since I knew a lot about drinks and booze, and assigned me to help setting up the bars. One was down in the basement in a cubbyhole off the side, where we actually had a real bar set up, and only served mixed drinks and draft beer. Upstairs, we set up a folding table. We had some mixed drinks, but mostly served punch. The punch was free; beer and mixed drinks went on your bar tab, which had to be paid monthly.

Every frat had a different signature punch. Kegs’ was mai tais, a rum based fruit punch. Crows served up the Purple Jesus, Welch’s grape juice plus vodka. Others I had seen around campus included screwdrivers, Bloody Marys, and a sangria sort of drink involving cheap red wine, sliced fruit, and vodka. No matter what the punch was, it was invariably sweet and heavily laced with alcohol, so that our female guests would enjoy it, get stupid, and take off their panties. Subtle flavors weren’t all that critical.

For whatever reason, I was kept working on the bars and booze when brothers were sent out to find hot and willing women. To be fair about it, willing was more important than hot. Tonight was a big party, the first of the semester, so we had put up notices at St. Rose, Samaritan, and Albany State. While the girls at Samaritan could just walk down the street to us, we had to send cars over to Albany State and St. Rose. These cars were known as ‘meat wagons.’ We weren’t very politically correct in 1974, and I suspect if you went back there today, they still wouldn’t be. Even though I had a car, I wasn’t sent out, probably because they figured a freshman would fuck up, and I never even knew they had left until long after they were gone.

I had just finished making a batch of mai tais and poured them from the kitchen kettle into a glass punch bowl, and was sampling one when people started coming in. The freshmen were fairly predictable. They concentrated on mai tais, since that was free, and they all drank too much too soon. That shit had a kick to it, and if you weren’t careful, you could get real stupid real fast. Some of these guys would have three or four within the first hour and end up passed out somewhere. I had one, but I was nursing it along.

The party was supposed to start around eight or so, and the first ones there were all the freshmen, the single brothers, and any brothers who had girls staying for the weekend. The meat wagons didn’t start coming back until around half past. Sometimes, if we were lucky, some of the girls would come over in their own cars and bring friends. This was one of the first parties of the semester at any of the houses, since most of the rest were having parties the next week, and attendance was high. I quickly found myself filling and setting out plastic cups of punch from behind the bar, with Marty supervising and taking the occasional mixed drink order. Somebody else was handling the basement, and the floor was already rumbling from the sound of the stereo down there. Led Zeppelin and the Stones seemed to be the order of the day, with a heavy dosing of Aerosmith.

Things were moving along quite nicely. I remember filling some cups, going off to the kitchen to make another batch of mai tais, coming back and pouring it into the punch bowl. Then I turned around, set the kettle on the floor behind us. I stood upright and faced the front of the bar. There she was, the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.

It was Marilyn Lefleur.

Chapter 28: Dueling

Friday, February 8, 1974

It had taken me five years, three months, and three days to get to this point. Everything I had done since I had recycled was aimed at being here, at this point in my life. Nothing else was important. Nothing else mattered. No matter what had changed in my life, I knew one thing. I had met Marilyn Lefleur at the first party spring semester our freshmen year at a Kegs party at RPI. That was a constant. Up until that point, we had never had any contact, not even in the slightest. She came to the party, we met, we fell in love, end of story.

Everything I had done in the last five years was done with the sole purpose of maximizing my chances of being at this party and meeting her again. I had come back to RPI to be here. I had joined ROTC, and had hung around the pool hall, all so that the Kegs brothers would notice me and invite me over (I had originally been found playing pool.) I had kissed every ass possible so that they would invite me to join, just so I could be here, tonight, at this party. No matter what the price would be, I had decided to pay it. If that meant leaving my family or joining the Army, so be it. I had to be here, tonight, in the formal room, to meet Marilyn. Nothing else mattered.

I just stared at her. She was so beautiful to me as to take my breath away. Okay, to be absolutely fair about it, Marilyn wasn’t, and had never been the most beautiful girl on the planet, not in any objective sense. Jeana, for instance, was probably the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and if she had been half a foot taller would have been a shoo-in for any number of fashion or men’s magazines. Marilyn was never quite in that league.

That’s not to say she wasn’t good looking. She was. I remember clearly once when Maggie was looking through some old pictures of us and she said, in the most delightfully tactless way, “Wow, Mom, you used to be hot!” While I tried to keep from laughing, Marilyn looked daggers at Maggie and asked me if she was allowed to kill her. Of course, the best response was when I told Marilyn she was still hot, but now it came in flashes. That got her laughing so hard she snorted milk out her nose!

At 18, Marilyn was definitely hot! She wasn’t all that tall, maybe 5’4", with a nicely curvy build, large B or small C cup, and a wickedly round and interesting rear. She had a round face, with a perky upturned ski lift sort of nose, big brown eyes, and masses of curly chocolate brown hair that fell in ringlets past her shoulders. She was dressed in jeans so tight it made you want to watch her ass and cry, a tight red and white gingham shirt, and really ugly flat shoes.

She was standing there, looking at me, with a shy smile on her face, watching me as I stood there stupidly, my jaw dropping, with a plastic cup of punch in one hand and a ladle in the other. I just stood there and stared at her. I had just spent over five years devoting myself to this moment, and I couldn’t even speak. She was actually here!

She looked at me, and then looked at the cup of punch in my hand, and then glanced over at Marty, before looking back at me. The next thing I knew, Marty slapped me from behind my head. “Wake up, dopey!”

That woke me up. I snapped out of it, and looked at him and then turned back to Marilyn, still standing there. It was time to speak. “Huh?”

Marty muttered under his breath. Marilyn said, “Can I have some of that punch?”

“It’s a mai tai,” I replied.

“Okay, can I have some mai tai?”

Marty smacked me again. “Carl, you are beyond hopeless. Give the lady a drink, and then go around the table and talk to her. You’re acting like you’ve never seen a girl before! Jeesh!”

I must have turned about three shades of purple as I blushed, and Marilyn laughed loudly. I grinned and shook my head. I handed her the cup of mai tai, and said, “You are absolutely right!” I poured myself a drink, and before Marilyn could escape, I was around the table at her side. “I really want to apologize. I’m normally not like that, but you are just so pretty, you took my breath away!” It was Marilyn’s turn to blush. She wasn’t wearing any makeup other than some light lip gloss, but that was always her style. “I have to ask. Who are you?”

She blushed again, and smiled. “I’m Marilyn. Marilyn Lefleur. Who are you?”

I just couldn’t help myself. I gave her a big shit-eating grin and said, “Oh, darling, I am your Daddy’s worst nightmare!”

She started at that, and then burst out laughing. “Oh really!? That’s pretty big talk from a guy who couldn’t even say hello a minute ago!”

I gave her a sheepish smile and shrugged. “It’s like I said, you took my breath away.”

“So who are you really, and what makes you my father’s worst nightmare?” she asked, smiling.

“Well, I’m Carl, Carl Buckman, and as for your father, well, I can guarantee that no father alive wants a boy, any boy, looking at his little girl like I’m looking at you!”

“And just how are you looking at me?” she asked teasingly.

“Not like a little girl!”

“That’s still awfully big talk for a guy who was about to drool into the punch bowl!”

“Speaking of which…” I set my cup down and took hers from her hand, and then refilled it from the punch bowl. Then I grabbed my cup and took her free hand in mine. “Let’s go downstairs. Do you dance?” I didn’t give her a chance to answer, but simply tugged lightly and she followed me, laughing at me the entire way.

Once down in the basement, we drained our mai tais and started dancing together. It was mostly classic Seventies rock and roll, the good stuff, with some Southern rock thrown in, which I always enjoyed. When Jerry Masters, a senior and our DJ, switched to Stairway To Heaven, Marilyn didn’t even hesitate when I took her in my arms and held her against me. She simply sighed and laid her head against my chest as we swayed in time to the music. At the end of the song I held onto her and lowered my face to hers. It was a first kiss, all over again, and went just fine!

38 Special came on next, and we started dancing faster, and then Mike Ghormley, a sophomore, came up and tried to cut in. He was a little guy, maybe a couple inches shorter than me and twenty pounds lighter, and he was already drunk off his ass. “I’m cutting in!” he announced.

I stared at him in amusement, although Marilyn looked nervous. “Ghormley, you’re drunk!”

“But I want to dance!”

It was all I could do not to laugh in his face. I just smiled at Marilyn. “Do you want to dance with him?”

“I want to dance with you!” she laughed back.

“Sorry, Ghormley.” We pulled away from him and finished the dance. By the time the song ended I was sweating and not just because the basement was like a furnace. “I think I need some air.”

“Good idea!” she said with a nod. She led the way, holding my hand, and dragged me up the stairs. By now the front doors to the porch were wide open, letting the cold February air into the house and cooling things off. We went back into the formal room, and I moved to get Marilyn another mai tai.

Who would already be standing at the table but Mike Ghormley? As soon as he saw us, his face lit up. “Now we can dance!” he announced.

I looked over at Marty Adrianopolis, still on duty behind the bar. “How many of these has he had?”

He grinned back. “More than enough.”

“Mike, the lady doesn’t want to dance with you,” I said.

He gave me the drunk-and-puzzled look. Mike was a nice enough guy when he was sober, but he had a major superiority problem. As a sophomore, he was automatically superior to all freshmen, and therefore could order them around. I remembered that this went right on through college; as a junior he would boss around the sophomores and freshmen, as a senior, juniors would be added to the list. We generally ignored him when he was drinking. “But I want to dance with her!”

Marty was starting to look concerned. “Ghormley, you’re drunk!” I said.

That got him angry! “Take that back!” I just rolled my eyes. “Take it back, I said!”

“Or what? Are you planning on fighting me?” I looked over at Marilyn, who was starting to get nervous. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to fight,” I whispered.

“YES! I’m challenging you!” By now half the room was staring and pretty much openly laughing at him, and Marty was inching around the table preparatory to grabbing him.

Suddenly I had an idea. I motioned for Marty to cool it, and said, “What? Like a duel?”

“Yes! I am challenging you to a duel!”

Marty slapped his head in disbelief. I smiled at Marilyn. “Ever had two men fight a duel over you before?”

“God, no!”

“Someday you’ll be able to tell your grandchildren about this.”

“Spare me!” Still, she smiled at me.

I turned back to Ghormley. “Okay, I accept the challenge. I get to choose weapons.” Ghormley was looking very superior now. I glanced behind the bar and found everything I needed. I reached out and grabbed Joe Bradley, my fellow pledge, who was watching this all with considerable interest. Pulling him closer, I said, “Joe will be my second.” I leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Run off to the kitchen and bring back the matches.” He looked at me curiously, but I repeated my instructions and he ran off.

“Shots at two paces!” I announced. Ghormley looked confused at that. I smiled at Marty. “Hand me two identical shot glasses and that bottle of Southern Comfort.”

He shrugged. “It’s going on your bar bill.”

I set the two glasses up one at each end of the table we were using as a bar, and then filled each one to the very brink with the liquor. Ghormley moved to grab his, but I waved him off. “Wait! Wait! We’re not ready yet!” Bradley handed me a box of wooden kitchen matches, and everybody stared. I lit a match, and before anybody knew what I was doing, I held it to the lip of Ghormley’s shot glass. The Southern Comfort began burning with a faint blue flame. I quickly lit my glass. I stepped up to the bar. “On the count of three!” Both Marty and Ghormley stared at me in disbelief, although Marty had a big smile on his face. “One! Two!..”

By now everybody watching was chanting along. “THREE!”

I grabbed my shot glass and lifted it up to my lips and swallowed it down, not even pausing to think or look at it. Ghormley was slower, and nervous. He hesitated as he brought it up to his face, and then he started worrying about his mustache, which was big and blonde and of which he was quite proud. He waited just long enough for the shot glass to get too hot to hold. He quickly set it down and started flapping his hand around. “Jesus Christ!”

I grabbed his still burning shot glass, brought it to my lips and poured it straight down, and then slammed the shot glass victoriously down to the table. Joe Bradley grabbed my hand and lifted it up. “The winner!”

I preened for a moment, and then grabbed Marilyn. I lifted her up and gave her a good hard kiss. She laughed and kissed me back.

Ghormley stared at us in disbelief. Around us people were laughing and lining up to do their own flaming shots. Marty was simply lining them up while Joe Bradley lit matches. Marty laughed at me. “You’re fucking crazy!”

“Crazy about her!” I said, pointing at Marilyn. She laughed and I spun her around. “I’m crazy about you!”

Okay, by now, with two shots of Southern Comfort on top of the mai tais, I was officially lit up myself. Marilyn refused to have one herself, so she took her punch and we wandered out of the room and went out on the porch to cool off. The brisk air felt good. Several brothers and pledges came out and congratulated me on my victory. Ghormley even came out and stared at us in total disbelief. How dare a mere pledge show him up like that!

When we started to get chilly, we went back inside. That set up a round robin sort of motion — drink, dance, cool off. Around midnight or so, we wandered into the living room and sank down onto the only couch not in use. I leaned against the arm of the couch and Marilyn lay half on top of me and we began kissing.

Light was just starting to peep into the windows when I woke up. I had a warm and familiar weight on my chest, and when I cracked open an eyelid, I noticed the top of a head with curly chocolate brown hair resting on my chest. Oh, shit! We had fallen asleep on the couch, and Marilyn’s buddies had left her here. I was going to have to get her home.

I was also going to have to pee. My bladder felt like it was going to burst. I tried to slide out from under Marilyn without waking her, and mostly succeeded. She murmured sleepily and went back to sleep on the couch. I wandered down the hall and used the bathroom off the kitchen. Christ, but I must have pissed for half an hour in there, and it sounded like Niagara Falls! Afterwards I looked in the mirror and was sorry I did so. I looked like a poor grade of refuse. I went into the dining room where we had set up the coat racks and found Marilyn’s and my coat still hanging, although my hat was on the floor in the corner. I retrieved my car keys and headed outside.

I popped the trunk and pulled out a large duffel bag I kept in the back. This was one of my two emergency kits. Us Boy Scouts have a saying about being prepared. I kept two kits in the trunk of every car I’ve ever owned. The first is a tool box and it’s filled with flares, jumper cables, a first aid kit, and the like. The second is a duffel bag with a complete second set of clothing, an old snowmobile suit, and an old toilet kit. If I got stranded somewhere, I was going to survive, and over the years, I’ve needed most of the stuff, even if only once.

The duffel bag went with me back to the living room, where I found Marilyn stirring to life and looking horrified. Marilyn was very much a small town girl, a ‘good girl’, who didn’t do these sorts of things. “I’m back,” I said as I came back in. “I didn’t leave you!”

“Oh my God! I can’t believe this!” she stammered.

I smiled at her. “Let’s get you cleaned up and get you home.” I sorted through my duffel bag and pulled out my toilet kit. Inside I found two toothbrushes, one still in its original packaging, and an old tube of toothpaste. I grabbed them and walked over to her and held my hand out to her. She nervously took my hand and climbed to her feet.

“I can’t believe I did this!” she repeated.

“Did what? Fall asleep on a couch? That’s no crime.” I looked her over and noticed a big stain on her shirt. I vaguely remembered her spilling her mai tai late in the evening. “I think you need a new shirt.” I dug down through the duffel bag and pulled out a shirt.

That didn’t help. Marilyn looked at me in terror. “I can’t believe this.”

I set everything down and cupped her face in my hands gently. “Marilyn, nothing happened last night. You’re fine. Nothing happened. You fell asleep on the couch with me. That’s all. Now, can you calm down?”

She searched my face. “Nothing happened?”

“Nothing! I promise!” I let go and grabbed the shirt and toiletries, and then led her back towards the bathroom. “Now, go in there and get cleaned up.” Before she could close the door, I squeezed out some toothpaste on the old toothbrush, and wandered off to the kitchen. I cleaned myself up as best I could without a mirror. I even dropped my trousers and tucked my shirttails back in. I found a mirror in the living room and combed my hair.

Marilyn took longer, but when she came out of the bathroom she was wearing my old shirt, which was rather long on her (although she filled out the front nicely) and she seemed a lot calmer. I suspect that she used the toilet and figured out her virtue was still intact. Yes, I knew from way back when, my once (and future, please, dear God, my future!) wife was still a virgin when we met. She smiled sheepishly and then looked away. “This is so embarrassing.”

I laughed. “Why? You didn’t do anything wrong. Think positively! Think of the story you’ll be able to tell your roommate when you get back.” I took my toilet kit and tossed it back into the duffel bag, and zipped it back up.

“Oh God! What will they think!?”

“Are you kidding? They’re all going to be jealous!” I helped her into her coat, and then pulled mine on. Marilyn eyed me curiously when I picked my hat up off the floor and dusted it off. I set it at an appropriately jaunty angle and grinned. “Come on. Let’s get you some breakfast and back home.” I grabbed the duffel bag and my car keys and headed out through the kitchen, with Marilyn in tow.

She was very quiet on the ride, and by the time we crossed the Hoosick Street Bridge, I glanced over at her and laughed. Marilyn always had the most amazing ability to fall asleep anywhere, anytime, within seconds of closing her eyes. Now she was sitting there, upright, with her head tilted back, her eyes closed, and softly snoring. I had seen her do this countless times before. I just chuckled to myself and shook my head. I drove down I-787 to Albany, switched to I-90 for a mile, and got off on Route 9. From there I went down to Central Avenue and drove west to Jack’s Diner.

Marilyn woke up as I pulled into the parking lot. “Where are we? This isn’t Saint Rose.”

“Even better. This is Jack’s Diner. We need to get some food in you,” I answered.

“I don’t know. I should be getting back…”

I simply parked and turned off the ignition, pocketing the key. “Marilyn, my dear, you worry way too much! Life will seem much better once we get a nice hot breakfast inside you.” I opened the door and climbed out. Marilyn slowly climbed out and followed me inside cautiously. Once inside the door, she discovered we were at a diner, and not at a roadhouse where she was about to be abducted by white slavers.

A hostess promptly settled us at a booth. “Can I get you kids some coffee?” she asked.

Marilyn shyly nodded to me. I just rolled my eyes in amusement. “The lady will have some coffee, and I’ll have some tea.”

“Hot tea?”

“Please.”

“Coming right up.” She gave us a couple of menus and wandered off towards the kitchen.

I gave Marilyn my best smile. “You need to stop worrying. Nothing happened last night and nobody will care about where you were. Hell, tell them the truth. They’ll all be jealous!”

Her eyes widened at that. “No way!”

“Oh yeah! Tell them the truth. You went to a party, where two men fell for you and fought a duel over you. The tall, dark, and handsome one was the winner, and you ended up sleeping with him, and then this morning you wore his clothes home. They will be stark raving mad with jealousy!”

“That’s not what happened!”

“Really? Tell me one thing I said that wasn’t true.”

It was amusing to watch Marilyn squawking without making a sound. She finally settled on, “But that was different!”

“Tell it my way. They’ll be so jealous of you.”

She smiled at that, and then slowly started to giggle. “You’re not tall, dark, and handsome.”

“Well, I’m tall-er. That should count for something.”

“Is that the story you’re going to tell?”

I gave her a big grin at that. “Oh, absolutely! This gets me in the He-Man Hall of Fame for sure!”

The waitress brought our coffee and tea, and took our orders, even though we really hadn’t even glanced at the menus. Still, every diner in America has some form of special covering two eggs any style, bacon or sausage, toast, juice, and potatoes. Marilyn ordered up hers sunny side up, wheat toast, bacon, skipped the hash browns, and had orange juice. She always did. I did what I always did, and ordered over easy, bacon, white toast, hash browns, and tomato juice. What really surprised Marilyn was when I ordered Tabasco sauce. She stared at me when I made a Virgin Mary with Tabasco, salt, and pepper.

“That looks awful!”

“Here, try it.” I slid the glass across the table to her.

She looked at it dubiously, but sampled it. Her face wrinkled up and she pushed it away. “That just ruins perfectly good tomato juice.”

I tossed in a few more drops of Tabasco and stirred that in. It was definitely spicy. “Gets your heart started in the morning!”

She looked around the diner. “Exactly where are we?”

“I told you, Jack’s Diner. It’s pretty much a landmark in Albany. We’re on Central Avenue. We’re only a mile, if that, from Saint Rose. You could walk home if you wanted, but don’t, I’ll drive you.”

“I never even noticed. You have your own car?”

I pointed at the Galaxie out the window. “The Galaxie out there. You?”

She shook her head. “I have one at home, but my folks wouldn’t let me bring it.”

I got her to open up and start talking, first about her car, and then about her family. She calmed down when she talked about them, although I teased her by saying that she probably shouldn’t tell the story about the duel and sleeping with me to them. That got her laughing so hard she almost snorted her juice out her nose. Once our breakfasts were brought out, she realized just how hungry she actually was, and polished it off totally, and then started nibbling on my hash browns. I smiled and asked if she wanted seconds, and she blushed at that.

Afterwards, as we sat there sipping a second round of coffee and tea, she said, “Thank you for breakfast.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. I always buy breakfast for the women I sleep with. It’s the least I can do.” Marilyn turned bright red, but stopped smiling. I reached out and touched her hand. “That was a joke, honey.”

She nodded without looking at me. Finally she said, “And does that happen often?”

It was my turn to look startled. “What the sleeping part or the breakfast part?” Marilyn didn’t answer that, but just looked out the window. I took my time before answering, but I reached over and took her hand. She looked at me nervously. “I think I know what you’re asking. It’s okay to ask me.”

“Well…”

I gave her a soft smile. “First off, I have never had a girl fall asleep in my arms and wake up that way in the morning. That’s a first for me, too. I kind of liked it, though. I think we need to try that again.” Her eyes widened at that. I just patted her hand. “Marilyn, you are safe with me. I would never hurt you. No matter what happens, I will never hurt you. If the question is whether I still have my innocence left, well, the answer is not for a long, long time. If the question is if yours is safe with me, the answer is yes. You can trust me. I will never hurt you.”

She seemed to relax at that. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Never thought you were.”

“But you’re that kind of guy!” she said with a certain degree of amusement.

“Never said I wasn’t.”

“I’m not sure if I trust you.”

“Well, the only way to find out is to go out with me,” I replied. “What time should I pick you up?”

That shocked her. “What? Tonight!?”

“Why not?”

“I can’t go back there after sleeping there last night!”

I laughed at that. “You’d be surprised what goes on there, but who says we’d be going to Kegs. I want to take you out. How about going to dinner tonight?”

“Where?”

I shrugged. “Who knows? There must be a couple of dozen places over on Wolf Road alone. You want to go anyplace special?” I asked.

“No.”

“So, I’ll pick you up tonight at seven. How dressy do you want to be?”

“You’re crazy! I never said I was going to dinner with you,” she protested.

“You never said you weren’t. I’ll tell you what. I’ll dress casual, maybe a sports coat but no tie. You dress to match, and we’ll see what there is to see. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Marilyn made a few more pro forma protests, but she was smiling as she did so. I think she liked the idea of talking to me someplace where we didn’t have brothers drinking and dueling over her. I had no idea where we would eat, but Wolf Road was a major thoroughfare. It paralleled I-87, the Adirondack Northway, from Exit 2 to Exit 4. At the southern end, Exit 2, was the Colonie Center mall. The northern end, Exit 4, was the turnoff to the Albany airport. In between was about a four mile stretch of strip malls, hotels, and every kind of restaurant you could ask for. A steak house was probably about right, and I knew I could find one there, even if I didn’t have a name.

I paid the bill and had Marilyn back at the dorm within minutes. I was getting ready to walk her to her door, but she just leaned over and gave me a quick kiss, and then hopped out and ran up to the door to the dorm. I smiled and drove back to RPI.

I unlocked the door to 206 and was greeted by my new roommate, Frank Michaels. “Where have you been all night? Have you been naughty?”

Frank had shown up on my doorstep the Monday after Thanksgiving. I knew my good luck wouldn’t last. RPI intentionally overbooked students, knowing that some wouldn’t last more than a few weeks or months, and the excess they put up in temporary dorms. In this case they walled off portions of the freshmen lounges in the four freshman dorms and installed bunk beds and student desks. It was like being at summer camp. On my first go around, I had been in the temporary rooms and Frank had been in the dorm room, and his roommate had left.

Now, it was the reverse. They must have assigned rooms according to when people were accepted, and this time I was early acceptance. That first Monday morning I got back from my run to find Frank and the Resident Adviser, a totally forgettable sophomore who got free room and board for living in the freshman dorms and putting up with us, carrying Frank’s crap in. I had already met Frank downstairs before this, so I helped them in and then went down the stairs with Mike to help him finish.

Frank was a short and beefy guy from Ohio who had played football in high school. Now he was on the RPI team and was being rushed by Teke. He was quite disconcerted with going from a team that was 10-0 in high school to one that was 0-10. At RPI, most athletes actually had to go to class and take their tests, with very little sympathy from the teachers. Of course, rules don’t apply to everybody; the only sport Rensselaer gave scholarships for was ice hockey, where we were NCAA Division I finalists most years. On a side note, way back when, Frank, who wore contacts, taught me how to take care of my glasses when I started wearing them.

Now I just looked at him through bloodshot eyes and said, “It’s a long, long story.” He laughed and left. I collapsed on the bed and fell asleep still dressed.

I woke up mid-afternoon, considerably refreshed, even if I still looked like shit. Well, that was easy enough to handle. I stripped down and grabbed my robe and took a long hot shower, and then went back to the room and put some clothes on. Then I sorted my laundry and grabbed it and my Advanced Algorithms textbook and went down to the basement. I wasn’t the only one doing laundry and studying. I always smiled when I saw the laundry machines. We had already lost the Centrex phones when students learned how to hack the system. Now they had turned their inventive energies to the coin operated laundries.

Last year the washers and dryers had taken quarters, but somebody had managed to make slugs in one of the machine shops in the engineering labs, and gotten around that. Not to worry — the ever clever minds at Whirlpool had devised a new system. You would buy coupons down at the Student Union. The machines were altered so that only coupons could be used. These were very special coupons, too. They were actually rigid plastic, with a printed circuit inside them. Once they went in the washer or dryer, the machine would run a current through them, both activating the machine and simultaneously burning out the printed circuit.

Inventive RPI engineering students cloned the chips inside of four months. Next year the college surrendered and made the machines free, but raised the room rates enough to cover. Everybody seemed to think this was quite reasonable, and we turned our evil genius loose on other topics.

I read several chapters more in my book, effectively finishing it, while my laundry ran. I would reread it later this week while working the various assignments, but I wasn’t too worried about it. Once my laundry was washed and dried, I took it back to the room and sorted it out. The guys across the hall had an iron and ironing board, so I bribed them with beer and did my shirts and slacks. Then I shoveled the garbage from my room so that it looked almost livable. Frank was a superior roommate to Buddy in innumerable ways, but was still a slob.

Frank came back from a pickup basketball game just as I was starting to get ready to go out. “So, where were you last night?” he asked.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” No, he really wouldn’t!

“Come on, give! You looked like you’d been sleeping in the gutter.”

“Not quite.”

“Give!”

I smiled at him. “Okay, you want to know? Here’s the God’s honest truth.” He looked at me all ears. “Last night I was over at the Kegs party and met this girl. Absolutely gorgeous. She hung on me all night long. I fought a duel over her, to protect her from a drunk. Afterwards, she spent the night with me, and this morning I took her out to breakfast and now I’m going to take her to dinner.”

“Bullshit! What’d you really do?” he said with a laugh.

“Frank, I told you that you wouldn’t believe me. Every single word I just said is the God’s honest truth.”

“Bullshit!”

“Fine, go find me a Bible. I’ll swear on it,” I said, grinning.

“You fought a duel?” I just nodded. “How?”

“Frank, Frank, details aren’t important. Suffice it to say I survived and won, and was declared the winner by the witnesses.”

“Bullshit!”

“You know Joe Bradley?” Joe lived downstairs at the other end of the building. “Ask him, he was my second.”

“You’re fucking nuts. And she slept with you afterwards?”

“All night long, in my ever loving arms. Then this morning we went out to breakfast.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Frank, are you telling me you don’t take the women you sleep with to breakfast the next morning? Or are you telling me you don’t sleep with women yet?”

“Fuck you, Buckman!” he said with a laugh.

“I was awfully hungry. That duel, and afterwards, really took it out of me!” I told him. He flipped me the bird.

I went and took another shower, and this time shaved, and then went back to the room to dress for dinner. Frank was still there and tried to wheedle some more information from me, all of which I ducked, citing discretion as the reason. By this time, he had told a couple of guys from next door the story, and they demanded information. I simply recited my story, and reiterated they needed to talk to my second for confirmation. They actually went off to find Joe Bradley, but he wasn’t around. I laughed at them and went off on my date. Tonight I was wearing fresh khakis, a dark blue dress shirt open at the collar, a navy blue blazer, dark blue socks, and black dress loafers. Over that I had on my trench coat, and my fedora, which I had cleaned up from where it had been laying on the floor.

After leaving, I drove first to Price Chopper and picked Marilyn up a nice bouquet of flowers, and set them carefully on the floor of the Galaxie as I drove over. The weather had turned, and snow was staring to fall, which sucked. The Galaxie, like all cars from the late Sixties, was rear wheel drive, which simply didn’t handle as well in the snow as I would have liked. Still, if you’re careful, you’ll do fine. I kept my speed down.

I parked near the entrance I had dropped Marilyn off at this morning, and grabbed the flowers and headed inside. There was actually a small booth near the door where you had to stop and ask for your party. While Saint Rose was coed, it was mostly girls, and the dorms were not coed. They didn’t allow Y chromosomes inside. I asked for Marilyn and a call was made. They actually had room phones.

Marilyn came down a couple of minutes later, followed closely by a pair of giggling girls who must have been roommates or friends. Marilyn was wearing a pair of dressy slacks which looked like they had been painted on, and a crisp white blouse, with two inch heels and her hair tied back with a ribbon. She was carrying the same coat she had worn last night, a truly hideous down filled parka. She smiled when she saw me, and then her breath caught as she saw the flowers.

“They’re not as pretty as you,” I said, handing them to her.

She blushed at that, and sniffed them. “Thank you. You shouldn’t have.” Marilyn’s friends stayed a few feet back and giggled at this.

I leaned in and whispered, “It was the least I could do, considering you slept with me last night.” Marilyn turned beet red and swatted at me with her free hand, and I just laughed. “Maybe you should get one of your friends to take these upstairs?”

The two girls giggled some more, but came up. One took the flowers, and the other said, “You’re cute. Any more like you where you come from?”

“Sorry, darling, but after I was born, the nurses took one look at me and decided to break the mold!” That got some more giggles, especially after Marilyn swatted me again. I held her coat and helped her into it, and then escorted her to the car. As I expected, she simply marched up to the passenger side door and went to open it. I had to unlock it for her, and then let her in. “Allow me,” I told her, before going around and climbing into the driver’s side. I remembered that Marilyn didn’t have much experience with dating or guys, and didn’t know we were supposed to open doors for girls. The only guys she really had experience with at this point were her brothers back home.

It brought back to me that it was simply an amazing fluke we had ever met to begin with. I never quite figured out why Marilyn ever came to that party in the first place. She was never a big party-goer, and didn’t have much experience with boys in general or frats. I don’t know whatever possessed her to come to Kegs in the first place, but it must have been with some girls from Saint Rose. That they left her there at the end of the night always indicated to me that they weren’t close friends. Maybe she simply got swept up when we were loading the meat wagon. Anyway, that’s how we met, and if it was pure luck, it was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me.

I looked at her sitting across from me in the car. “I didn’t say it inside, but you look really nice tonight.”

“Thank you. I wasn’t expecting my roommates to come downstairs with me.”

“Well, don’t complain, they got to take your flowers back to the room.”

She chuckled at that, and we got moving. It was easier to head back out to 787 and take 90 over to the Northway, then head out Central Avenue. That would take us forever with the lights. Once we got on the highway, I asked, “Did you have anything particular in mind tonight?”

“No, not really. The only times I’ve been out to dinner here have been when my parents have been picking me up or dropping me off,” she answered.

“They’re not much for anything fancy?”

Marilyn shook her head. “Howard Johnson’s is fancy for them.”

“I was thinking a step or two above that, if that’s all right with you.” I smiled as I said this. I already knew far more about her folks then I ever wanted to know.

“That’s all right. They’re just not real fancy people. Did you have a place you wanted to go?”

I shrugged. “Not really. I would bet my bottom dollar, though, we can find a steak place over on Wolf Road. Care for some surf and turf?”

Marilyn’s eyes lit up at that, as I knew they would. “That sounds nice.”

“I bet we can even find a place where they have silly little drinks with umbrellas for you,” I replied teasingly.

We talked about what we told our roommates as we drove west. Marilyn admitted she was too embarrassed to tell them what I told her, but just said she fell asleep on the couch and got a lift back this morning. When she asked what I had said, I laughed and told her the story I had told Frank. She was both horrified and laughing as I described it.

“I can’t believe you told him that! It’s not true!” she protested.

“Tell me one thing I lied about.”

“Well, we didn’t sleep together!” she said.

I wagged my finger at her. “Excuse me? You want to try that again?”

“Well, not like that!”

“I never said we did anything more than sleep. I never said anything of the sort. If he wishes to think more than that, it’s his morality which is compromised, not mine, and certainly not yours,” I said.

“But he thinks I’m, well, I’m not going to say,” she said primly.

I had to laugh at that. “It gets better. I told him about the duel and that Bradley was my second. Wait until he hears from him!”

We both started laughing at that. As I expected, I found a decent steak house towards the northern end of Wolf Road, near the hotels and the road to the airport. The snow was keeping some people home, so we only had to wait about five minutes for a booth. Once seated, the hostess asked us if we wanted drinks to start off with. I glanced over at Marilyn and smiled. “Definitely.”

Marilyn looked at me. “Like what?”

I chuckled and looked at the hostess. “Do you have anything sort of frozen and funny colored with an umbrella?”

She laughed loudly at that, even as Marilyn protested, and then pulled a couple of menus with drinks listed off the wall of the booth. “Here, look these over. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

Marilyn looked the little book over in fascination; each page had a different concoction, often with a tropical theme. “What should I get?”

“Whatever you want,” I replied. “You’d probably like one of the rum drinks, though. That might be sweeter.”

“And you? Are you getting one of these?” she asked.

“Gin and tonic.” I reflected on my changing tastes in booze. When I had been young, back then, I had figured that being a Southerner meant I had to like bourbon, like my father did. The truth was that I don’t like bourbon; it’s too sour and tart for me. I can’t stand Scotch either, which tastes like bad medicine. On the other hand, I do like Canadian whiskey, which is predominately rye, or Irish whiskey. Also, I discovered that more than a few bartenders can’t make a sour to save their lives, but it’s almost impossible to screw up a gin and tonic.

Our waitress came along and introduced herself, and asked if we were ready to order our drinks. Marilyn gave an embarrassed look, but then ordered a Bahama Mama, which looked like a blue daiquiri. The waitress looked at me. “Should I make that two?”

“God forbid! I’ll have a gin and tonic. Tanqueray is fine.”

She nodded and went on her way. Marilyn looked at me. “What’s that? Tangerine?”

“Tanqueray. It’s a brand of gin.”

“You know a lot about drinking,” she said, somewhat accusatorily.

“I’m an RPI student. It’s on the application. They ask how much you drink, and if the figure isn’t high enough, you can’t get in.”

“I almost believe you! I still can’t believe you drank flame last night!”

I had to grin at that. “That? That was nothing, just an old parlor trick.” Marilyn has a disbelieving look in her eyes. “Okay, here’s how it works. Alcohol has a very low temperature when it’s burning…”

“Yes, but it was burning,” she said, interrupting me.

“Right, but it’s a much lower temperature than oil or gas or other things. Anyway, there’s more to it than that. Booze won’t burn unless it’s at least fifty percent alcohol, or 100 proof. Southern Comfort is just 100 proof, so it will burn, but just barely. As soon as I got it past my lips, it ran out of oxygen and went out. It didn’t burn me at all.”

“What’s his name, the other guy, he was saying how hot it was.”

I grinned at that. “That’s because I set him up to lose. He was so drunk… Anyway, if you remember, I lit his glass first, and then waited a few seconds before lighting mine. Then I slammed mine back so fast the shot glass didn’t have a chance to warm up. Ghormley stared at his for a while, and was scared. He didn’t want to burn that mustache of his. By the time he tried, he had burned his fingers.”

“So why didn’t your fingers burn when you picked up his glass?”

I mimed grabbing the shot glass and slamming it. “I don’t think I had it in my fingers for five seconds.”

“You’ve got an answer for everything! What if you had a mustache, too, or he didn’t?”

I laughed at that. “Then I’d have had to come up with something else, wouldn’t I! Maybe I should have just let you dance with him!”

Marilyn rolled her eyes at that. She asked me where I had learned about the trick, and I spun a yarn about doing it with friends in high school. In reality I learned about it at Kegs. I also knew how stupid it could be, seeing one guy burn his mustache, and another guy so drunk that when he slammed it back, he missed his mouth and spilled it down the side of his neck, which promptly caught on fire. That was a nice burn. I didn’t think I would ever do it again.

Once we were served our drinks, we ordered matching surf and turfs, sirloins and lobster tails, medium rare. Marilyn offered to let me taste her drink, which I did (very sweet and cold, the better to hide the booze) and I gave her a taste of my gin and tonic, which she didn’t like as much. We talked some more about booze, when she asked where the blue in her drink came from. I remembered seeing this on a TV show once, and described the process of making liqueurs. When she asked how I knew about it, I gave her the story about the RPI application again.

“Enough about me and my dissolute habits. Tell me about Marilyn Lefleur and her dissolute habits,” I said.

“I don’t have any dissolute habits!” she protested.

“Really? Those are the best kind of habits. Besides, I already know you have a bunch of them.”

“Like what?”

“Well, you hang around frat houses, luring young boys into duels, and then sleep with them. Sounds pretty dissolute to me.”

She grinned at that. “You are never going to let me hear the end of that, are you?”

“And I told you, it will be a great story to tell your grandchildren someday. Especially if you tell it while your children are around to be properly scandalized.”

“So what did your grandparents ever tell you?” she countered.

“My mom’s parents made booze in the bathtub during Prohibition. Does that count?”

“I’m seeing a real trend here.”

I had to laugh at that, and then nodded and agreed. I got her to start telling me about her family. I already knew it, of course but it was good to hear it from her again, fresh.

Marilyn was the oldest of nine children, and her mother was currently pregnant with number ten. Needless to say, they were Roman Catholic. She had gone to parochial schools, in her case UCA, Utica Catholic Academy, which was the girl’s school in Utica. Boys went to Notre Dame, which hadn’t turned coed until after she left. The next seven kids in the family were all boys, which made growing up difficult in some ways, but better in others. She never had a roommate, for one thing.

“I gather your mother didn’t use the Pill.”

“That’s against the rules,” she replied.

“Not that pill. I mean an aspirin. That prevents pregnancy, too.”

“How?” she asked, curiously.

I leaned forward and whispered, “You hold it firmly between the knees.”

Marilyn’s face lit up in a huge grin. “She obviously never got that lesson!”

I kept her talking about growing up in such a big family, and it was easy, since she was very much a family girl. In many ways, except for meeting me, Saint Rose was very much a mistake for Marilyn. Family was critical, and this was the first time in her life she was away from them. Without the structure of family life she was adrift in a sea of endless changes. While she never admitted it to me, I already knew from experience that she was already on academic probation after her first semester. She lacked the focus and discipline necessary to keep at her studies. I also got her talking about teaching and children. She was majoring in elementary education, and wanted to teach at the grade school level. Again, her lack of focus and drive would be a problem in the future. She never went back to school to get her masters, which is pretty much a requirement, even though most school districts give you five years and will pay for it.

Still, I just loved hearing her talk like this, so young and innocent and full of plans for the future. I let her chatter away, which was astonishingly easy. Certainly all of our children wondered if she ever stopped talking. I would tell them she even talked in her sleep. Finally, after dinner, drinks, and dessert, it was time to leave. The snow was still coming down slowly, but it wasn’t sticking much yet. I bundled her into the car and drove back to Saint Rose.

I held onto her in the lee of the doorway and kissed her. “I want to see you again.”

“Me too. When?”

“Tomorrow. Monday. Tuesday. You tell me when.”

“Next Friday,” she replied. “You know, you still haven’t told me anything about your family yet.”

“I haven’t drunk anywhere near enough to talk about them.” She opened the door into the closed foyer of her building. “Give me your phone number.”

She jotted down a number on a slip and I tucked it into my pocket. We had one last, long kiss and then I drove back to the dorm.

Chapter 29: Polar Bears and Baby Seals

I talked to Marilyn on the phone Sunday afternoon, and a couple of times more during the week. She was an excellent way to take my mind off classes. I was beginning to doubt the wisdom of what I was attempting to do. Being a genius is all well and good, but 24 credits is still a shitload of credits and hours! This semester I was taking mostly junior level courses with a few senior classes tossed in. By the end of the semester, assuming I didn’t crack up and start drooling, I would have about 100 credits or more. This semester I was taking Assembler Language and Compiler Design, among the computer courses, and Information Theory and Topology, among the math courses. I was also starting to spend time with Professor Rhineburg, who taught both the Information Theory and Topology courses. Both subjects were completely fascinating, and had been of interest to me way back when. That was where I wanted to get my doctorate, and I was trying to stay in his good graces. What I was trying to do was unusual but not unheard of; he could either be a big help or put the kibosh on the whole thing!

The plan was that I was going to pick her up on Friday and we would go out for dinner and a movie, but plans change. Around lunchtime, word came down that all pledges needed to be at the house after dinner, but that it wasn’t anything secret. You could bring a girl and head out afterwards. When I picked up Marilyn, I told her I didn’t know what was happening, but that we could eat over at Kegs and then go out afterwards. She simply shrugged and agreed.

Dinner was always served on the dot at six, so I picked her up and we drove over about half past five or so. I parked in the back, and as we walked into the main house, we saw several guys standing on the frozen surface of the swimming pool. We didn’t drain the pool, so the ice in mid-February was several inches thick. Curious, we wandered over to the edge, and were quite mystified. “What’s going on?” I asked.

Jack Jones and Bill Swayzack were in the process of cutting a hole in the ice with a chain saw, while Ted Mackinaw, a senior was supervising. Ted was the House Manager this year, and controlled all the power tools and the pool. Jack looked over and said, “What’s it look like we’re doing?! We’re cutting a hole in the ice.”

I turned towards Marilyn. “I know I’m going to regret this.” Turning back to the trio on the ice, I asked, “Why?”

“Tonight’s the polar bear swim,” answered Bill.

My eyes suddenly widened. Oh, Holy Christ! The polar bear swim! I had always managed to avoid this the last time through, but every winter you see these idiots on TV, cutting holes in the ice and going swimming. Kegs had a pool, so Kegs had to have a swim! “This is voluntary, right!?” I had no desire to jump in freezing water to prove my manliness.

“Absolutely!” Satisfied with their first hole, the three of them moved about six feet away and started carving a second hole in the ice.

Marilyn looked at me and was as stumped as I was. “What’s the second hole for?” she asked.

Ted gave an evil grin. “Well, the polar bears go down one hole, but they have to come up the other hole,” he said, pointing his finger. “Only baby seals jump in and climb back out, and you know what happens to baby seals, don’t you?”

This didn’t sound promising. “What?” I just had to ask.

It was Swayzack who answered. “Baby seals get clubbed to death, and then get skinned for their coats!”

Marilyn squawked at that. “That’s gross!”

“Come on, let’s go in and get out of the cold. It’s freezing out here! These idiots are going to catch pneumonia,” I told her.

“You aren’t going to…”

“NO WAY!”

The dining room was packed tonight, with most of the brothers, all of the pledges, and about half a dozen girlfriends. It was simple enough fare, being beef stew and bread, and the main topic was who were polar bears and who was going to become a polar bear. Several of my fellow pledges had decided to try it, along with a couple of sophomores who had skipped last year. As always, there were some real nuts who did it every year. No thank you! The only insanity in my family was Hamilton!

After dinner, Thad Johnson, the Chancellor, yelled for everyone to head to the formal room for a quick meeting. This was a bit curious, but I thought he just wanted to get a list of names of the next of kin for anybody dumb enough to jump in the pool. Suddenly there was a mad scramble as all of the brothers ran into the formal room. There was a definite pecking order in the seating arrangements. Seniors and quick juniors got the couches and armchairs, and sophomores and slow juniors lounged on the carpeted floor. Most girlfriends sat on laps, but Marilyn was offered a corner of a couch, and she crammed in. Joe Bradley moved to sit on the floor, but was stopped and ordered to stay upright. It was finally just us pledges standing in the formal room, surrounded by everybody else. Curiously, Thad was seated at a folding table and holding his gavel of office, like he did during house meetings, which I hadn’t started attending yet.

Thad motioned everyone into silence and then looked at the 15 pledges standing before him. “Pledges, you have been called here this evening for a most important reason. Tonight we will be having a trial. One of you has been charged with a crime for which there can be no excuse, and no leniency. One of you has profaned the oath you took as a pledge. One of you stands at the very edge of the abyss!” he thunderously intoned.

We were all standing in a line, and every one of us was staring up and down the line! Who did what, and to whom? Even I was getting worried, since this never happened the first time. What was going on?!

“The charge is behavior unbecoming of a Kegger! Grab him!”

Suddenly a bunch of guys behind me grabbed me, and I found myself wrapped up in a pile of bodies before I could even move, let alone fight them off. “What!?” I yelled. “Me???”

Most of the brothers were laughing now, although the other pledges were totally mystified, as was I. Un-Kegger-like behavior was charged about once a year, usually in the late spring or early fall, after an especially rowdy party, and almost always involved women and booze. The miscreant would be found guilty in a kangaroo court and chucked in the pool. I had seen that before — but what had I done?

Thad motioned for quiet again, and continued on. “The charge, Mister Buckman — because as of this instant I no longer dare call you Pledge Buckman — is behavior unbecoming of a Kegger. It has been levied by Brother Ghormley after much consultation. How do you plead?”

“What are you talking about!?” I tried to squirm free, but I had hands on both arms. “When did I do anything to Mike?”

“You have failed to show the respect, the deference, and yes, even the brotherly love due to a fellow member of Kappa Gamma Sigma. You placed yourself, a mere pledge, above a brother. You even got into a drunken fight with somebody so superior to you as to be beyond belief! How do you plead?”

“This is crazy!”

“Your honor, my client pleads not guilty!” said Marty Adrianopolis, standing up and coming over to me. The other pledges were motioned to sit on the floor as witnesses.

“Your client?” I asked.

“Brother Adrianopolis has consented to be your defense attorney, worthless worm that you are,” explained Thad. He waved a hand grandly to the side and said, “And Brother Holloway will be the prosecutor. Brother Holloway, you may begin.”

“This is crazy!” I repeated. Everybody laughed, and I could see Marilyn loosening up as well.

Ricky stood up and came up to me, shaking his head in disgust, before turning to face Ghormley, who was sitting in an armchair with a look of happy superiority. If he couldn’t win at the duel, he had another way to beat me! “Brother Ghormley, is it true that this scum challenged you to a duel at the party last week?”

“It is!”

“Wait a minute, he challenged me!” I protested.

“Silence your client!” said Thad.

“I apologize, your honor. He’s only a pledge and doesn’t know better,” answered Marty. I rolled my eyes at that.

Ricky asked the next question. “And did he win the duel?”

Ghormley smiled and said, “Yes, and he cheated, too!”

Cries of, “Shame! Shame!” filled the room.

“Your honor, I rest my case!” Ricky sat down with a flourish.

“Brother Adrianopolis, your response?”

Marty looked at me and shook his head. “Well, your honor, my client is an asshole!” The room erupted into laughter.

“Jesus Christ! That’s your defense? I’m an asshole?” I blurted out.

“Your honor, he convicts himself with his own words!” cried out Ricky. “He has admitted to being an asshole!” The place really went nuts at that. Even Marilyn was laughing.

Marty just shrugged and grinned. “I’m an officer of the court. I can’t lie!”

“Time for the verdict…” said Thad as he raised his gavel.

I squirmed some more. “Wait! Don’t I get to say something?”

Thad put down his gavel. “What could you possibly say about this crime?” He motioned and the hands holding me loosened slightly.

“Your honor, look at her!” I replied, nodding my head towards Marilyn. “Isn’t that a woman worth fighting for?”

Marilyn blushed deeply, and the other girls in the room roared and clapped their approval of my defense. Even Marty smiled and said, “Good move, Buckman.” There was much consternation in the room at this, and everybody was talking. I might actually beat this!

Thad pounded the gavel and silenced us. “You provide a powerful argument, Mister Buckman. The charges of un-Kegger-like behavior are dismissed.” The room erupted in a tumult, but was gaveled quiet again. I noticed that I was still being held prisoner. “However, I now charge you with making the rest of us look bad in front of the girls! How says the jury?”

Oh shit! The room exploded into catcalls and cries of “Guilty! Guilty!” and Thad and the others were laughing at me.

“Wait! Wait! What about him?” I yelled out. “If I was dueling, so was he!”

Mike looked surprised at that, even more so when Ricky commented, “He’s got a point there, your honor.”

Thad nodded. “He does. Grab him!”

Mike moved surprisingly fast, but ran into a wall of three guys at the doorway to the formal room. He was wrapped up and held squirming alongside me. There wasn’t even a pretense of a trial in his case. He was charged with dueling and immediately found guilty. We were immediately sentenced to become polar bears, at which point we both tried to squirm loose and run for it, but we had four or five guys holding us each and we were lifted off our feet and slowly carried towards the back door.

“Hold it, hold it, let me take off my shoes first!” I yelled. My captors stopped and I got Marilyn to come over. She grabbed my shoes and wallet and my glasses (I had totally forgotten them) and then one of the guys told her to grab my belt, too. She blushed when another one said she needed to know how to do that. Thus, properly prepared, I was carried outside to the pool.

Jesus, but it was cold out there! I noticed they had managed to fish a rope between the two holes. Marty told me as I was carried to the first hole, “Grab the rope and we’ll pull you out the other end.”

“What if he lets go the rope?” asked Marilyn.

“Then we’ll pull him out in the spring!” he replied. Oh shit! I grabbed the rope and wrapped it around my wrist as best I could, and then found myself unceremoniously turned upside down and dropped through the hole head first.

Oh my God, but that water was so cold it was painful! I couldn’t even think straight, but it felt like every hair on my head was on fire, and I was totally lost. I couldn’t even tell up from down. I barely felt the tug on my arm, and the next thing I knew I heard a bunch of guys yelling “Heave!” as I popped out the second hole. Hands grabbed me and yanked me up and out, amidst much congratulating. The rope was unwrapped from my wrist, and I turned my head around just in time to see Mike dumped into the pool with a giant splash. The rope was tugged and a few seconds later he was pulled out as well.

“I swear I’m going to kill you for this!” Mike promised me through chattering teeth.

“Right now that would feel good!” I replied. Mike ran into Grogans’, where his room was, and I was bundled inside the main house and up the back stairs to the second floor main bath. A couple of brothers already had a hot shower running, and I jumped underneath.

“You can join him,” somebody said, and I looked out of the shower to see Marilyn staring at me in amusement from the doorway. She was holding my shoes and stuff.

“No thanks. This is close enough,” she answered with a laugh.

My teeth were still chattering, but I was able to get her to run out to my car and bring in my duffel bag. By the time she got back, I had been joined under the hot water by a couple of sophomores who had become polar bears. When Mack Senack started undressing under the water (he lived upstairs on the third floor) Marilyn squealed and scampered away. I laughed and got out of the shower and stripped down. Somebody brought in a few towels and I dried off, and then changed into the spare clothing in my emergency bag. I left it and my wet clothes in the bathroom afterwards and went downstairs.

I found Marilyn chatting with a couple of the brothers and their girlfriends in the kitchen as I entered. Everybody clapped as I entered. I just grimaced and shook my head. “I can’t believe I did that!” I said.

“I think our movie night is out,” commented Marilyn.

I leaned down and gave her a quick kiss. “Sorry about that. I had no idea this was going to happen!” I looked around. “Do we have any big plastic bags? I need something to hold my wet clothes.” A garbage bag was scrounged up and I went back upstairs, to bundle up my wet clothing and stuff it into the duffel. I finished dressing and slipped my shoes on, and then carried my duffel downstairs again. The two sophomores who had become polar bears had already departed for their rooms to change. I dropped the bag in the coat room, and went in search of Marilyn. I found her on a couch in the living room. Surrounding her on the other couches were the rest of the polar bears, passing around a bottle of Jack Daniels and drinking straight from the bottle.

I’m not a big fan of bourbon, but I needed a drink. I flopped down next to her and tossed an arm around her shoulders. When the bottle got to me, I put it to my lips and took a healthy swig and passed it to her. She looked at it curiously, and put it to her lips, but barely had a sip in when she passed it along and said, “Yuck!” That got her a lot of laughs.

When the bottle came back around, I took another dose of medicine. “I’m certainly feeling warmer now than when I started.” I passed the bottle to Marilyn, but she simply handed it to the guy next to her, who I just now noticed was Mike Ghormley. He took a heavy swig and looked me in the eye and nodded.

“Cheers.” He took a second swallow. “You deserved it,” he told me.

“So did you,” I replied.

He just shrugged and gave me a wry smile. “Yeah, so what. Fuck it.”

I got a third swallow out of the bottle and was starting to feel mellow when Marilyn nudged me with her elbow. “I am not sleeping here on the couch again!”

I nodded in understanding. “Well, you can always drive us back to my dorm room and you can sleep there. We can kick out my roommate.”

“Forget it.”

“You can drive us back to your dorm room and we can kick out your roommates.”

“Not going to happen,” she replied.

“Maybe I need to do something other than drink more whiskey.”

She nodded. “I think that’s the right answer.”

I shrugged. An armchair opened up across from us, and we moved over there, with her sitting on my lap. Another bottle was produced for the polar bears, but this time I let it pass by. It was unfortunate, since this was a bottle of Canadian, but I just whined and whimpered as it went by. Marilyn just wagged her finger at me and I behaved.

It worked out however; by the time the second bottle was gone, everybody in the living room was drunk off their asses and passed out. We snuck into the formal room and made out for quite a while without anybody bothering us. Then I drove her back to Saint Rose, and we decided to go to the movies the next night.

Chapter 30: Second Semester

The next two months went by in a pleasant routine. I would call Marilyn from the pay phone down in the lounge every couple of days, since she couldn’t call me. Most weekends we would see each other, but a few times she had to beg off and go back home. I did notice that she usually came back to Saint Rose from these trips rather depressed. I had noticed this way back when, also, but hadn’t been smart enough to pay attention. I also knew that things were not improving on the academic front.

The usual complaint was that her family just didn’t understand her. I had always chalked it up to standard issue complaining. Nobody’s family ever understands them! (Jesus Christ! I should know, right?) In Marilyn’s case, however, I knew this to be true. Marilyn was actually a lonely girl, and visits home didn’t help a whole lot. Her father was a workaholic obsessed with his business, her mother was buried by trying to raise ten-plus kids, and the next seven kids were all boys and useless to boot. Depending on who she was dealing with at home, she was either the unwanted older sister or free labor. The only other woman in the family she could talk to was her four year old sister. Even if she could sit down with her mother or an aunt to try and have a discussion about something adult, it still wouldn’t work. Her family was hard core Catholic and in no possible way could she talk to them about boys or sex. Likewise, she was the only person in the family to ever go to college, so that wasn’t a topic either.

Mind you, Marilyn’s family was far more supportive and loving than mine, even on its worst day. Still, on more than one occasion, she’d visit me at Kegs and cry on my shoulder after a bad time at home. I now realized that I was one of the first people to ever talk to her like an adult and treat her like one. Even her roommates at college weren’t much help; one was a snob who looked down on Marilyn’s white trash upbringing and the other was a doper. I was the only one who really understood her, and even more now than before.

One thing that I got back in the habit of doing was giving blood. Every couple of months the Red Cross would have a blood drive on campus. They would set up tables in the gym or the Armory and the vampires would come in and drain a pint off anybody who got close enough to wrestle onto a table. You couldn’t donate unless you were over 18, so I missed the first few chances, but by February I got back in the habit.

For me it was very easy. I don’t have any problems with seeing blood, although I would always look away when they stuck me, so that I wouldn’t flinch. (I did have a friend or two over the years who would pass out at the sight of anything medical, even a hypodermic needle!) After that, I would just lay back and rest. I remember one time I actually fell asleep on the table, and only woke up when I heard someone next to me yell out, “We’ve got a deader here!” I woke up and looked around, much to the consternation of the vampire who thought I had passed out.

I mentioned this to Marilyn once. She couldn’t donate blood, since she had had some sort of jaundice or liver disease as a child that prevented it. It wasn’t anything fatal or dangerous, but it was something that kept her from donating. On the other hand, I gave a couple of gallons while I was in college.

Professor Rhineburg was actually quite interested in helping me navigate through the hurdles of staying at Rensselaer as a grad student. At the time, most colleges wanted you to go to grad school elsewhere, to broaden your outlook. The standard practice was to get a bachelors at one school, a masters at another, and your doctorate at yet a third. RPI was different in that they offered a large number of five and six year masters programs in engineering and architecture, and I knew a chemistry major who stayed there for eight years and got his doctorate. When I discussed working on something involving both information science and topology, he smiled and nodded and invited me to see him after class at least once a week to discuss possible research.

Eventually it stopped snowing and winter was declared over. Mid-April saw the end of pledgehood. We all knew it was going to happen, and eventually Hell Week was upon us. We were summoned to the house a week before and handed a list of instructions and banished from the environs for a week, and told to report back to Kegs the following Sunday at 2:00 in the afternoon. We all ended up walking back to campus reading over our lists and trying to figure things out.

We had to show back up at the frat in a week wearing a suit, but also carrying a suitcase filled with work clothes and a pair of sneakers. We were also to each have a pledge box (matching cigar boxes) painted in the fraternity colors (magenta and gold) packed with a variety of very strange items:

A travel size packet of Ex-Lax

A road map of Danbury, Connecticut

Two packs of matches

Three pencils

Two pens, purple ink

A small notebook

An emery board

Three marbles

Two quarters, a dime, and four pennies, all minted within the last five years

A green lollipop

Four large paperclips

None of us knew what was going on. The first major crisis was finding fifteen matching cigar boxes! None of us smoked cigars, or even knew anybody who did. I had smoked cigars on my first trip around, but not now. Eventually Bill Pabst called his father, who did smoke cigars, and conned him into sending us enough empty boxes to take care of things. He apparently saved them for knick-knacks. Leo Coglan volunteered to go out and buy the paint, and we split up the remaining purchases among ourselves. We almost didn’t get it all done. The cigar boxes came in on Friday and we weren’t sure they would dry in time. We painted the sides of the boxes magenta and the folding lids gold.

Sunday afternoon we all trooped back up to Kegs, making sure we got there early. We were kept waiting on the street until 2:00, at which point the door was opened and we were marched into the formal room. It was there that we learned trouble was brewing! The entire brotherhood was sitting there, watching us solemnly, with Hank Barlow, a senior, facing us with a gavel. Once we were lined up, he said, quite mildly, “You were told to be here at 2:00. It is now 2:05.”

Joe Bradley took the bait. “We were kept outside until 2:00.”

Hank jumped up and leaned over the table and started screaming! “DID I ASK YOU FOR YOUR OPINION? YOU ARE LATE! YOU FAILED THE VERY FIRST TEST! YOU DO NOT SPEAK! YOU DO NOT THINK! YOU ARE NOTHING!” He went on in this vein for another five minutes before settling down and sitting back in his chair.

He pointed over at our Pledgemaster. “This is your fault. You failed to train them properly. Now I have to do your job for you.” Bill Gasic simply stared at the floor and looked miserable.

Hank turned back to us and ordered us to place our pledge boxes on the table in front of him. That started another tirade. “YOU CALL THIS MAGENTA AND GOLD? THIS IS FUCKING PINK AND FUCKING YELLOW!” He actually picked up one of the boxes and flung it at a wall, where it popped open and spread everything around that side of the room. Much cursing by the brotherhood was done at this moment, but all directed at us, since if we had done it properly, this wouldn’t have occurred. It was Leo’s turn in the box, explaining that the labels on the paints said magenta and gold. It made no difference, they were fucking pink and fucking yellow!

After about an hour of abuse, we were all sent up to the attic and told to change out of our suits and into work clothes and sneakers. We would expiate our sins with hard work. The attic was a place on the third floor stuffed with ancient and diseased mattresses. Our suitcases were already upstairs, and had been opened and ransacked, and our clothing had been dumped into a single pile. We spent valuable time sorting it out and changing, so we were late for our return to the formal room. Time for some more screaming.

Fifteen of the brothers were sucking on green lollipops. We hadn’t brought enough. We had the wrong maps of Danbury, so they were being taken away; we would not be able to use them later in the week. Some of the brothers were sitting there flipping quarters, obviously from our pledge boxes. We were then divvied up into work parties and sent off to various sections of the house with a senior brother to supervise us, all under the instruction of the House Manager. I ended up in the kitchen, where we completely dismantled everything and removed it and cleaned a year’s dirt and grease out. We didn’t get done until almost 7:30, at which point we were sent to the pantry and told to repeat the process there. We were dirty and exhausted at 9:30 when we all reassembled in the formal room.

Our efforts were considered marginal at best, but would be accepted for the time being. We were fed a delicious dessert of chocolate pudding. At the bottom of the pudding bowls were small chunks of something that looked suspiciously like Ex-Lax. (It wasn’t; we found out later it was Hershey’s chocolate!) We were sent off for another round of house cleaning. This round lasted until after midnight, at which point we reassembled, got yelled at some more, did some pushups, and received our assignments for the week. First, though, we were handed back our toothbrushes, which had all been used either in the cleaning of the bathrooms or the cleaning of the kitchen. Most of us looked at them with horror.

Each pledge, now known as a neo, or neophyte, was assigned a task. Leo, the shortest of us, was assigned to measure the Hoosick Street Bridge in body lengths. By this they meant his body lengths; he would be laid down and the road would be marked, then he would be lifted and carried head to toe and another mark would be made. This would be done sufficient times to generate a statistically useful sample. Joe Bradley, a very straight laced fellow, was assigned the task of Condom Control Officer, and would have to quiz each brother and neo about their preferences and again come up with statistical modeling. I was handed a gigantic 44G bra. My assignment was to measure the quad down at Russell Sage College, a girl’s school, and get the bra signed by as many girls as possible. Two brothers would be assigned to supervise.

There would be a treasure hunt, and we were given lists of the treasures to be found. Most of us stared at the list and simply groaned. Nobody knew where we would find anything! Some of the items included a stripper, a cop, mustache hairs from a Dean, a signature from the owners of the Canty-Hammett Hot Spot (a black bar on Hoosick Street), and so forth. Point values were assigned to the items, and demerits for bad behavior during the week counted against the points.

We were given another bowl of chocolate pudding and sent back to work. At eight the next morning, sleepless, we were fed and sent to our classes. To ensure that nobody skipped out and went to the dorms and slept in, we had to get signatures in our notebooks every hour between classes from a brother somewhere on campus. After classes were over we had to head back to Kegs for more work.

And so it went for the rest of the week. Our second night we got about two hours of sleep. Our third and fourth nights we got about three. Our pledge boxes were repeatedly ransacked, and strange items were added and subtracted. The brothers made sure we had time to do our assigned tasks. I got dragged down to Russell Sage Tuesday afternoon and handed the bra and a black magic marker. I had made one full pass across the quad, stopping every time a girl came up and asking her to sign the bra. About half signed and half were disgusted. I got a crick in my back from all the up and down movements.

One of the girls must have complained. As we started our second pass, a security guard came up and hustled us off to the Dean of Students, and told her about our offense against human decency. He must have been new, since she just smiled and sent us on our way. I did, however, ask if she would sign the bra. She snorted and said I was pushing my luck, but she signed it nevertheless and we went back out to the quad.

On the way back, I asked the guys to drive us over to Hoosick Street. I had them drop me off out front of the Canty-Hammett Hot Spot. They were nervous about leaving me, but I wasn’t. I was the only white face in the place, but I just walked up to the bar and sat down on a stool. “Can I get a beer?” I asked.

The black bartender looked me over curiously. “What do you want?”

“What’s on tap? You got a Budweiser?” I asked.

He shrugged and silently poured me a glass. I pulled out my wallet and laid a five on the bar. He left it there and just watched me. I drank some beer as the room watched me. “Is Mister Canty or Mister Hammett in?”

The bartender nodded. “I’m Ron Canty. What do you want?”

“Nice to meet you, sir. If you could just sign one of these bar napkins for me, I’ll finish my beer and get out of your way.” I slid a napkin towards him from a pile at the end of the bar.

He rolled his eyes and snorted with laughter. “What is this, another frat stunt?”

“Yes, sir, that is exactly what it is!” I finished my beer and pushed it forward for a refill.

He refilled my glass and slid it back. “This is one of them silly ass white boy things, ain’t it?”

I stuck my hand out. “Carl Buckman, silly ass white boy. How you doing, sir?”

He laughed at that and signed a bar napkin. I stuck it in my pocket and finished my beer, thanked him again, and left. Outside, I found my keepers nervously standing around the car, worried I was being mugged in the all black bar. I handed them the napkin and climbed into the car. I was also given five demerits for drinking.

I wasn’t the only one to catch demerits, of course, and Tuesday night we discovered egregiously bad behavior amongst the neos. Jerry Modanowicz had flipped the bird to a brother on campus. As punishment, he was to paint the offending digit Wednesday morning, in shades of magenta and gold. In response, we all painted our middle fingers magenta with gold fingernails, although we almost had to tie Barry Lewis down to get him to agree. This was considered a sign of superior moral character by the brothers, by the way!Meanwhile, a different form of punishment was being meted out to us. During our hours of sleep, hidden loudspeakers were blasting “The Morning After”, the sickeningly sweet theme song from last year’s The Poseidon Adventure over and over at us. We started singing it back until they realized we couldn’t be broken, and they stopped.

Thank God the professors knew what was happening. No tests or assignments were given to anyone that week, since this was happening to hundreds of us all over campus. Every frat did Hell Week the same week. The only time we had to sleep was in class, and the only time the teachers complained was when we started snoring.

It got seriously weird Wednesday night. We were asked if we had our new maps of Danbury, and then we were blindfolded and handcuffed, and then loaded into the back of a panel truck. We drove for what seemed like hours, but it was actually only about fifteen minutes before the truck stopped. We were let out and lined up, our handcuffs removed, and finally we were left standing in a row. After about five minutes, a voice behind us cried out, “What the fuck are you assholes waiting for?” We slowly took our blindfolds off and found we were at the edge of a parking lot facing the Hudson River. We all looked around and saw that behind us, across the street, one of the brothers was waving to us from the door of a bar. Nobody knew what was going on, but we ran across the street. The brothers were all buying us beer, as much as we wanted, and we all got wasted.

Thursday night we had to give our reports on the tasks assigned to us. Leo reported how many Coglans the Hoosick Bridge was long, including sub-Coglan units, like Coglanarms and Coglandhands. I presented the 44G bra and gave the measurements and counts of girls. The supervising brothers gave out with various humorous anecdotes about our performances.

Thursday night we also presented the results of our scavenger hunt. Not everything was found, but a surprising amount was. One of the deans was a brother from the chapter at Union College and donated a few mustache hairs. A cop in Green Island was a brother and was married to a stripper. It seemed that for the last few days brothers had been dropping hints on where to find things, if we were just smart enough to listen.

We were then given a few more hours of sleep and sent off to campus in the morning, with instructions to return that night, Friday night, at 7:00 PM, wearing our suits. By now totally confused and mystified, and totally exhausted, we went off to classes.

We were back at Kegs that night, and from the outside, the house looked dark and sinister. No lights could be seen through the windows. The Hell Master, Hank Barlow, greeted us at the back door. “From now until you leave, there is to be utter silence. Nothing can be said, and utter obedience is expected. As I call out your names, you will enter and stand in line. Obey and be silent.”

Everybody looked at each other, with the one single thought — ‘What the fuck is going on?!’

“Bruno Cowling!” intoned Bill. Bruno looked at the rest of us, shrugged in confusion, and went inside. Bill looked down at a slip of paper, and said, “Barry Lewis!” Barry followed Bruno inside. All of us were announced, in no order we could figure out. I was two from the last, and only followed by Tony Defrancisco and Andy Kowalchuk. I found the others all standing silently in the back hallway.

It was obvious why the place looked sinister. Black curtains had been hung over every first floor window, and over every archway between rooms on the first floor. It was actually kind of creepy. I could smell something cooking in the kitchen, but that was curtained off also. Hank followed Andy inside and went to the front of the line. “Follow and obey in silence.” He moved slowly down the hallway, and after a second of confusion, Bruno moved along after him. Our little line moved through the dining room, down the front hall, and into the formal room.

It got stranger. Inside the formal room, the folding dining room tables had been set up end to end and covered with black tablecloths. The only light in the room was from the candles burning on every table. On one side of the string of tables were our big brothers, and I noticed how, as we streamed in and down the length of the tables, each pledge’s big brother was already in position opposite him. The upper classmen were all dressed in suits themselves, and were standing in place, with chairs behind them. We had chairs behind us. Hank sat at the end of the table, and I saw Thad, the Chancellor, following behind, and he took a seat at the other end of the table.

Defrancisco, the big lummox, promptly moved to sit down, but I noticed nobody else was moving, and Tony’s big brother was giving him a dirty look. I nudged him with my elbow and he stopped, looking at me in confusion. On the tables before us were silverware place settings and an empty wine glass. Thad picked up his knife and tapped his wine glass, causing it to ring, and suddenly all the big brothers moved to sit down, and indicated we should also. We were still silent as we sat in our assigned seating.

Everybody was looking curiously at the place settings. The fork was in its normal position on the left, but there was a steak knife on the right, and it was upside down, facing outwards and pointed at you. Everybody put their hands in their laps except Defrancisco, who picked up his knife. Marty looked at me and rolled his eyes, and I had to nudge Tony again. It looked like I was the idiot’s keeper.

Next, Hank rapped his wine glass, and fifteen other brothers marched out from the hallway, all wearing dark pants and white shirts and looking like extras in a Mafia movie. Each of them had a bottle of champagne, and after lining up behind us, all bent forward at once and filled our glasses. Defrancisco moved to grab his but I nudged him and he backed away. Glasses were then filled across the table. We continued to sit there, and the waiters retreated, but then returned with a spoon in each hand. One spoon held a strawberry, and this was ceremoniously dropped in the big brother’s glasses. The second spoon held a frozen pea, which was dropped in our glasses. The waiters retired, and after Thad tapped his glass, the big brothers picked up their glasses and motioned for us to do the same. Tony drank his right down, even though everyone else waited for Thad and Hank to drink. I looked at Marty and Jack Jones, Tony’s big brother and shrugged. The moron just couldn’t take a hint.

Hank rapped his glass, and the waiters returned carrying our plates, each of which had a steak, mashed potatoes, and peas. Then Thad rapped his glass and the waiters were back with another pea on a spoon, which was dropped in the pledges’ wine glasses. After they retired we were allowed to start eating. This time I was able to catch Tony before he started eating, and got him to wait. The steak wasn’t the greatest, but I’ve had worse, and we were all hungry. Likewise, the champagne was Andre’s, about the cheapest carbonated swill available, but after you get enough in you, it started to taste pretty good. Every few minutes either Thad or Hank would tap his glass and we would sit upright and put our utensils down, and more champagne would be poured and another pea would be dropped in our glasses.

Dinner ended with another rap of the glass, and this time all the big brothers stood up, and then they motioned for us to stand. Hank walked out of the formal room and motioned for us to follow, so Bruno tagged behind him and the rest of us got in line, with Andy bringing up the rear. Behind us our big brothers also marched along. We went down the stairs to the basement. The basement was dark except for candles lighting a black draped table along one side of the room, with five seats behind it. We pledges were lined up along the left side, and our big brothers faced us from the right side. Around us in a circle stood all the other brothers. Thad moved to the center of the table.

“Pledges, I call on you now to swear allegiance to Kappa Gamma Sigma, and to the ideals we hold dear…” He was reading a small book by holding it to the side and trying to get the candlelight to shine on it. We were being inducted! Nobody had ever given us any warning. At this point it started getting even weirder. A low murmuring chant began from the brothers, and Thad began enumerating a list of oaths we were to take. Suffice it to say that the Mafia’s code of omerta had nothing on us! I have to tell you, those clowns a hundred years ago at Amherst really had a lot of free time on their hands! According to what I ended up swearing, even thinking about revealing our dread secrets was enough to call down lightning! Then, in the same order we had marched in, we were called forward and had to sign our names into a ledger book with a quill pen. Tony spilled the ink on the table.

It was almost 11:00 when Thad finished, “The ordeal is finished. The induction is made. The vigil begins. I call on all new brethren to retire for the evening, to contemplate in silence that which they have sworn, and to thereby signify their allegiance and obedience.” There were a few more flowery sentences, but the gist was that we were to remain silent until dawn, and then to return at the same time the next night, at 7:00. We were then marched to the back door and sent off into the night.

Before we had even made it to the sidewalk Defrancisco opened his fat mouth and asked, “So what do we do now?” There were a number of muttered curses in response, and everybody made ‘zip it’ motions across their lips to shut the idiot up. We marched back to the dorms. Back in 206 I found Frank also wearing a suit and looking serious, and he was silent, too. All of the frats must have this sort of ceremony tonight. We both went to bed and slept very late.

When I woke up Frank was already sitting up in bed. He looked over at me and asked, “Initiation?”

“Uh huh. You too?”

He nodded. “Can you talk now?”

I looked out the window at the sunlit parking lot. “It’s after dawn. I can talk.”

“What was it like?”

“If I tell you I have to kill you.”

Frank grinned at that. “Same here! Back to Kegs tonight?”

“Yeah. Back to Teke?” He nodded. “I think it’s party time,” I told him.

Frank grinned some more. “I think you’re right!”

Actually I knew that was the plan; I had been through it all before. What the freshmen didn’t know, however, was just how much Hell Week took out of the brotherhood. They only saw the endless abuse and chores, but they failed to understand that it took a lot out of the brothers to make it work out right. The Hell Master spent as much time awake as the pledges. There always had to be brothers around to supervise the work details and drive the pledges to their tasks and scavenger hunt. Considerable care was taken in choosing the Hell Master and his minions, and several other juniors and seniors were assigned the task of protecting the pledges in case somebody hazed them too much.

That’s not to say the brothers didn’t enjoy it immensely. They delighted in coming up with weird shit to spook us. On the walk back to Kegs that evening, the only topic of conversation was the ceremony. What was with the peas? Why was the knife upside down? What was with the chanting? Was there some deep and mystical meaning to it all? Or were the brothers just fucking with our heads? We would be kept in the dark until next year, at which point we would discover we were being fucked with, and now got to give it to the next bunch of dummies.

When we got to Kegs, the place was totally lit up, and a keg was sitting in the formal room and was already tapped. We were promptly stripped of our good clothes and handed red and yellow (’magenta and gold’) tee shirts with some sort of individualized words on them. Mine read ‘I’m an asshole!’ because of my statement at the trial. Leo’s read ‘Leo the Neo’. Tony’s was the best. It read ‘Huh?’ He really was a moron.

A few minutes later the girls started coming in. Even Marilyn showed up, having been given a ride by a few other girls. We all got really lit with a beer bash that night. I can’t even remember how I got back to the dorm, since I wasn’t even in shape to walk, and somebody must have given Marilyn a lift home, too. My head was pounding the next morning.

One aspect of the ceremonial nonsense was explained right away, and was the only part that was important at all. This was the order in which we were called forth and lined up and signed onto the rolls, and that was our ritual order. That was determined during the final house meeting before the induction, and was accomplished by pulling names out of a hat. This was the order in which brothers were inducted, and a lower number was better. We were about to join into the merriment known as Room Roulette.

Nobody had ever really asked how rooms were assigned at the frat house, but with the seniors graduating in a few weeks and fifteen new brothers moving in next year, the subject had to be brought up. A couple of weeks after joining, room roulette started, and would run for the next two weeks. It would end at midnight on the Saturday two weeks before graduation. This year it would be very, very important. The house was going to be crammed full next year.

Grogans’ was a residential only house. It had 4 rooms on the first floor and 3 on the second, each of which could hold 2 brothers, so it could hold 14 brothers. Grogans’ was relatively quiet, in that all the parties were held in the main house, along with all meetings and meals. The main house was where all the action was, and was quite a bit larger. The most prestigious location was on the second floor above the formal and living rooms, known as the Landing. There were 4 large rooms there which held 2 brothers each. The next best spot was the Third Floor location, above the Landing, with another 4 rooms for 2 brothers apiece. Finally, on the second floor, in the section over the kitchen, pantry, and dining room was the Mezzanine, with 4 smaller and odd shaped rooms, all designated as doubles. That gave us 19 rooms total designated as doubles, capable of holding 38 brothers.

Then there were two rooms designated as singles, because they weren’t much more than upholstered closets, and if the health department ever found out we used them, we’d be shut down. One was a third floor Garret over the kitchen with a ceiling too low to be legal. Also, there was the Underground Railroad room on the landing. The main house went back to the 1850s (the courthouse burned down about that time, so we don’t really know how old it was) and at one point had been a stop on the Underground Railroad that hustled escaped slaves from the South up to Canada. There was a trap door in the floor and a false floor to hide people, and a ladder and tunnel down to below the basement. It was closed up long ago, but it originally connected with Troy’s sewers and went down to the river.

Finally, one of the rooms on the first floor of Grogans’ had originally been the living room when it was a private house, and was absolutely monstrous. This room was known as the Triple, because you could room three guys in there easily. Final maximum count — 41 brothers.

That was the supply side of the equation. On the demand side, we had 15 incoming sophomores, 8 sophomores staying on as juniors, and 12 juniors becoming seniors, plus 2 seniors staying on as grad students. Total — 37 residents. We were going to be crammed in!

For room roulette, the House Manager put up two large maps on the bulletin board, showing each floor of both the main house and Grogans’, with rooms laid out, and covered by Plexiglas, with a grease pencil tied to a string. You would write your name on a room, but it all depended on following the Byzantine rules:

Squatter’s Rights — If you were already living in a room, you could stay there the following year without being kicked out. Doubles Beat Singles — Two guys ranked higher than one guy. Lower Ritual Number — When deciding which two brothers to pick, the lowest ritual number won. Crones Should Die! — Graduating seniors who stick around become known as crones, and lost all ritual number rights. You ended up with some real gamesmanship and political shit going on! Squatter’s rights were very important, but if one of the two residents of a room graduated, the remaining resident would lose precedence to an incoming double unless he picked a new roommate. This resulted in the most desirable rooms, such as the triple or the black light room, invariably being passed down generation to generation, with upper classmen leaving and younger members moving in. If two sophomores decided to bunk together, it was very important that one of them have a low ritual number, since the lowest number counted. In our class, I was number 13, about as bad as it could get. I wasn’t even sure I would rank high enough to get a closet!

Over the years you had all sorts of fun and games. Often, two upper class guys would put their names on a room just to fuck with everybody else’s heads, and then switch around later. During room roulette it wasn’t uncommon to have potential residents knock on a door and come in, to start looking over whether they wanted to move in, just like people walking through homes with a real estate agent! Further, there were always cascading effects. If a couple of people selected a room with a name already on it, that they had a better number for, those people would now find a different room and kick them out, and so on and so forth. It was major food for gossip for two weeks, and usually went right down to the wire!

My ritual number was so lousy I was probably going to end up living on the porch. I needed to hook up with a guy who was higher up the food chain. I was friends with several upper classmen, but the best candidate, Marty Adrianopolis, was staying with his current roommate in their double in Grogans’. Likewise, while Ricky Holloway was a good friend, as the doper supreme, with squatters’ rights over the black light room, he selected Jack Dawson, another major league pothead, as the inheritor of the tradition. Like I had done before, I hit up Joe Bradley, who was number 3 in our class. Linking up, we could call the shots over most of the other sophomores.

I buttonholed Joe after ROTC that first morning after room roulette was announced. “Joe, given any thought to what you’re doing in room roulette?”

He eyed me curiously. We got along well enough, but if I was asking, it was obvious what my reason was. “Why? Interested in rooming together next year?”

I nodded. “I hadn’t heard that you had hooked up with anybody yet, and my ritual number has me living in the pantry.”

Joe nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you’re shit out of luck. I heard Bruno’s moving in with Lynchburg into the triple.”

“Yeah. Ever been over there? They’ve got a fireplace for God’s sake!” I thought for a second. “Barry’s rooming with Terry up on the third floor.”

“Barry’s going to have a single half the year. Terry’s going to be out on an internship the entire first semester,” commented Joe.

“Then that makes you the man! You’re top dog of the freshmen after those two. Interested in teaming up?”

“The Cisco Kid is still looking for a roommate,” he answered with a smile.

“I’ll get an apartment before I do that. If you haven’t noticed, personal hygiene isn’t high on Tony’s agenda.” He stunk! Cisco had a heart of gold, a head of cheese, and armpits from hell. “Anyway, you interested?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I have a mini-fridge and a stereo,” I said, sweetening the deal.

“That’s nice,” he said with a smile.

I thought for a second. I had roomed with Joe our sophomore year, but it broke down at the end of the year. Junior year I had the single on the third floor, and senior year I shared a room on the mezzanine with a sophomore. I suspected I had been the one who screwed up with Joe, and didn’t want to repeat the mistakes. “Joe, you got any rules I need to be aware of?”

“Like what?”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I like girls. What happens if Marilyn wants to come for the weekend? Is that going to be a problem?”

“It is if it’s every weekend. Are you tapping that yet?”

I ignored the question. “How about once a month, and only if I clear it with you ahead of time?” Marilyn didn’t end up coming over more than that anyhow, but we needed to give him more warning.

“That I can handle. You never answered my question,” he commented.

“No, I didn’t, did I. Anything else? You do know that I’ve been known to smoke the occasional joint now and then, right?”

His face hardened at that. “I don’t want any of that shit anywhere in the room. No way, no how!”

It was as I suspected. Previously I had been a serious doper. He hadn’t said anything, but I had known he didn’t like it. I nodded in understanding. “Okay. If I keep it out of the room, is it a problem if I still smoke on occasion?” I figured I could store my head kit in somebody else’s room.

He shrugged. “I just don’t want that stuff around.”

“How about liquor or wine? You have a problem with that?” Joe was a pretty straight-laced guy, but I didn’t recall him as a teetotaler.

He shrugged again. “I don’t care about that. Just no drugs.”

“Deal!” I stuck my hand out.

He thought for a second and then shook my hand. “Deal.”

“Next time we’re at the house let’s shop for real estate,” I replied. He smiled and agreed.

As expected, the idiocy ran for the full two weeks, and went right on up to midnight on Saturday. It really only affected about half the house, since the other half had some sort of squatter’s rights going on. When it finally became clear what was happening, Joe and I found ourselves claiming a room on the third floor facing Burdette. It was a decent size, square, with a couple of built-in bunk beds in an L shape in one corner, and a pair of long built-in desks on the other two walls. The only drawback was that it was at the top of the house, and we would have to carry my mini-fridge up about a million stairs.

Chapter 31: Road Trip

It was our last date of the semester. Finals were just ended and most of us had already taken off. I was sticking around for another week before heading out. I definitely wasn’t heading back to the old homestead! Before he went home, Joe Bradley and I had boxed up all our shit and driven it over to Kegs. It had taken us several trips, but our boxes were now all moved in. I would be in the room before he was, so I told him I would sort it out at some point.

It was a last date in several ways. Marilyn was heading home tomorrow also, but she wasn’t coming back to Saint Rose in the fall. Much like before, she had flunked out. It wasn’t that Marilyn was dumb. She wasn’t. Maybe she wasn’t a genius, but she wasn’t stupid. However, Saint Rose was a bad mix for her. She needed the structure and discipline of family to keep her focused, and she certainly wasn’t getting that in Albany.

Tomorrow her parents were coming to pick her up and take her and her possessions home. She would start over again in the fall at Mohawk Valley Community College. She could apply her credits from Saint Rose, but since I don’t think she passed a single course all year long, nothing would apply. I didn’t tell her I knew that, but I let her put as good a face on it as she could. Regardless, Marilyn was quite depressed about it, and the fact that she felt we were breaking up and would never see each other again had her on the verge of tears.

I had felt that the first time around as well. I had taken her out to dinner and afterwards had cried myself to sleep. Then, we started writing each other over the summer, and I took the train from Albany to Utica in the fall and we figured out how to see each other. The rest was history, or would be history.

I picked her up outside her dorm about seven or so. I had stressed that I wanted to take her to a nice restaurant, and I was going to wear a suit, so she needed to dress nicely as well. A dress and heels would look good on her. It was a beautiful spring day, dry and warm, and I was all smiles when I saw her. She had on a red and black knee length dress with a U-shaped neckline that showed just the tops of her breasts and was tight enough through the waist with a slight flair at the thighs, along with hose and medium high heels. She looked like she was on the edge of crying, but trying to make a brave go of it.

“My God! You look fantastic!” I told her. “I won’t be able to eat, I’ll be too busy fighting off the other men in the restaurant!”

She smiled at that. “This is all right?” she asked. Marilyn really wasn’t a very fancy girl, and her mother wouldn’t have been helpful at all, even if she had asked her for help.

“Turn around,” I said, twiddling my fingers in a circular motion. Marilyn slowly pirouetted and I whistled appreciatively. Our daughter Maggie really had been correct, in her utterly tactless way; Marilyn was hot! “You are gorgeous!” If we had gotten that far already, I would have taken her inside and ravished her a time or two before we went to dinner.

But we hadn’t gotten that far yet. This was, without a doubt, the longest period I had gone celibate since I lost my cherry to Shelley Talbot. Marilyn, however, was very Catholic, and she had told me once the difference between a good girl and a nice girl. ‘A good girl goes home and goes to bed, and a nice girl goes to bed and goes home!’ Marilyn was going to be a good girl, right up to her wedding day, and told me so in no uncertain terms. Marilyn also got extremely turned on when we were making out, as much now as before, and even if Marilyn’s mouth was saying ‘No, no, no!’, her body was screaming ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ Early in the fall I finally popped her cherry, and I was hard at work on moving the timetable forward.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you that maybe we should head back to my dorm, so that tomorrow I can serve you breakfast in bed? Wouldn’t that count as taking you out for a meal?” I teased.

Marilyn blushed but smiled. Wagging her finger at me, she said, “Forget it!”

“Well, it seems like a good idea to me, but okay, if you’d rather have dinner…” I gave her a quick kiss and then opened the door and led her outside. We held hands on the way to the Galaxie, and I opened the door for her. I went around and climbed behind the wheel, and then whistled at her again. Her dress had ridden up slightly and her legs looked spectacular! Marilyn simply giggled and tugged her dress down a touch, and had me start the car.

I was taking her to L’Auberge that night, a very fancy French restaurant in Albany. It was also very expensive. On the first trip through, my mother had been visiting us once when we were living in Clifton Park, and she took us to dinner there. Afterwards, when she saw the bill, she turned green and said she was going to have to tell Dad when he was in a good mood. I suspected something sexually exotic would be involved. As it was, I fully expected the bill to be at least $100. Considering that this was 1974, and that was a month’s room and board at Kegs, L’Auberge was not where I routinely dined.

It wasn’t more than a few minutes away in downtown Albany, a stately old home turned restaurant. It was a place frequently used by businessmen and lobbyists to wine and dine politicians, and we were younger than the usual crowd. Still, I had made reservations, and we were dressed appropriately, and I knew how to handle myself, even if Marilyn felt a little self-conscious. Before I locked my car, I reached into the back seat and pulled out a gift wrapped box.

“What is that?” asked Marilyn once she saw me carrying something.

“That is for you, but not until we get inside,” I said, smiling.

“Tell me!”

It was my turn to waggle a finger. “Inside!” She stuck her tongue out at me, but then scampered towards the door when I moved to swat her rear with the box.

Once we were seated I set the box on the side of the table. “We’ll get to that in a moment.” Just then, our waiter came up and we ordered drinks, with me ordering a gin and tonic and Marilyn getting something sweet and silly. Then I picked up the box.

“I can read minds,” I said, “and right now I can read yours perfectly.”

“Oh? So what am I thinking?” she asked.

I held a hand up to my temple and closed my eyes. “Well, actually, there’s two things.” I paused dramatically and closed my eyes again. “The first thing, well, Marilyn, that’s illegal in this state, and certainly won’t get you into heaven!”

“CARLING!” she shrieked quietly.

“And the second is that you’re worried you’ll never see me again, and you’ve fallen hopelessly in love with me.” I smiled at that. Marilyn’s face screwed up and her eyes started to water. I had said the wrong thing. I reached out and patted her hand. “Marilyn, it’s all right. I love you, too, and we’ll certainly see each other in the future.”

She stared at me. “What did you say?”

“I said I love you. I didn’t think you’d be so unhappy as to cry about that.” I smiled and continued holding her hand.

“Oh, God!” She started to blubber, and I just lifted her hand and kissed her palm.

I also reached into my pocket and handed her my handkerchief. “I love you,” I repeated quietly.

Marilyn had happy tears in her eyes, and she grabbed my hankie and started wiping her eyes. Of course then she had to honk her nose into it, so I decided to let her keep it as a souvenir.

“Now, stop worrying so much. This is not the end and we are going to keep seeing each other and we’re going to talk about that tonight. What? Were you worried I was going to break up with you tonight?” I asked, smiling.

“Well…”

“Honey, if I was going to break up with you I wouldn’t do it at these prices. I’d take you to a HoJo’s and go Dutch!”

Marilyn blushed. “So what’s that?” she asked, pointing at the box.

“Here, it’s for you.” I handed her the gift.

She tore the wrapping paper off the box. Inside was a Polaroid SX-70 instant camera, a state-of-the-art (at the time) instant camera with a single lens reflex action. You took a picture and within seconds the film pack spit out a picture that would develop in your hands inside of five minutes. “What… why…” she asked curiously.

I handed her another couple of film packs from a pocket. “I am going to take pictures of you tonight before we split up, and keep them with me over the summer. That way I won’t forget you.”

She smiled at me. “You want take pictures of me? Like what?”

“Well, high heels at one end, and a smile at the other. The middle is kind of optional.”

“Carling!” she said with a blushing smile.

“Oh, all right. A fellow can dream, can’t he?”

I simply waggled my eyebrows at her, and she blushed some more. I opened the box up and showed her how to load a film pack, and then I took a quick picture of her, and showed her how it developed. The flash attracted some attention, which embarrassed her a touch, but nobody seemed to mind a boyfriend taking pictures of a pretty girl. I folded it back up and put it back in the box to the side. “I’ll take a few more after dinner. Then later, when you get back to the dorm, you go upstairs and put on a bikini and come down…”

“CARL!”

“It was worth a try!”

The waiter brought our drinks, and we looked over the menu and I reviewed the wine list. I decided to splurge on a nice bottle of Pouilly Fuisse. In just a few days I was going to be dining with some people a whole lot less decorative than Marilyn.

“I still can’t believe you’re going across the country next week,” she told me.

“It’ll be fun. You should come along!”

“No way! I think you’re just going to chase girls and drink and smoke pot,” she said, smiling.

“No on one, yes on two and three,” I said with a shrug.

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

“This is my only chance to do this. My next two summers I’ll be camping with the Army.” I told her.

“I still can’t believe you’re going into the Army.”

I shrugged. “It’s not like I have a choice. Uncle Sam is paying for college for me, and he’s looking for some payback. If my father could do it during World War II and my grandfather could do it during World War I, I guess I can survive it now. At least nobody’s shooting at us at the moment.”

We talked some more about my joining the army, and how ROTC worked, and also about my family’s military tradition. This took us through a fair bit of dinner, and I took this as an opportunity to toss a new idea into the mix. “After I get back, let’s go to Maryland. I can take you to see my folks for a few days, and then we can go to the beach.”

“The beach? You live near the beach?”

I shook my head. “No. Several hours away, in fact. Here’s my suggestion. I’ll get two rooms at a place in Ocean City. You’ll have your own room. I know you well enough for that.” Marilyn looked relieved at that. “We’ll start at my folks for a few days and then drive to the beach. Take a week or two at the beach and then come back up to New York for the fall.”

Marilyn was looking intrigued, so I told her all the positive ideas about meeting my parents and family, which are always important to a woman. I also stressed the idea of sun and sand and warm, warm water. You just don’t get that in Utica. By the time dessert arrived she had agreed.

I’d warn her about Hamilton some other time, like after she got to Lutherville. I would put up with him for a few days for Marilyn’s sake, so my family could meet her. Besides, she’d never believe my stories about my family without meeting them first.

After dinner I had her pose a bit in the lobby and I took a few more pictures. When we got back to the dorm, I asked her again to change into a bikini, but she declined again. I grabbed my shots of her and tucked them in a pocket, and gave her the camera, and then I gave her a big kiss and left.

The next day I spent the morning on the phone long distance to the Hilton Hotel in Ocean City, Maryland. My parents preferred to visit Rehoboth Beach, which is in southern Delaware, about half an hour north of Ocean City. Rehoboth is a smaller and quieter town than Ocean City. Me, I preferred a little glitz and glamour on my vacations. The Hilton is near the Boardwalk, and I could afford it. Although the economy wasn’t too happy about it, I had ridden the oil shock up and down, and was now invested in some stocks that did well under these conditions. I was worth about a million and a half now, plus the $2.47 my atoms were supposed to be worth. I was able to reserve a large suite with two bedrooms (I did tell her she would have her own room, just not what type of room) for two weeks starting a week after I got back. I also specified that I would probably show up late in the first week, but I wasn’t sure when, and let them bill it to my American Express card, which they were quite happy to do.

After that, it was just necessary to wait a couple of days for Ricky and Marty to finish with the semester. Both guys were juniors and had to finish finals, but after that, they were free for the summer. Marty never went home anyway, but stayed at school and lived in the house. Ricky, on the other hand, was in ROTC, and would normally have gone to do his second summer at training, but he had deferred it until after graduation. He had the summer free, too. They were planning a road trip across the country. When I asked them what they were up to, they invited me along. I was planning on living at the house and goofing off. I jumped at the chance to join them!

The general plan was that we would travel across the country, spending the nights at various Kegs chapter houses around the country. Kappa Gamma Sigma was a national fraternity, with dozens of chapters all across the US. It was not at all unheard of for brothers to show up at another house, out of the blue. Every year we would get a few people passing through from other colleges, who would be invited in for anywhere from a night to a few days. We’d let them sleep in their sleeping bags in the formal room, mooch some meals with us, share some beer and weed, and otherwise goof off. Why anybody in their right mind would visit Troy was an entirely different question. The usual answer was they were on their way through to somewhere a whole lot more interesting.

Marty, Ricky, and I were going to return the favor. We all tossed sleeping bags and duffel bags into the trunk of Marty’s 1970 Buick LeSabre. That thing was just a beast of a car! I think it was bigger than my Galaxie, with a bigger engine, and generally roomier. Of course, while the Galaxie needed an oil well in the back yard to feed it, this thing needed two!

We never even considered Ricky’s car, an ancient VW Beetle. None of us was sure it would make it to the state line, let alone across the country.

Ricky had a map of the United States with chapter houses marked with red dots, and Marty had gotten from the national headquarters a list of addresses for the chapter houses. Our tentative route had us going through Cleveland and then on to Chicago. From Chicago we wanted to go to St. Louis, but after that we weren’t sure. The idea was to go on a northerly route on the way west, and then come back on a southerly swing. Most of the chapter houses were either on the east coast, California, or the south. North and west of St. Louis was a bit limited.

I had a Kodak Instamatic camera with a few spare rolls of film, and before we set out, I got Jack Jones to take a few shots of us in front of the Buick. I got razzed by the other guys, but screw it. They’d thank me someday.

The first stop was Cleveland, and the initial theory had been that we would drive on the US and state roads, not on the highways. We’d get a chance to see the real America, not just concrete. After about five hours on Route 5 going west through every Podunk little town in central New York, we said “Fuck this shit!” There’s a reason they built the Interstate system! At the pace we were going, we’d have hit the Pacific just in time to return to school — next year! We got onto the Thruway around Rochester and moved it up to the speed limit. We got to the chapter house at Case Western Reserve about eight in the evening.

I suppose Cleveland is a nice place. Certainly people live there. Still, you really have to wonder about a city where the river has a tendency to catch fire. I mean really, you use water to put out the fire, not to start one! The chapter house was not an auspicious start to the trip. There were two guys living there, and we met one as we pulled in the parking lot and he was leaving. “Hi, can I help you?”

Ricky flashed a smile at the guy. “Hey, how you doing? We’re from RPI in Troy, New York. Any chance we can spend the night?” He had on a Kegs shirt so the guy knew we were brothers.

“Yeah, sure. Welcome. Go on in. Wozinski’s in there. Let him know. I’m out of here for a few days. Nice to meet you.” Then he was in his car and leaving.

We glanced at each other and shrugged our shoulders, and then went inside. There was a single brother holding down the fort, Wozinski, and he was watching television and drinking a beer. That was it. He greeted us and grabbed a few beers and showed us where we could sleep, but that was it. He was the only guy around and not much of a talker. After a bit he left us to our own devices and went to bed. The three of us raided the fridge and had another beer, and decided to keep going the next day.

Northwestern, in Chicago, was a whole different story. If the trip had consisted of houses like the one in Cleveland, we could have turned around and had more fun in Troy. There were almost a dozen guys staying over the summer at the house at Northwestern, and they greeted us warmly! We spent the first night drinking and smoking, and then stayed on for another three days. We ended up swimming in Lake Michigan, which was a bit warmer than the polar bear club routine, but not by much, and hitting some bars and clubs downtown.

I remember comedian Bill Maher commenting when Barack Obama became President, that for the first time in ages we had a President from a place you would actually want to go to. Chicago was pretty cool. I had a headache and Ricky was totally hungover by the time a groaning Marty pulled onto the road towards St. Louis.

We stayed in St. Louis (Washington University) for a couple for nights, and then drove up to Des Moines (Drake University) for another couple of days. Lots of good barbecue and beer, dull as dishwater in some other ways. I mean, I know that’s where all our food comes from and that’s pretty important, but who the hell wants to live there? There’s just miles and miles of miles and miles! We consulted our map and list of colleges and decided to keep going west. It was about 700 miles to Denver. At normal highway speeds we could be there in nine or ten hours, easy. However, earlier that year the national speed limit was dropped to 55, because of the gas crisis. Trust the government to do something dramatic — and wrong! Now it was going to take us at least 13 or 14 hours. This was a massive waste of time and money, and dangerous to boot (you spent longer driving, so you had more chance of getting into an accident.) We left mid-afternoon and arrived in the early morning, after bypassing God only knows how many cow towns and hitting too many truck stops to pee and eat and gas up.

The brothers at the Colorado School of Mines took pity on the weary travelers and put us up. That was pretty good, we had some fun there. It’s a small school, about the size of RPI actually, and specializes in engineering. A bunch of Rocky Mountain nerds, in other words! We got along well with them. Lots of Coors beer, which at the time you couldn’t get east of the Mississippi. Some guys swear by it, but I’m not that big a beer fan. A couple of the brothers took us up to Pike’s Peak with Marty’s Buick, and then helped us change the tire when he blew one coming down. We also went into Denver to drink and chase girls at a few of the bars. We stayed there three nights, and weren’t all that sober at any given time.

We spent a couple of nights in Boise, completely bypassing Utah, which would have been the halfway point. There were no chapter houses there, and it didn’t seem like much of anything else. Big damn place, but hopelessly earnest. No drinking, drugs, fornication, or much of anything else that might be enjoyable. We bypassed it before we could be contaminated by the Mormons. It took us almost an entire day, what with the travel time, stopping for meals and gas, and so on. On the other hand, the brothers at Boise State were a bunch of real yahoos and cowboys. We were bedded down for the night, and the next day we were taken along to a bar with a mechanical bull. More Coors beer, more stupid shit going on. I’m glad we had the Instamatic along, because we ended up with pictures of all of us getting thrown by the mechanical bull. My picture damn near has me upside down, but my face was recognizable.

“Someday I will show these to my kids, just to prove to them their old man was crazy,” I told Ricky.

Marty came limping up, bowlegged. “Yeah? I don’t think I’m going to have kids now!”

“If the choice is putting an ice pack on your balls for you, or letting you die, you’re going to die, Marty!” I told him.

“This from an asshole mooning over a girl who hasn’t even given it up yet! If I want horseshit, I can come here and find a horse!” he retorted.

“I agree! You need to either start drilling that well, or give up the lease!” said Ricky, a geological engineer by major.

“He’s just going to ignore us and mail her another post card!” said Marty.

“Fuck you two, and the bull you rode in on!” I replied, without any heat. “I’ve seen the women you two have been sleeping with. At least I’m working on the proper species.” I pointed at Marty’s crotch. “You’d have better luck screwing the mechanical bull rather than riding it.”

Ricky laughed. “You know how rodeo riders have sex?”

I rolled my eyes, since I knew the answer, but Marty bit on it. “How?”

“After they get on top of their girl, they whisper in her ear that she’s just as good as her sister, and then they try to stay on for eight seconds!”

“Shit!”

Marty and Ricky were right about one thing, though. Every time we stopped, I’d buy a postcard and mail it to Marilyn. I’d always be looking for something a little offbeat. In Golden I had sent her one of a fellow falling off Pike’s Peak. Boise just had postcards with either stunning vistas or cowboys. I found one with a girl on a mechanical bull, and wrote that I was behaving myself, despite the temptations. It was too bad we were going to miss Donner Pass, since there just had to be some good ones for that!

From Boise it was off to Portland (Portland State) where we spent a couple of nights. The chapter house was a gigantic Victorian three story house, and something about it just didn’t seem right. In fact, it was sort of creepy. We went inside, following a brother named Biff and wandered around the first floor. It had about ten small rooms, all open to each other. “Man, what’s with this architecture?” wondered Marty.

I nodded in agreement. It was kind of strange. Ricky simply said, “I don’t know, but for some reason it’s kind of familiar.”

Biff had a big smile on his face. “It used to be a funeral home.”

Ricky’s eyes lit up. “That’s it! My grandmother died last winter and the funeral home looked exactly like this! Lots of little rooms all connected one to the other!”

“Yeah, that way they can run partitions between the rooms and have more than one body in residence.”

Ricky nodded vigorously. “And a lot of these old funeral homes were family owned and run, and the family would live upstairs!”

“Exactly. Come on, let me show you around,” said Biff. We got the real nickel tour, too. Out back was a four car garage, now devoted to junk and lawn care gear, that originally could hold four hearses and limos. Then he took us down into the basement, which had a number of curious features. For one thing, there was a driveway that went from the back to the front, down through the basement and back out to the front driveway. Midway through the basement was a room with a big stone table and drains and the most ghastly colored stone flooring. This was where the hearses would roll through and drop off the customers, who would get drained and prepped in the basement before being sent upstairs for viewing.

“Holy shit!” I said. “This is just, like, ghoulish! How can you sleep here?!”

Biff just laughed. “Piece of cake! Man, it’s too bad you’re not coming through this fall… All month long we run a haunted house for the neighborhood kids, and we have one hell of a Halloween Party.”

“BYOB — Bring Your Own Body!” I shivered. I’m not all that religious or superstitious, but it was more than a bit creepy.

A couple of days later, we headed out, and I think we all felt better leaving the place. Don’t get me wrong, they were great guys, but really, a funeral home? There are some jobs I just don’t want to have!

“I’m finally feeling safe again,” announced Ricky as we drove south. “I had to sleep with one eye open, just in case Buckman woke up at midnight and felt the need to gnaw my flesh like a zombie!”

I smiled at that. Ricky was actually kind of scrawny and tough, small, and wiry. Marty, on the other hand, was taller and a bit stocky. “Not to worry, Ricky. You’re kind of tough and stringy. Marty’s probably tastier. He’s well marbled.”

“Fuck you, Buckman. You feel like walking home?” asked Marty.

“Actually, Ricky, you’re suddenly looking tastier,” I answered.

We drove down to California on I-5. You don’t hit anything interesting until you get as far south as Sacramento and San Francisco. Mark Twain once said, ‘The coldest winter I ever saw was the summer I spent in San Francisco.’ No shit! It was the end of June and fog was present as we drove in!

It was in San Francisco that we finally got to see the Pacific, even if icebergs were off shore. Very scenic city, very pretty. I kept waiting for Steve McQueen to come roaring over a hill, all four tires in the air, in his Mustang. We spent two days at San Francisco State before driving further south, in search of warmth. Cal State Long Beach is only three miles from the beach! The three of us even debated over staying there and not going home, and only Ricky’s insistence that the Army would chase him and me down made us leave. The only argument otherwise was which was more important, a better body or a smaller bikini.

From Los Angeles it’s not quite a day’s drive to Las Vegas. It can be maybe four hours if the roads are clear and you’re leaving from the eastern side of the city, or five hours from the beach. It’s a lot longer if the California Highway Patrol is running convoys at 55 out to the Nevada line. It was late in the day when we pulled up in front of the chapter house at UNLV. As soon as we got out of the car a gorgeous blonde coed came down the front steps, greeted us, and led us inside. We barely had time to say who we were before somebody handed us a beer. Now that’s what I call hospitality!

If Vegas didn’t exist, somebody would have to invent it! The entire city is dedicated to the moral dissipation of anybody silly enough to step inside the city limits. That parents would send their children here to college is beyond astonishing. While Ricky and Marty knew all this intellectually, I was the only one who had ever actually been there before, and that was in my previous life. We went down to the bar with a couple of the brothers, and there was a slot machine next to the bar. Ricky and Marty just stared, and then Marty asked, “Is that legal?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” was the answer, which made me wonder just precisely how legal it was, but nobody seemed to care.

“We need one of these back home!” Marty exclaimed. A minute later he had fished some change out of his pocket. It was a quarter slot, and he dropped all his quarters that he could find in, earning back nothing. “Shit!”

“It helps pay the dues!” commented one of the guys. He looked at Ricky and me invitingly. Ricky laughed and tried some change of his own, as did I. Everybody seemed happy that we had contributed to the fiscal operation of the frat.

We stayed several days at UNLV, and had a very nice time. One day we went over to Lake Mead and toured Hoover Dam, which is pretty cool for nerds. Still, I wanted to try something, so one day we drove into the city and looked around. Thank you, sweet Jesus, that the air conditioning on the Buick was working! It must get to be about a million degrees there in the summer! We parked at the Golden Nugget and went inside. This was in the days before the big expansion on the west side of the Strip had really taken off, and the Golden Nugget was one of the old casinos downtown. We looked around for a bit, but then I told the guys, “Listen, I can’t explain this, but I’m breaking away for a bit. Don’t leave without me, but I can’t have you with me for a while.”

“What are you up to, Buckman?” asked Ricky.

“Just trust me. I want to try something.” I walked away and headed over towards the table game section, and found where the blackjack tables were.

It was time to try something silly. I watched the action at several different tables, and then went into a higher stakes area and watched some more, and then I sat down at a table where the bets started at $50. I handed an even $1,000 to the dealer, who simply announced, probably to a microphone and the pit boss, “Changing $1,000 for chips!” stuck the cash into a slot in the table, and pushed a small stack of $50 chips across to me.

That was what the stake I had decided to risk gambling. No way was I signing any markers. If I lost it, it was gone. Blackjack is one of the few games at a casino which isn’t pure random chance. There is actual skill involved, and you can beat the house. The casinos know this, and they don’t actually like it, but blackjack is a popular game and they can’t afford to stop it. The skills needed to beat the game involve discipline and card counting.

Card counting involves knowing what cards have already been played and what is still in the deck. It does not involve memorizing the cards, which is what is shown in the movie Rain Man with Dustin Hoffman and Tom Cruise. In its simplest form you simply assign a value to each card as it is dealt. Cards 2–6 are worth +1 each, 10s and all face cards are worth -1 each, and 7–9 are worth 0. As each card is dealt, you keep a running tally, and the count will rise and fall. When the count is negative the deck is in the dealer’s favor, and you should bet low. When the count is positive the deck is in your favor and you should bet high. There are more advanced systems which value the cards at multiple levels, but the basic Hi-Lo strategy works.

On the downside, it is not a guarantee, simply a method to move the odds to your favor. You have to pay attention, really pay attention to pull it off. The casinos know this and have a number of countermeasures, from simply trying to distract you and make you lose count, to more frequent shuffling, which erases the count but slows the game considerably. Another tried and true method, not used so much in the U.S. but very popular in third world shitholes, is to take you out and bury you, often with a single hand showing above ground, holding a card. Card counting is not illegal. Using a mechanical or electronic counter is extremely illegal. Worst of all, the advantage is small enough that you need to be playing for large sums to make it worthwhile, hence why I was playing at the $50 and up table.

By the time it became common knowledge how to do this, most casinos started tracking known counters and using computer software to analyze betting habits and facial recognition to discover disguised counters, and then ban the counters from returning. Nobody knew me yet.

The system works. It isn’t easy, and you really need to pay attention, and that was why I couldn’t have my buddies hovering over me yakking it up and kibbitzing. I sat there and gambled for a couple of hours before Ricky and Marty came searching for me. Thankfully I was in a definite hot streak where the count was very positive and I was able to make some large bets and pocket some serious coin. They came up behind me and saw the amount of chips on the table and gasped. “Buckman! Where have you been? We’ve been all over the place looking for you. Holy shit! What are you doing?!”

I still had a nice positive count going, so I played one more bet for $300, hit a blackjack, and collected at 3:2. At that point I stood up and slid a chip across the table to the dealer. “That’s for you. I think I’m going to cash out.” The guys had totally blown my concentration, but it was time to quit anyway. The count was turning.

“Thank you, sir. Cashing out!” My chips were placed in a small rack and handed to me, and Ricky and Marty followed me in astonishment over to a cashier’s window. I had about four grand in cash, including my original one grand stake, so I was up about three. Not bad for an afternoon. Still, I wasn’t sorry they had stopped me. I just don’t have the fire in the belly that a lot of gamblers have. For me it was just a job, and one where having people at my side was a distraction I couldn’t afford. It was lonely and sterile. I had never done it before because I had never really had the money to be able to sit at a table for the hours it took, and at the stakes necessary, to make it worthwhile. Now I had the cash, but it was still something that left me cold.

Real gamblers, the guys who get in trouble, are different. They get a thrill that is almost sexual in nature when they are making bets, no matter what on. They’ve run MRIs and scans and stuff on these guys, and the same parts of the brain light up like when you’re on drugs or getting laid or whatever. It’s part of why they have to gamble even when they are losing. Me, I just don’t get that same sort of thrill. I smiled at the cashier and sorted through my money. I counted out five hundred dollar bills and handed them to Ricky, and then another five hundreds to Marty. “Here, take these.”

Marty stared at the money. Ricky asked, “What the fuck is this?”

“This, my friends, pays for our vacation! Say thank you!”

Marty looked at me. “Are you shitting me?”

“I am dead serious. I’m still ahead. Come on, let’s get a drink! I’ll tell you there.” We found a bar and grabbed a seat at a table against one of the walls.

“Okay, what’s going on? What’s with the money? When did you become a big time gambler?” asked Ricky.

I motioned him to be quiet when a pretty waitress came up and took drink orders. We all ordered beers. Once she went away, I considered what to say. This was in the days before microscopic cameras and microphones could allow each table to be monitored in a casino. I just nodded and said, “Okay, but this is just between the three of us. If anybody ever asks, just tell them I got lucky, real lucky at the casino, and leave it at that. Nobody’ll believe you anyway.”

“Believe what?”

I leaned forward and said quietly, “I can count cards.”

I was surprised in that neither of the guys knew what I was talking about. “What’s that?” asked Marty.

“Yeah, not following you either,” agreed Ricky.

“I’m surprised. I’d have figured that at a science and engineering school like the ‘Tute everybody would’ve known about it.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Okay, lesson time in applied probability and statistics. Most of what goes on in a casino has fixed probabilities of outcomes. For instance, at the roulette table, you have a wheel with 38 slots, numbers 1 thru 36, alternating in red and black, and the numbers 0 and 00 in green. Following me so far?”

“Sure,” said Marty. Ricky nodded.

“So, pure probability theory states that the odds of hitting any given value is 1 in 38. In a perfectly even payout, if you hit that number, they should pay you 38 to 1.” Again, more nods. “But they don’t, they only pay at 36 to 1. They keep the percentage from hitting the 0 and 00. The only way to play those two numbers is to bet directly on them, and they still only pay 36 to 1. The house keeps that fraction, roughly 2 in 38, as the house cut. That’s their profit.”

“What’s that got to do with blackjack?”, asked Ricky.

“I’m getting there. The thing to remember is that most of the games, the slots and wheels and dice and everything, they are based on totally random events. You can’t control what number shows up on the roulette wheel or how the dice turn up. The casinos know that and have it manipulated so that they always get a piece of the action. There’s only two games where you can beat the house, poker and blackjack.”

“What?”

I nodded some more. “Poker is actually skillful, reading the other players and not the cards. A lot of casinos simply allow games to be held, and take a cut out of each pot. It’s not even their money. Blackjack is more complicated. Over the course of a game, going through the cards, the house has the edge, but during the game, there will be moments when the house has the advantage and moments when the player has the advantage. When you have the advantage, you bet big, and when you don’t, you bet small. That shifts the game’s odds from the house to the player. That’s what I was doing in there.”

“And you can do this? You’ve done this before? How hard is it?” asked Ricky excitedly.

“Whoa, hold on! Don’t get too excited. This is the first time I’ve ever tried it, more to see if I could do it than anything else. I can, but it is not easy. It requires a lot of concentration. That’s why I had to be by myself. I have to watch every card as it’s dealt and keep a running total in my head. Somebody talking to me, drinking, smoking, girls, anything and my concentration is shot and I start losing money.”

“And it’s legal?” asked Marty.

I waggled my hand in an iffy fashion. “Eh, yes and no. I’m not doing anything illegal. However, it shifts the odds away from the house, and the house doesn’t like it. If they catch on, they can throw me out and ban me for life.”

“What’s with the money? Are you giving that to us?” asked Ricky.

“Sure, why not. Like I said, it pays for the trip. Fuck it.”

We kept talking through another round of beer, and later that evening, in the basement at Kegs, I borrowed a pack of cards and showed them how it worked. The local brothers had all heard about it before. They knew what was involved, and every year somebody would try and find it was harder than they expected, and lose their shirt. They were amazed I had actually pulled it off, and wanted me to teach them. I demurred. No way did I want to become a professional gambler.

I went over to Circus Circus the next day and repeated my winnings, picking up another four grand. That ended my lust for gambling. I knew I could do it, but I just don’t have the drive.

We drove from Vegas over to the Grand Canyon (that’s one motherfucking hole in the ground!) and then drove down to Phoenix (Arizona State.) We spent a couple of days there and then moved on to El Paso (UTEP) and then on to Austin (University of Texas.) Big damn state, hotter than blazes, dry as dust. Nice people, though, and they sure know their barbecue.

The place we all really wanted to visit we got to in July, and that was the Big Easy, New Orleans. We would stay at the chapter house at Tulane for a few days before heading on east to Florida. Those guys were simply insane! There were only three guys staying there, but they took it upon themselves to introduce us to the depths of moral turpitude and degradation. We spent a very long night on Bourbon Street with them, eating and drinking, and then they took us out into a swamp the next night chasing down snakes! Poisonous snakes! I was so scared I damn near crapped my pants! Even garter snakes give me the willies, and these jokers caught some rattlers (only rattlers, they threw the other poisonous snakes back! I kept waiting for one of the little bastards to get pissed at us and come back for us!) I think I turned green when it was held up for my inspection and the sucker hissed at me. Bubba Ray just laughed and cut off the head with a machete. The next day we had rattlesnake steaks. Tastes just like chicken, only chickens don’t bite you with venomous fangs. Remind me not to do that again!

From New Orleans we drove east. The road trip was starting to get old, and I told the guys we needed to get back by the first week of August. My reservations at the Hilton in Ocean City were for the second and third weeks of August. They agreed with me. We would hit Jacksonville for a few days, see what there was to see, and head home up I-95.

Well, that was the plan. It didn’t quite work out that way, though. We found the college easily enough, along with the chapter house. The problem was that nobody was home! The place was locked up tighter than Marilyn’s you-know-what!

“Nobody’s home?” I asked.

Ricky kept knocking on the door. “I can’t believe it. I’ve never heard of a house where everybody leaves.”

Marty commented, “I’m not even sure the locks on our house even work! There’s always somebody around.”

“Ricky, I don’t think anybody’s here,” I told him.

“Shit! Now what?”

I shrugged and looked at Marty. “I have no idea. I am too beat to do anything. Let’s find something to eat and head east. I hear there’s an ocean somewhere in that direction.”

We got back in the Buick and headed east towards the supposed Atlantic Ocean. We eventually found it in a place called Jacksonville Beach, so named because it was next to Jacksonville and had a beach. Go figure! We parked down at the beach and found a pizza place that was open. We ordered a large pepperoni pizza and a pitcher of beer. Then, when we had finished the pizza, we had another pitcher of beer. At that point we ordered a third pitcher, worked our way through it, and then decided to walk around on the beach. It was starting to get dark by then, but we didn’t care. I had the Kodak and we took a few pictures of each other, and then I took off my shoes and waded knee deep into the surf.

Eventually we got tired of fucking around and started to wonder where we had parked the car. It was at that point we made a mistake, by sitting down to take a rest. Marty stretched out in the sand. It was a nice night, warm and breezy. I lay back, too, and so did Ricky. The car would wait for us.

I woke up around midnight, when I heard Ricky protesting a few feet away. Then a bright light hit my eyes and I reflexively brought my hands up to protect them. “Wha… what’s going on?” I muttered.

Just then I felt something hit my foot. “Come on boys, time to wake up,” said a voice I couldn’t place. The light left my eyes and then I heard Marty grumbling and stirring. There was another nudge to my feet and I sat upright.

“What’s going on?” I mumbled. I started to rub my eyes, and then looked around. There were two cops standing there on the sand at our feet. One of them had a Maglite on us and was nudging our feet, while the other was multitasking — chewing gum, shining his own Maglite at us, and flipping an old style billy club by the leather strap.

“Wakey, wakey, boys. No sleeping on the beach. It’s time to go downtown,” said the cop nudging us awake.

“Downtown?” mumbled Ricky.

“It’s off to see the wizard, boys. Come on, get up.”

“Hey, we’re awake. Just let us go to our car and we’ll get out of here,” said Marty.

The second cop laughed at that. “No, no, no! We are going downtown. Do you want to do it the easy way or the hard way?”

“What’s the difference?” asked Ricky, scratching his head and rubbing the sand out of his hair.

“Do it the easy way and you pay the fine in the morning and go home. Do it the hard way and we cuff you and book you and throw you in jail for a couple of days first,” was the reply.

I looked at my friends. “We’re going to vote for the easy way,” I said for all of us.

“Most do. Come on, get your asses up and off the sand.” I got my feet nudged again.

We grumbled some, but climbed to our feet. I put my shoes on, but then kicked them back off, since they were full of sand. I dumped them out and trudged barefoot across the beach to the roadside before slipping them back on. We were loaded into the back of a paddy wagon sort of truck, where a half dozen other criminal snoozers were already loaded, and headed on down the road. We made two more stops and picked up another three sleepers, and then we headed off to the Jacksonville Beach police station.

The easy way was definitely the smart move. A couple of the guys who were already on the truck had been cuffed, and were cussing up a storm. They got separated from the rest of us and taken away into the back of the station. The rest of us just got frisked for weapons (they took my Buck knife and camera) and tossed in a chicken wire cage off to the side of the main squad room. There were a few guys already sitting there.

To what extent Ricky and Marty had ever been in a police station was questionable. Certainly Marty was nervous. I think he expected that he was about to become the prison bitch for Jacksonville Beach. I pushed the pair of them over to a bench at the side of the cage, as much to get out of the doorway as any other reason. “Go sit down, guys. It’s going to be a long night.”

Ricky and Marty sat down on one end of a bench along the wall. There was an empty space between them and a thin and nervous guy at the other end, so I sat down between them, not saying anything, but nodding when he shifted over slightly. “What’d they grab you guys for?” he asked.

“Sleeping on the beach. You, too?” I replied.

He shook his head. “Nah. Somebody claimed I hit a liquor store.”

I smiled at him. “No kidding!”

“Hey, I didn’t do it!”

“No, that’s cool. I was just thinking, the first time I went to jail I ended up next to a guy the cops said boosted a liquor store. Small world, huh?”

“What’d they get you for then?” he asked. He didn’t seem at all surprised to find himself in jail with another ex-con. My buddies next to me were staring at me with slack jaws and open eyes.

“Three guys were trying to shake me down, so I put them in the hospital for a week. I got hauled off anyway,” I said, making myself sound tougher than I was.

“Fucking cops’ll do it every time,” he agreed sourly.

Before anybody could say anything, a cop came to the cage and yelled, “COLEMAN! Get over here!”

My new friend stood up and said, “Good luck,” and then shuffled over to the door. He was taken out of the cage, handcuffed, and then pulled away. I wished him luck, too. It pays to be polite, even in jail.

After the cop and Coleman left, Ricky grabbed my shoulder. “Were you serious with him? You’ve been in jail before?”

“It was no big deal, guys. I was out the same day, no charges.”

“How many times have you been in jail?” asked Marty.

“Including that time and today?” They nodded and I grinned back. “Twice! And both times I end up next to a guy who robbed a liquor store! What are the odds?”

They looked at me like I had just sprouted horns and a tail. “So what happened?”

“It’s like I said to Coleman…”

“You knew his name?!” asked Ricky.

“The cop over there said his name. Anyway, like I told him, these three guys wanted me to pay them to leave me alone, you know, a protection racket, and I decided I didn’t want to pay them.”

“When was this?” pressed Ricky.

“My thirteenth birthday. They were, like, fourteen or fifteen.”

“So what happened?” asked Marty.

“Well, I ended up with a black eye, but I gave one of them a concussion, broke another guy’s nose and jaw, and tore the third kid’s knee apart,” I answered.

“Holy shit!” muttered Marty.

I smiled at my friends. “Don’t sweat it. When we get to the big house, I’ll protect you. Just pay me a pack of cigarettes a day — each of you! — you’ll be just fine.” I laughed and put my head back, closing my eyes. I was still tired.

At nine the next morning we were all pulled out of the cage and paraded before a judge. It was pretty straightforward. Watch your mouth, plead guilty, pay $50 — ‘NEXT!’ I got my Buck knife back and had one of the cops take a picture of us through the walls of the cage. Then we got the hell out of Dodge! The last twenty-four hours were highly overrated!

We were all pretty beat at this point. We gassed up and turned the Buick north and just started driving. We drove straight through, only stopping for gas, food and pit stops, and made it to Troy the next day. The Great American Adventure was over!

Thank God!

Chapter 32: Meet The Parents, Part 1

We spent a week hanging around the house drinking and smoking dope and sleeping late and telling war stories to Jack and Swayzack. I had the film to the Instamatic developed and I got three sets of prints, one for each of us. Then it was Friday, and it was time to head south. I could have lived without this trip, but I was going to have to introduce Marilyn to my family at some point. Family was one of those critical things that she simply could not understand being apart from. Even before, when Hamilton hadn’t been so crazy and I had actually spent time with my family, it was nothing for me to go weeks without talking to them. Now it was months. This would be my first visit since I had come to RPI in August of 1973, almost an entire year ago.

It took me a day to drive south, and I got to Lutherville around dinner time on Friday. My plan was to hang out for a day and maybe go see some of my old friends, and then be there when Marilyn drove down on Sunday. We would stay for a few days, or until I snapped, and then head off to the beach. At some point we would make a return trip, and then I would drive north with Marilyn following. I was still nervous about her driving from Utica to Lutherville. Before I had left for basic I had sent her detailed instructions and a marked map showing how to get to my folks, but Marilyn can’t find her way out of a paper bag with a neon map and GPS. It’s a genetic thing; Buckmans marry women who can’t navigate. Mom can’t navigate and Parker’s wife Janine can’t make it out of the driveway without GPS!

My homecoming to the tender embrace of my warm and loving family was strained, to say the least. Suzie was ecstatic, as was Daisy. Dad was quite happy, also, and he and I spent several hours swapping lies about my road trip, along with a trip or two he took at my age. I pulled out the photos from the trip and showed them to my family. Mom was a bit cold and distant, as if my estrangement was totally my fault, but she was also dutifully happy to see the prodigal son return. Hamilton was openly hostile.

Saturday I made a few phone calls and got together for the afternoon with Ray Shorn and Randy Bronson. We decided to get together later that evening after dinner.

I should have stayed away from dinner. The first thing that went wrong was that Mom made meatloaf, and I hate meatloaf. I ate some and just pushed some around on my plate. Mom noticed and said, “I thought you liked meatloaf.”

“Sorry, Mom, not really.” Maybe if it’s made with brown gravy it’s alright, but Mom’s recipe called for it to be made with tomato sauce.

“But you loved meatloaf when your grandmother made it!” she wailed.

I buried my face in my hands and then gave her a sheepish look. “I hated her meatloaf, too. I was just being nice to your mother.” Dad groaned at this and Suzie giggled. Mom simply gave an outraged, ‘Hmmphh!’

The really bad part was when the others started asking about the girl who was coming to visit. Who was she? What was her name? Where was she from? Etc., etc., etc. Hamilton got really pissy at that point. I didn’t live there anymore and I shouldn’t be bringing anybody around. The others ignored him, but he said it once too often for my taste.

I set my fork down and pushed my chair back, and then took a deep breath. I was sitting next to Suzie, on the opposite side of the table, so I was able to look straight across the table at my brother. “Hamilton, I am going to say this only once, but I want you to listen very, very carefully. If you do or say anything to Marilyn, I will beat you to within an inch of your life. If you touch her, I will simply kill you. I have had it with your crap. Your life is hanging by a thread.”

To say there was an uproar was an understatement. Hamilton loudly protested his innocence and Mom demanded I behave myself. Dad ended up yelling at everyone to shut up, and then he said to me, “Adult or not, I expect you to keep a civil tongue in your head.”

“Dad, I love you and Mom and Suzie, but Hamilton needs things explained to him. I really want to be clear on this. This girl is more important to me than anything or anybody else. If you want to meet her, you need to keep him under control. This is not a threat, but a promise. If he gets out of line, I will never come back to this house while he’s alive.”

“Sounds good to me!” said Hamilton with a smirk.

Before I could even come across the table at him, Dad swung a vicious backhand at him and knocked him to the floor. Mom stared in disbelief as Hamilton, crying, climbed to his feet. “Hamilton, you stay away from her and leave her alone. Do you understand?”

Hamilton didn’t reply, but he ran off to his room crying. I got up and left the table also, and went off to see my friends. I drank more than I should have that night, but I lucked out and the cops weren’t around when I drove home. I was sleeping in Suzie’s old room, now the spare bedroom, and I put my bag in front of the door in case Hamilton decided to attack me in the middle of the night.

Sunday actually turned out to be a pretty good day. Dad made his regular big breakfast on Sunday morning, a tradition I continued when I had my own household. We might have had cereal the other six days of the week, but Sundays were for bacon and eggs and sausage and pancakes and French toast and waffles and every other thing guaranteed to clog your arteries and raise your blood pressure. We had pancakes and bacon that morning, and everybody had two stacks. Even Hamilton seemed civil, or maybe he was quiet because he had a split lip from the other night.

After breakfast I was asked if I wanted to go to church. It was communion Sunday, which in the Lutheran church only comes around about once a month. I wasn’t feeling all that religious, but I also knew it would settle my mother down, so I pulled a sports coat and some decent slacks out of my bag and went. It wasn’t optional for my siblings.

In church we went to our regular pew, and sat in our regular formation. Like most parents, Mom and Dad learned very early on to separate their kids at important functions. We sat Ham, Mom, Suzie, Dad, and me, an arrangement that left us kids with easy reach of a parental smack. It also allowed us to return the favor. Dad had about a fifty-fifty chance at falling asleep and snoring during the sermon, and he did so today. When he started sawing lumber I glanced past him at Suzie, who was grinning, and held my hand up with three fingers extended. I gave her a three second countdown, pulling a finger in each second, and when I got to zero we both elbowed him from opposite sides. He woke up with a snort and a rumble and we just looked innocent while the people around us chuckled in their pews.

Marilyn called me around 3:30. I had given her my parents’ number and told her to stop at the first Maryland exit on the Harrisburg Expressway and call. She would be at the house about half an hour later, so I went out on the front lawn and played fetch with Daisy. It was closer to forty minutes before a candy apple red ’71 Dodge Challenger came slowly tooling down Ridgefield. Oh my God, but I had forgotten about that car! Marilyn never thought twice about her car, and her father never realized the folly of giving the thing to a teenager, but I always remembered it as an absolute wet dream of a vehicle! It was simply gorgeous, and people stared at it as it went past! I waved my arms and flagged her down, and she pulled up in front of the house.

I was all smiles when she got out of her car. “Oh, baby, is that your car?!” I asked.

“Uh, yeah. Why?” She gave me a confused look as she got closer.

“That’s gorgeous! You are going to have to let me drive that around!” I held my arms open and she scampered up to me.

“I think you’re only interested in me for my car!”

“Let me change your mind!” I bent my head down and kissed her, and put a lot of effort into it. I only stopped when the pawing at our legs got too bothersome.

Marilyn looked down and found Daisy standing on her hind legs and trying to climb up. “And who are you?” she asked, kneeling down. Daisy immediately tried to lick her to death.

I had to laugh when Daisy bowled Marilyn onto her ass. I grabbed her collar so that she could sit upright. “That’s Daisy.”

Marilyn let Daisy lick her a little more before she climbed to her feet. “I think Daisy likes me.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but Daisy likes everybody. If you were Godzilla, she’d lick your face.”

“That’s awful!” she said, laughing.

“I like you, too. Can I lick your face, too?” I stuck my tongue out and barked and gave her a goofy dog impression, which set Daisy going again. Eventually, I managed to lick Marilyn’s cheek and she threatened to have me neutered, which did the trick in making me behave.

Marilyn glanced at the picture window on the house, and then turned bright red. “I think we’re being watched!”

I looked over and saw Suzie grinning at us. “That’s my kid sister, Suzie. Come on, let’s get your bag and take you inside. I feel like I’m throwing meat to hungry lions.” Marilyn popped her trunk and I stared at the profusion of suitcases and bags, all haphazardly arranged. I looked up at her. “You leave anything behind?”

She bristled. “I had to pack for two weeks!”

“They have these new businesses called Laundromats,” I replied.

“I’m not going to spend my vacation in a Laundromat!”

I shrugged. “I know one way you could have saved some space.”

“Oh?”

“You could have left your underwear at home. I wouldn’t have minded.”

Marilyn blushed and blurted out a loud and protesting sound, and smacked me on the arm, and then said, “You wish!” She pointed out a suitcase for me to bring in, and I snagged it and closed the trunk. She followed me to the front door, with Daisy trailing behind. By the time we got there, the door was open and my mother was there to greet us.

“You must be Marilyn. It’s so nice to meet you,” she said cheerfully. Or at least mostly cheerfully. Mom knew Marilyn was important to me, but she didn’t know her yet. She had yet to realize how totally unsuitable Marilyn was for me. Things became frostier after that, at least on the first time through.

I waited until we came inside before doing the introductions. I set the bag down and said, “Marilyn, I’d like you to meet my mother. Mom, this is Marilyn Lefleur.” They shook hands, and then I pointed past Mom to where my father stood in the kitchen doorway. “And that would be my father. Dad, Marilyn.” Finally I nodded towards where Suzie was grinning over at the side. “And that would be my sister, Suzie!”

“Hi! Come on in! So you’re Carling’s girlfriend! We have got so much to talk about!” squealed Suzie excitedly. I just snorted at that, although my parents and Marilyn laughed.

“Carl’s brother Hamilton must be downstairs.” Mom went to the stairwell and yelled down, “Hamilton, our guest has arrived.”

A moment later Ham climbed up the stairs, not looking all that welcoming, but he mumbled hello and went back down to his room. I noticed Dad was standing quite close to Ham when he came up the stairs, and I kept an eye on the little asshole, too. He wasn’t so little anymore, either. He had hit his growth spurt in the year I was away, and was now as tall as Dad, if not taller. (At 5’11" I ended up the runt of the family. Hamilton was 6’2", Dad was 6’1", and both Mom and Suzie were 5’10", a well above average height at the time for a woman.)

Dad offered to make mixed drinks for everyone, which Mom, Marilyn, and I accepted. Suzie also accepted one, which both my parents found amusing, and Suzie was sent off for a Coke. Drinks were bourbon and bitter lemon, a sort of southern 7&7, which was okay with me, although it took Marilyn a few sips to get used to. It’s much tarter than what she normally drank. Meanwhile Suzie was peppering Marilyn with questions about college and how we met.

“Well, we met at a party,” answered Marilyn, “and we just hit it off.”

I laughed loudly at that, and all eyes turned to me. “Tell them the truth,” I said. Everybody started gabbling about what I meant, and I amplified my question. “Tell them the truth. We met when I fought a duel to defend your honor!”

My mother looked horrified, Suzie looked fascinated, and Dad looked curious. “WHAT?!” sputtered out of everyone’s lips, all except Marilyn who blushed sheepishly.

“It wasn’t like that!” she protested.

“Tell me what wasn’t like that? I fought a duel, right?”

“It wasn’t that kind of duel!”

“And I defended your honor!”

“You defended me from having to dance with your drunken frat brother!” she replied. “And it wasn’t like you fought all that hard, anyway!”

“What was the duel?” asked Dad.

“You tell them. It’s too silly for me to explain,” commented Marilyn.

I shrugged. “We did flaming shots at two paces.” Mom just looked confused. “We poured booze into a couple of shot glasses and set it on fire before drinking it down. He burned his fingers and I drank both shots and won!” Mom gave me a very disapproving look, Dad just laughed and rolled his eyes, and Suzie wanted me to demonstrate it, which I refused.

“When I tell the story it sounds much more adventurous and romantic than when I tell it the other way,” I told Marilyn.

“What other way?” she asked.

“That this girl came to a drunken frat party in a car called the Meat Wagon, immediately headed to the bar, and picked up the bartender!” This time Marilyn joined in with the howls of protest, and punched me twice in the arm. Mom was very disapproving of this interpretation, and Dad simply groaned and headed to the kitchen to make another round of drinks. Suzie, on the other hand, wanted to know about me being a bartender. Teenagers! Suzie had just turned 13 and found this dating stuff fascinating.

Dinner that night was a baked ham with all the fixings. Suzie moved across the table to sit next to Hamilton, which he did not take gracefully, but it only took one word of warning from Dad to calm him down. Marilyn missed the byplay, and she and I sat opposite them. Most of the questions were about Marilyn and her family. Every once in a while one of the answers would have my parents glancing in my direction. Marilyn Lefleur was totally out of their comprehension. We had absolutely nothing in common.

“Well, we do have a few differences, I suppose. I mean, it’s pretty obvious she’s a Yankee, but if that was a problem we’d have to get rid of Suzie, too,” I said.

Suzie grinned. “Yeah, you’re a Yankee, too! Where were you born?”

“Plattsburgh. Why?”

“Where’s that?” my sister asked.

“It’s way up by the Canadian border on Lake Champlain.”

“Cool! I was born in Gettysburg, so I’m a Yankee, too!” That was true. Dad had briefly had a job in Gettysburg before he got on with Harry T. Campbell’s. I had actually gone to first grade there.

“That’s right, I almost forgot that,” I said. “And I don’t think Marilyn told you she was Catholic, but I suppose the nine brothers and sisters gave you a hint.”

Dad chuckled at that; religion never bothered him. It did bother my mother, who was quite a bigoted anti-Catholic. She was very pleased when I didn’t have to convert, and once gave Marilyn a lovely Celtic cross (the type with two cross pieces) that she got as a gift, with the explanation that she couldn’t wear it, since it was a Catholic cross. Suzie, however, thought this was all quite hilarious. Her best friend in life was Louise Sellisman, the next door neighbor, who was also Catholic. They were BFFs before the phrase was even invented. They were each others’ maids of honor and a godmother to a kid. Mom’s lips pursed when I said Marilyn was Catholic, but she didn’t say anything.

“Still, it could have been worse. At least she’s a Republican,” I finished.

“Carling! I am not! I’m a Democrat and you know it!” protested Marilyn.

At that comment Mom’s eyes lit up with a look of laughter, and Suzie and even Hamilton broke into laughter. It was my father’s turn to see red! More than a few times in life we heard him railing on about “Those people!” and what they were doing to the country. I even heard some of his coworkers kidding him about it once.

I just kept as straight a face as I could. Marilyn turned her head to face me. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I will get you back for this!”

“I’m just welcoming you to the bosom of my family,” I answered, right before breaking down into helpless laughter. The rest of dinner was spent explaining how we were different.

At the end of dinner, Mom offered up some cherry pie for dessert. “How about giving Marilyn and me a chance to work off dinner first?” I said. “Care to take a walk?”

“Sure.”

We put some shoes on, and I called for Daisy to join us. I figured a nice walk around the block would give us a chance to digest our meal, and I could show her the nice summer in Maryland.

We held hands as we walked. Marilyn said, “Your family is very nice.”

“They’re okay.” I shrugged my shoulders good-naturedly. “It’s not like you get to choose.”

“Does your mother like me? I can’t really tell.”

That got a laugh out of me. “No, but don’t worry about it. No girl alive would be satisfactory for my mother. She doesn’t get a vote.”

Marilyn gave me a worried look. “She doesn’t like me?”

“Of course she likes you. You’re a wonderful person. Don’t worry about it. The Queen of Sheba wouldn’t be good enough for me. Ignore her, like Suzie and I do. I can’t wait until Suzie starts dating and my parents have to worry about that! They’ll have some real fun there!” I responded.

Marilyn giggled. “I think you’re right. She’s so sweet. Pretty, too. I think your father is really going to have problems when she starts dating.”

“Like you won’t believe!” Thank God I was away from home by then, because Dad really didn’t handle his baby dating all that well. “She’ll be alright. She’s the normal one of the family. She’s got him wrapped around her little finger. When we were growing up, if Hamilton and I even looked funny at each other, Dad would start swinging. Suzie, on the other hand, could bring home a severed head in one hand and a bloody axe in the other, and he’d say ‘Isn’t that special! Let’s put that up on the refrigerator!’ It’s disgusting how she can manipulate him!” I laughed as I said this, but God knows it was true.

Marilyn laughed, too. “What about Hamilton? He seems a little, I don’t know, odd. He doesn’t say anything to me, and seems sort of cold.”

I sighed at that. We were about as far around the block as we could go before heading back, at a small bridge over a creek that eventually fed into Loch Raven. I stopped and leaned back against the railing on the bridge. “Hamilton has some problems, but they aren’t about you, not really. They’re about me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know as I really do, either. I can’t explain why, but Hamilton hates me with every fiber of his being. It’s not that he doesn’t like you; it’s that you like me and therefore must be hated in return. I know this is going to sound strange, but don’t take it personally. If you were Jesus Christ back from the dead and decided to be my friend, he’d still hate you.”

Marilyn looked really shocked at that. “That’s crazy!”

“And that’s my point. I don’t know all that much about this sort of thing, but he might actually be crazy. Just stay away from him. He’s nuts, but he’s also scared of me. You’ll be fine.” Somehow I didn’t think my words of encouragement were all that encouraging.

“Can’t your parents do something about him? I mean, can’t they take him to a doctor or something?”

“The only time he becomes a problem is when I’m around. He’s the reason I never go home. This is the first time I’ve been home since last August, right before I went to college. It might easily be another year or two before I make another visit.” I stood upright from where I had leaned against the bridge. I whistled and Daisy came up from the creek where she had been romping. I wrapped my arms around Marilyn. “Forget about my brother. Let’s go get some dessert!”

At the mention of dessert, Daisy barked happily and trotted on out. “Daisy likes that idea,” said Marilyn with a smile.

“She’s sort of a canine garbage disposal. She also does the pre-clean on the dishes before they go in the dishwasher.” Daisy scampered ahead about twenty feet and then circled back towards us before scampering off again, a routine she kept up as we moved along. “Yes, Daisy, we’re coming,” I assured her. Marilyn giggled and slipped my hand. She ran forward with the dog and then circled back a few times. Eventually she got within arm’s reach of me and I grabbed her. Despite her protests, I picked her up and threw her over my shoulder.

“Put me down!” she yelled, even as she laughed at me.

I carried her along until we got to a small bridge over the creek that was near the house. “You sure you want me to put you down here? That’s a long drop!” I turned around so that she could see the water.

“You beast!”

“Yes, that’s me!” Daisy found this all quite amusing and barked at both of us. I set Marilyn down and she tried to punch me in the arm, but I gave her a menacing look and she took off running. I chased her the rest of the way home, and cornered her in the back yard behind the shed. We made out for several minutes and came up for air breathing hard.

I looked around and found Suzie watching us intently. She had let Daisy inside and decided to spy on us. She blushed and took off inside. Marilyn and I just grinned at each other. “I think I’ll let you talk to her about this,” I commented.

“Not in a million years!” she replied.

Marilyn slept in Suzie’s old room that night and I bunked in the family room. I made sure that I locked Hamilton in his room. Monday we dressed casually and I drove Marilyn in the Galaxie down the Jones Falls into Baltimore, and we did some sightseeing. We spent part of the day wandering around the Inner Harbor. I showed her the Constellation and the Torsk, we had lunch over at Lexington Market, and I drove her up around Federal Hill, “Where you Yankees put your guns to keep the city from going over to the South during the War.”

“The Civil War?” she asked.

“No, the War of Northern Aggression!” I replied.

“That was just to keep you rebels in your proper place!”

I laughed at that. “Yeah, why don’t you try running that one past my father, see what he says about it.”

“You southerners really are crazy!”

I just kept laughing. “I was fourteen before I learned that damn and Yankee were two separate words!”

Marilyn stuck her tongue out at me.

Dinner was fine, though not anything elaborate. Monday nights are usually leftovers night, so we cleaned out the fridge and warmed up a lot of stuff. Hamilton was starting to get over his fear induced quiet; as the swelling on his lip subsided, so did his fear. Dad had to tell him to behave twice, once when he cussed at me, and once when he was rude to Marilyn. The last remark almost got him a mouthful of loose teeth, but Marilyn was in the way and I just let it go. My parents apologized for him after they sent him to his room, but Mom made it come out as if it was really my fault anyway. Marilyn eyed me curiously. After dinner we left to go to the movies. I wasn’t in a good mood. I wasn’t sure if introducing Marilyn to my family was a good move. Maybe I should have lied all along and told her I was an orphan.

Tuesday started off better. Hamilton had a list of errands to run from Mom, so he got on his bike and went shopping. Both Mom and Dad went off to work like normal, but they announced they would be back by lunchtime. That gave Marilyn and I some quiet time, and we fooled around down in the family room. We still hadn’t gone all the way, but Marilyn certainly seemed to enjoy the liberties I was taking with her. She no longer complained when my hands roamed around her body and she had a very pleasant moan when I felt up her breasts through her shirt. She hadn’t kept her cherry until marriage the first time around, and I didn’t think she would this time either!

We heard Hamilton coming through the back door and straightened up some, at least to the extent of stopping our makeout session. I was sitting in an armchair and Marilyn was sitting in my lap, with our arms around each other. Hamilton gave us a disgusted look but kept his mouth shut and put away the groceries.

Marilyn grabbed the remote and flicked the channels until the noon news came on WBAL. She stayed seated on my lap with my arms around her, and set the remote back down. As soon as Hamilton came in, he picked up the remote and began flipping channels. “Hamilton, we were watching that!” I protested.

He looked over at us and sneered. “If you don’t like it, leave. You don’t live here, so you don’t get to watch TV.”

Marilyn gasped, but I just shook my head. “This whole week was a mistake.” I said quietly. To my brother, I said, “You’re right. Let’s go.” I pushed Marilyn upright and stood up. “Go upstairs and pack your bag,” I said quietly.

“What? We’re leaving?”

“It’s either we leave or I break his neck. Please, just go and pack.” Marilyn went upstairs and I grabbed some laundry I had washed and followed her. I had parked my B4 bag in the corner of Suzie’s old room. We packed our bags silently. Finally I just sat down on the bed and said, “I’m really sorry about this, but I can’t stay here any longer. If you want to go home now, I’ll understand, but I’d much rather we went to the beach like we planned.”

She sat down next to me and kissed me on the cheek. “It’s not your fault your brother’s a jerk. Let’s go to the beach. All summer long you kept writing and telling me you wanted to see me in my swimsuit. Here’s your chance!”

That set my heart to racing. “I think I like that idea. Of course, if you want to stay in the room without the swimsuit, that works, too.”

“Two rooms, remember? You did get two rooms, right?”

I held my hand up in the Scout Sign. “Trust me, I’m a Boy Scout!”

“I find that impossibly hard to believe,” she answered with a smile.

“Trust me, if we ever get stuck in the woods overnight, you’ll enjoy it!”

That got me some laughter. I grabbed our bags and headed down the stairs, just in time to see Mom and Dad come in for lunch. “Where are you two going?” asked Mom.

“I think we’ve worn out our welcome here. I’ve got a suite at the Hilton lined up and we are gone.” I took the bags outside and tossed them in the back of my car. I just wanted to get out of there.

Unfortunately, Marilyn was stuck inside trying to explain things to my folks. I got back inside just in time to hear my father, red-faced, bellow out, “Hamilton! Get up here!”

“Oh, shit!” I muttered to myself. This just kept getting better and better. Dad must have heard me because he glanced at me with a hard expression but otherwise let it alone. Hamilton slunk up the stairs with a look that managed to convey both disdain and fear.

He was deathly calm when he asked Hamilton, “Did you really tell your brother and his guest they weren’t allowed to watch television in this house?” Mom was standing off to the side next to Marilyn, and I could see she had a nervous look to her face. Hamilton had really stepped in it this time.

Trust my brother to do the exact worst thing humanly possible. Rather than either tell the truth or apologize, he fell back on his old standard of ‘lie and deny.’ “She’s just another one of his lying sluts!”

I could feel the world changing as he said those words. In an instant life was different. Both Mom and Marilyn gasped in disbelief. Dad cursed under his breath. I took two quick steps forward and hit Hamilton in the face as hard as I could with a right overhand punch. Dad grabbed me before I could follow through, but the one punch was sufficient. Hamilton was lifted off his feet and crashed backwards through the louvered doors to the kitchen. As Mom screamed, Hamilton groaned and twitched on the floor. I could see him trying to sit upright but not being overly successful at it. I didn’t care. The final ending was when the shattered door fell off its last hinge and crashed to the floor. The other was under my brother.

Dad kept his body between me and my brother, and pushed me towards the door. I looked him in the eye and nodded, and went outside. Marilyn was already there, looking at everything in sheer horror. “You should go now,” he said.

“I should have done that years ago,” I answered.

“Please, just go. I’ll get this under control.” He looked over at Marilyn. “Marilyn, I am so sorry you had to see this. Please, forgive my family.”

Marilyn simply nodded. I took her hand and led her to our cars. I leaned against her car and looked at her sadly. “Welcome to the Buckman family.”

“Holy shit!” For Marilyn, this was an amazing curse.

“Yeah. You have no idea how sorry I am about this. What now? Still want to hit the beach?” I gave her a weak smile at this. I really just wanted to crawl into a bottle, but I suppressed the urge.

She gave me an equally weak nod. I pulled my keys from my pocket. “Well, we can’t leave either car here, but I know where we can leave one of them.”

“We’re leaving a car?”

“No reason for both of us to drive. Why don’t we leave my car and we can tool around in yours?”

Marilyn finally grinned. “You just want to drive my car!”

“Hmmm, we can either drive around in my six year old rust bucket or your mint condition sports car. How do I ever solve that dilemma?” I stood upright and pushed her towards her driver’s seat. “Listen, you follow me. I’ll make sure you don’t get lost, but we’re going into Towson and you have no idea where I’m heading. Just stay on my ass the entire way.”

I kissed her quick and we split apart. Most of the drive I was shaking my right hand. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, I was feeling it where I had punched the bastard. Nothing was broken, but something was definitely strained or sprained. Oh well, no good deed goes unpunished.

I drove down Dulaney Valley Road into Towson, keeping Marilyn in sight in my rear view mirror. We kept going after it connected into York Road, and even further south, past Hutzlers and then turned left into a somewhat seedier section of town south of Joppa. I pulled up in front of what looked like a combination warehouse and opium den. There were half a dozen motorcycles parked in front, and a couple of bikers were standing around the front door eyeing Marilyn and me hard. I got out of my car and called out, “Tusker inside?”

“Who wants to know?” asked one of them nastily.

“Somebody that Tusker wants to know is here. Is he in or not?”

For an answer he just pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the door. I went over to Marilyn’s car and opened the door. “Come on, honey, let’s go in. I want you to meet an old friend of mine.”

“Here?” She looked like she thought the bikers were about to carry her away to become a biker bitch.

I laughed at that. “Yeah, here. Come on, you’ll like him.”

I led Marilyn inside past the two bikers at the door, both of whom eyed us as fresh meat. Inside the place was a bar, and even in the middle of the day on a Tuesday had a fair number of people sitting at the bar or around tables. I walked up to the bar, with Marilyn hanging right on my tail. Tusker was down at the opposite end, talking to somebody so that his face was away from me. “HEY, I’VE HEARD THAT BIKER BARTENDERS ARE QUEER! IS THAT TRUE?” I yelled out, loudly.

Tusker’s head whipped around, and his face was contorted with anger as he looked for the offending voice. Meanwhile the entire bar went very silent, and even the two guys from outside stepped inside. Marilyn was staring at me in horror. That all changed when Tusker saw me standing at the other end of the bar. His head went back and he roared in laughter. “You sonofabitch! I can’t believe you said that!” He came down and leaned across the bar and we pounded each other on the back. “Damn it’s good to see you, Buckman!”

“Same to you, Tusker, same to you!” I tugged Marilyn up to the bar. “Marilyn, I want you to meet one of my closest friends, Tusker. Tusker, this is Marilyn.”

Tusker’s a big guy and he thrust out a meaty paw to Marilyn, whose small hand was swallowed up by it. “Nice to meet you! You know this joker? One of these days he’s going to get his ass busted good saying something like that.” He looked at me. “Just be glad the other bartender wasn’t around here.”

“I saw you down there before I said it,” I replied, grinning. “You’d have thought this place was getting ready for the shootout at the OK Corral!”

“Damn straight! Can I get you guys a beer?”

“Absolutely!” I crawled onto a bar stool and Marilyn sat down next to me. “You’re looking good,” I told him. Tusker had long red hair going several inches below his shoulders and a Fu Manchu mustache to match. He was also a big guy, at least my size, with much bigger arms from lifting weights. He was wearing jeans, and a black Harley t-shirt, and I knew he had on boots.

“So do you!” He poured a couple of drafts and set them down. “You been working out?”

“I’m keeping up. I’m taking tae kwan do now.”

He turned to face Marilyn. “So how’d you meet this guy? You in college, too?”

Marilyn nodded. “We met at a party. How do you know Carl?”

“Why? Because I don’t seem like his type?” he asked with a grin. I laughed at this, loudly. “You’ll have to ask him, but I was his supplier all through high school.”

Marilyn looked horrified. “His supplier?!”

I laughed some more. “Oh, now you’ve done it. She thinks you were selling me drugs.”

“I was, sort of.”

I snorted at that. “Yeah, alcohol!” To Marilyn I said, “It’s not what you think. He bought all my booze back then.”

“Your booze!?”

Tusker laughed. “Yeah, Carl had his own apartment here in town for a couple of years. I was a year older than him, and looked about ten years older, so he’d give me the cash and a shopping list, and I’d go buy his beer and liquor and wine and stuff.”

“And I said, thank you very much, and made sure he got some beer and a few bucks for his trouble. We were also in English class together,” I added.

Just then I heard a girl’s squeal and as I turned around to face it, a little whirlwind of a girl came running in. “Carl! I can’t believe it!” She came running up and leaped into my arms and wrapped her arms around my neck. I ended up with a big kiss on my cheek, and I noticed Marilyn was watching this all quite curiously. “I can’t believe you’re here! Tusker never said you were coming by!”

I set the girl back down on the floor, totally mystified by this. She was very pretty, wearing skin tight jeans cut very low, high heeled slut pumps, and a fringed leather bra for a top. Her hair was long and straight and blond, and she had rose colored heart shaped glasses. I had to look closely at her, as she stood there smiling at me. “He doesn’t know who I am.” she announced with a laugh.

Slowly it came to me. My jaw dropped and I stared at her. “Tessa? Tessa Harper? Is that you?” I stared her up and down. No way was this hot biker chick the little Bible thumping girl I used to know. “No way! Tessa?”

Tessa giggled and twirled around, causing the fringe on her bra to fly up. “You got it!”

“No way!” I smiled at Marilyn. “Back in high school she was Little Miss Sunshine, with one hand holding a Bible and the other holding her textbooks.” I grinned at Tessa. “What happened to you?”

She grinned back. “I met a guy.” She glanced over at Tusker and gave him a shy smile.

I looked back and forth at the two of them. “Oh, no, I don’t believe a word of it. No fucking way!”

“Believe it,” said Tusker. He leaned over the bar and Tessa stood on her toes to kiss him. It was like watching Beauty and the Beast!

“This is so bizarre! Do you remember when your mother wanted me to take you out, and I joked that I wasn’t looking for a good girl. If I had only known!”

Even Marilyn laughed at that, and I introduced the two of them. When Tessa asked how we met, I laughed and said that I had fought a duel over her. Tessa just smiled. “You have a tendency to do that sort of thing.”

“What do you mean?” asked Marilyn.

“I mean that your boyfriend once took out three lacrosse players who decided I was their next meal. He left them in pieces on the floor!”

Tusker nodded. “Yeah, you know, man, I really respected you when you took those guys out. They were just totally out of line. I mean, like, we weren’t even seeing each other then, but we all knew Tessa was in trouble with them. She shouldn’t have had to put up with them, not like that.”

I just waved it off, but Tessa commented, “Carl, I love you dearly. You are the sweetest guy in the world, but you can be as mean as a snake. I mean that in a good way, of course.”

That caused me to snort with laughter. Marilyn said, “I’ve actually seen that. Before we left his house, he knocked his brother out cold!”

It surprised me, but both Tusker and Tessa nodded. “You finally had enough of the little shit?” asked Tusker.

Tessa said, “He was awful, always running you down to whoever would talk to him.”

“That was a long time ago, and I don’t care anymore.”

Tessa went into the back and made us some sandwiches, and Tusker poured us another couple of beers. We ate our lunches at the bar and talked about what we were up to. Tessa was going to UMBC and working at the bar nights, Tusker worked at the bar and fixed motorcycles on the side, and they were living together in an apartment in town. They had the idea of saving up enough money to get married and open a place of their own. I told them I thought that was a great idea, and that they should start working up a business plan. I also told Tusker he should take a few business courses of his own, maybe even get a two year degree in something. It would mean a lot to the bankers he would eventually need to talk to. He didn’t say he would, but he didn’t blow me off, either.

After lunch was done, Tusker offered us another round, but I declined. “Listen, what I really need is a place to leave the Galaxie for a week or two. We’re going to Ocean City in her car, and I can’t leave it at the old homestead. Hamilton will set it on fire or something.”

“He’s a little shit. Yeah, just pull it around back and leave the keys with me. There’s a couple of spots in the back corner,” he replied.

Marilyn and I went outside and I tossed our luggage in the back of her car, and then I drove around the back and parked the Galaxie. I locked it up and went in through the kitchen entrance, and tossed the keys to Tusker. He hung them on a hook behind the bar. I hugged the pair of them, and then we were off.

Chapter 33: What I Did On My Summer Vacation

Marilyn handed me her keys, and I started her car up. There was a throaty rumble from under the hood. I looked at her and grinned. “Oh, shit! Your old man got this thing with the big V-8, didn’t he?”

She shrugged. “I have no idea. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

I laughed at that. The standard engine in this car was either the Chrysler 225 Slant-6 or a 318 V-8, but they also offered some larger V-8s. Her father must have gotten his daughter one of the big ones, which would have been just like him. Of course, Marilyn didn’t grasp just how great this car was; she thought it was ‘cute’.

“Don’t sweat it.”

On the way out of town, I diverted past Towson High and Towson State, to show her where I had gone to school. Then I drove past my old apartment, and pointed that out to her. That was a bit more sobering. “I find that so hard to believe. You’re telling me that when you were still in high school you moved out of your house into an apartment, and your parents went along with it?”

I pulled onto the Beltway and headed west. “My father helped me pick it out and helped me move my stuff in. I had to pay for it, of course, but he let me go.”

“You paid for it? How?”

Time to shade the truth a touch. “I had some money saved up, so I used that.”

“You had enough money to live two years on your own? What about now?” she pressed.

“Why do you think I’m in ROTC?” I said with a laugh. Another shading, but harmless.

“And your parents went along with this? Why?”

I looked over at her, and then back out the windshield. I was silent for a second. “Because I told my father that if he didn’t go along with it I would leave, and he’d never see me in this life again.”

Marilyn was quiet for a moment. “It was because of your brother, wasn’t it?”

I nodded. “It was one of his more monumental fuckups. The cops got involved in that one. I had enough, and told Dad I was getting out, either with his help or not. He decided not to call my bluff.”

“So you were actually just bluffing, then?”

I looked at her again. “No, I wasn’t.” I waited a second and then looked over at her. “My old man knew it, too. I told him flat out that unless he threw me in jail I was history. I was gone the next week.”

“Wow!” Marilyn thought about it for a minute, and asked, “So what did Hamilton do that got the cops involved?”

So I told her. Everything. Well, everything about my brother and my family. That was depressing enough.

It was a longer drive in those days. You took the Beltway around the city to Glen Burnie, and then drove down 301 to Annapolis, where you would cross the Bay Bridge and take 50 into Ocean City. It was a four hour drive. Eventually the ride to Annapolis would become an interstate, and Route 50 would be upgraded to an interstate in everything but name, and you could shave an hour off the trip. It wasn’t as bad as it had been, though. The second Bay Bridge had just been finished last year, opening a major chokepoint up. I can remember times when you simply parked the car on the approaches and thousands of people would get out of their cars and play Frisbee in the median strip, while the entire single bridge was used one way. Then the traffic would be reversed and the people on the other side of the bridge would catch some sun.

It was a long and sobering conversation. No, I didn’t tell her about any of the girls I had dated or Jeana, and I left out Hamilton’s stunt with the rubbers. I did tell her how he used to break into my locker. She was astonished that I needed to keep my stuff locked away in my own home. The very concept was alien to her. She did ask me about the various fights I had been in, including the one where I got Tessa away from the lacrosse players.

“And now you know my entire sorry history,” I told her as we pulled into Ocean City. “Damn pathetic, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You could do a lot better than my sorry ass.” I looked over at her and shrugged. I never understood why Marilyn ever fell for me. God knows I wasn’t much of a catch the first time around. She once said she fell in love with me at that first party at Kegs, but I never understood that. I always figured I was batting way above my average when I met her.

She began crying. “That’s not true. You’re good and kind and brave and wonderful. Don’t ever say those sorts of things, not ever.”

I took her hand and kissed it. I felt like crying myself, but then I wouldn’t be able to drive.

I kept driving until I saw the sign for the Hilton. It was on North Baltimore Street, just north of the Boardwalk. I pulled in and parked under the overhang. We went inside to register. It was a Tuesday evening, so there wasn’t a line (Friday afternoon would be a different matter!)

“Can we help you, sir?” asked a pretty young lady in a skirt and suit jacket.

“My name is Buckman. I have a large suite reserved,” I replied.

This was all in the days before you could just punch a few buttons and it would pop up on a computer screen. In those days the clerks would sort through paper records, and it took a bit longer. Eventually she found the paperwork and pulled it out. “Yes, sir, you have a two bedroom suite reserved until Saturday, August 24. Is that correct?”

“Quite.” I handed over my American Express card. I still had about $4,000 in cash from the Vegas road trip, and I had pulled another grand from the bank. There was always the possibility that they might make a stink about an 18 year old with a credit card, so I made sure I could pay cash. Some places did, but I guess the Hilton was used to trust fund kids with daddy’s credit card.

“Two bedrooms, right?” asked Marilyn.

I grinned at her. “I didn’t forget.”

She gave me a relieved expression and I rolled my eyes theatrically. Then it was simply a matter of signing some papers and getting the keys (actual keys, not electronic key cards). After that a bellhop was summoned and we went out to the car. I couldn’t believe how much stuff Marilyn could bring! We loaded it on the bellhop’s cart, and I handed the keys to the valet and slipped him a few bucks. We followed the bellhop to the elevators and rode with him up to somewhere near the top of the place. He let us in and after he took our bags off the cart, I slipped him a fiver.

“Carl! This is beautiful! How much does this cost?!” asked a wide-eyed Marilyn.

“For you, nothing!”

“Carl, I’m serious!”

“Well, I’ll take it out in trade,” I replied, waggling my eyebrows lewdly.

“Carl!”

“Don’t worry. It’s already covered.”

“How?”

“Okay, I’ll tell you, but you can’t tell your folks. Tell them I saved the money up, okay?”

Marilyn gave me a skeptical look. I knew she didn’t tell her folks everything, but she didn’t like it all that much either. “Don’t tell them what?”

“Well, you know we went on that cross country road trip — I’ll show you the photos later, by the way…”

“Keep going,” she prodded.

I nodded. “Okay, so on the way back we went through Vegas. I got lucky.”

She gave me a shocked look and her jaw dropped. “You gambled!”

I just grinned. “I won! Someday I’ll tell you all about it, but trust me, it was legal.”

Marilyn simply rolled her eyes and shook her head in disbelief. “Unbelievable!”

I tossed my two bags in one of the bedrooms and lugged her twenty or thirty into her room. “Do yourself a favor. Unpack your bags and hang everything up in the closet or in the drawers. Don’t try to live out of your suitcases. Everything gets messed up and rumpled.” I gave her a quick kiss and applied my wisdom to myself in my own room. Five minutes later I stuck my head in her door. “I’m going to take a few minutes and grab a quick shower. You do the same, and dress pretty, and we’ll go down to dinner. Okay?”

“Good. I’m getting hungry,” she replied with a smile.

Fifteen minutes later I felt fresh and clean, and was putting on some clean khakis and a dress shirt. I slipped barefoot into my deck shoes and went back out into the common room between the two bedrooms. I heard Marilyn puttering around in her room, but she didn’t come out for another fifteen minutes. It was worth the wait. She had on a simple little pink and white sundress, with a tube top and tied spaghetti straps, and short enough that it was several inches above her knees, and a pair of medium heeled sandals. She didn’t even have a strapless bra on underneath it, and she jiggled wonderfully. I groaned happily when I saw her, and cornered her against the wall. “I think I want to start taking that trade right now!”

“Forget about it!” she said with a giggle. She had on some lip gloss and a light flowery scent that went straight from my nose to my dick.

“Not when you look as good as you look!” I leaned forward and took her in my arms, and kissed her, with a lot of tongue and my hands roaming all over. It was a very thin dress, and she had on a pair of bikini panties and nothing else, and if she couldn’t feel my erection poking against her she must have been dead! As it was, her nipples were pushing out against that tube top, so the feeling must have been mutual.

After a few minutes of this, she groaned and pushed me away. “Dinner!” She had a very wild-eyed and distracted look, and was breathing heavily, which did amazing things to that top, and she moved a little unsteadily.

I caught my own breath. I took her hand and grabbed the key. “Dinner.”

We held hands on the walk down the hallway and in the elevator. I kept glancing at Marilyn, and she caught me at it. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“What are you looking at?”

“You. You’re beautiful.”

She colored at that, and turned her head away, but I could see her reflection in the polished surface of the elevator door, and she was smiling.

As we were walking across the lobby towards one of the restaurants, I saw a man behind the registration counter start waving an arm and calling out, “Mister Buckman! Mister Buckman!”

I walked over to the counter. “Can I help you?”

“Mister Buckman, there have been a number of messages for you.” I glanced at Marilyn curiously, and she gave me a mystified look back. The phone in our room hadn’t rung. The clerk at the counter continued. “I think the problem was that these all came in before you registered. We took the messages down, but I stepped away from the desk when you came in, and, well, I do apologize.” He handed me a small sheaf of pink notes. I glanced through them.

“It’s all right. Nothing critical. Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome, sir. Enjoy your evening.”

I took Marilyn by the arm and led her towards the restaurant. We were seated quickly. Once we were seated, Marilyn asked, “So, what were the messages?”

I simply handed them to her. They were in time order. The first four were from my mother, starting at a time well before I could have ever possibly have arrived, all demanding insistently that I call her immediately. The fifth and final note was from my father, telling me to ignore my mother’s notes, not to call the house, and call him at his office tomorrow, along with his direct line phone number. I stuffed them in my pocket when she handed them back.

“What does it mean?” she asked.

I sighed. “It means my mother has gone off the deep end, but my father has managed to calm her down. It means I’m never going home again.” I shrugged with a fatalistic look. There are some things you can’t fix. My brother was one, and my relationship with my mother was another.

“How bad is it?”

I gave her another shrug. “Well, I suspect that is what Dad will tell me tomorrow. I can make a guess or two. For one thing, Hamilton is still alive and kicking, although just how good that is is a debatable question.” Marilyn gave me a dirty look at that. “When last he was seen on the floor of the kitchen, with the broken doors draped over him, my brother was moving and moaning, so he wasn’t dead. Likewise, since the state troopers haven’t broken down the door to our suite and hauled us in, nobody has called this in to the cops. They’ve had more than enough time to have gotten some troopers on my ass by now.”

A waiter came by and took our drink orders. I went with a gin and tonic and Marilyn went with a whiskey sour. The main formal restaurant of the Hilton didn’t have silly drinks with umbrellas; they were probably reserved for the other restaurants. I waited until he had left us with our menus before continuing. “Seriously, though, before you ever showed up, I had a talk with Dad and warned him that if Hamilton got out of line, I’d never be coming back. I’ve been independent of them for almost three years now, and I’m legally an adult. There is very little they can do to me to make me do things their way, and Dad at least knows it.”

“I just don’t understand them. Do they think it’s your fault that your brother is a jerk?” she asked.

I had to think about that for a bit. “Actually, I think that is part of it, at least for my mother. We are not a Norman Rockwell type of family.”

“Oh?”

“Well, my parents are really good people, but they are really lousy parents. They play favorites, for one thing. My Dad’s favorite is Suzie. She’s actually the normal one around our house.”

“She’s such a sweetheart!” said Marilyn, smiling.

I grinned at her. “Yes, she really is. She would love to get to know you better, too. She needs an older sister type to help her along. She is getting to that age where she is asking questions a brother shouldn’t be answering.” Marilyn giggled at that. “Hamilton is my mother’s favorite, probably because he does what she tells him to do.”

“You’ve lost me there.”

I made a wry face as I tried to formulate an answer. “Think about your own family for a moment. Now, you’ve told me your oldest brother Matthew is just out of high school and he works for your father’s company, right?”

“Yes, he’s a truck driver.”

“And that’s the job your parents want him to do?”

It was Marilyn’s turn to shrug. “I guess so. He likes it, I know that.”

“What if he wanted to go to college or get a job somewhere else? Would they like that?” I asked.

“Uh, I guess so. I mean, they like that he works for them, like the other boys do, but if he wanted to go to college, they wouldn’t stop him. Why?”

“From the time I was born, my parents have had my future mapped out in perfect detail. Where I would go to school. What I would study. Where I would go to college. The girls I would date. The jobs I would have. Where I would live. I figured this all out back when I was about twelve or so and told them I wasn’t going to live their dream. Usually that resulted in a spanking, but by the time I hit thirteen I told them it had to stop. My father understood and agreed with me, but my mother fought it tooth and nail.”

“How so?” Marilyn asked. She had a curious look on her face.

“Okay, let me give you an example. Back when I was fourteen it was already obvious that I was really good in math. I was still in junior high, but I was already taking math classes over at the high school, and talking about starting college early…”

“Hey, I have to ask, are you really a genius? I heard a couple of the guys at Kegs saying that.”

I looked Marilyn in the eye. “Yes, I am, but don’t be all that impressed. Hamilton is even smarter than me, and he’s a total dork.” Marilyn laughed at that, and I continued my story. “So, anyway, it’s time for the school science fair, and I’m doing this project with a Towson State chemistry professor as my advisor…”

Marilyn interrupted again. “Wait a minute — you had a college professor as your adviser on a junior high project?”

“Yep. So one day my mother has to take me over there and she meets him, and he says I’d be a great chemist. Well, that night at dinner, Mom announces that I’m going to become a chemist, not a mathematician. I told her no, I wasn’t, I was going to school for math. Well, you’d have thought I was denying the existence of Christ the way she carried on! You see, it wasn’t in her plan for me to be a mathematician, but a scientist or engineer was quite acceptable. She demanded that Dad punish me for my behavior, and then went crying up to her room when he told her it was my life.”

Marilyn shook her head in disbelief. After a bit she asked, “So how’d the science fair go?”

I just grinned. “How do you think it went?”

“You won.”

“And I got two papers out of it!” That required another explanation, which took us through ordering our dinners and a second round of drinks. Marilyn is easy to talk to. No, she’s not my intellectual equal, but we weren’t discussing non-Euclidean geometry. That’s not to say she’s stupid, because she isn’t; she has an above average intelligence. However she’s more of an Everyman, with average interests and an average outlook on life and the world. She’s generally a cheery person, certainly more so than my inherent nature. She’s a glass-half-full person, and I’m a glass-half-empty type. If you want to know what the average American is thinking, for right or for wrong, go ask Marilyn.

We spent the rest of our dinner discussing my crazy family. By Marilyn’s lights, my various accomplishments were something to be proud of in a child, but because they defied my mother’s preconceived plans, they were meaningless. I explained how Hamilton went along with her plans, and therefore was a better child.

“The guy I’m really sorry for in all this is my father. He’s got a real shit sandwich here. He’s got one son who has been driven out of the family, a second son who is quite probably insane, and a wife who he dearly loves and who blames one son for the other one. The only normal one of them all is my sister. I just hope she gets out of there before Mom drives her bonkers, too!”

“I just don’t know what to say,” she said.

“What can you say? I’ll call Dad at the office tomorrow. Tonight I think I need a few more drinks.” With that I raised my hand and flagged down the waiter, and ordered another round.

That made a third round for us, which is where I normally draw the line. Dawdle over the third drink, finish with some hot tea, and with my size and weight I won’t be even close to the legal limit for driving. Talking about my fucked up family was depressing. After the third drink was finished, I ordered a fourth, although Marilyn skipped on it. After dinner we went back up to our suite.

“I’m going to get ready for bed,” said Marilyn.

I just nodded. “I think I’m going to sit up for a while.”

Marilyn reached up and kissed me, and then went to her room. I went to mine and grabbed the bottle of Canadian Mist I had picked up earlier. I always pack a bottle of whiskey when I go on vacation. It’s easy to make a quick mixed drink with some soft drinks from a vending machine, and it’s much cheaper than whatever is in the mini-bar. Tonight I wasn’t interested in anything mixed. I grabbed a glass off a buffet and cracked open the whiskey and poured myself a couple of fingers. It felt very smooth going down. I poured myself some more and sat down in an armchair in the darkened common room facing the patio door looking out over the ocean. It was very dark, much like my soul felt at that moment.

I went and opened the patio door, and found a couple of padded deck chairs out there, along with a small coffee table. Out there you could hear the crash of the surf and see a few ships’ running lights out at sea, and not much else. It was warm and I unbuttoned my shirt. I sat there in the dark and sipped my whiskey. By one measure I was well on the way to achieving my dreams. By another, my life was in the shitter. What does a man live for? Is it himself only, and nothing else? If not for himself, then for whom? His family? And if he has no family, then for whom? His country? And when I was done with the army, or the army was done with me, what then? What if a man’s family has left him, and not the other way around? I sat there and drank my whiskey.

It was bad enough on the first time through. Then I had simply been a lifelong disappointment, which was bad enough when your parents spend their lives rubbing it in. Now I had been thrown out of the house! What the fuck was wrong with me?

I felt more than heard Marilyn come out. I turned and found her standing there in the doorway. She was wearing a long silk robe, and was barefoot, and she looked impossibly young and innocent. I turned back to the sea and had another sip of Canadian Mist.

“Are you going to be all right?” she asked.

She must have thought me suicidal, sitting there and drinking in the dark. Hell, I felt it, somewhat. I set my glass down. “Sure, don’t I look all right?”

She came closer, to stand next to me, and she put an arm around my shoulders. “It’s going to be all right.”

It was just too much for me. I couldn’t help myself. I just started crying, silently. I could probably count the number of times when I’ve cried since I became a teenager sixty plus years ago on one. Twice, when my parents died. Once more when I understood that Alison was mentally retarded. A third time when Alison died. When Marilyn died, I cried for three days straight. There was the time this time around when Hamilton wrecked Christmas.

“I’m here, I’ll stay with you,” whispered Marilyn.

I turned my head and buried my face in the soft warmth of her robe, and the tears just poured out of me. Marilyn pulled me closer and held me in her arms and continued to whisper to me.

Eventually I got tired of crying, and just turned my head slightly and looked back out at the ocean, as dark as my soul felt. I unwrapped myself from Marilyn and stood, leaning against the railing on the small patio and looking out at things. Marilyn came up behind me and wrapped her arms around me. There was nothing out there for me. I turned to face her and lowered my face to hers. It was so easy to kiss her, and to hold her in my arms. It was even easier to lift her up, and to carry her back inside. We continued kissing as I slowly carried her through the common room and on into my bedroom.

I laid Marilyn down on my bed and sat down next to her. I couldn’t speak, and I couldn’t give her a chance to speak. I lay down next to Marilyn and took her back in my arms. She smelled clean and fresh. It was obvious she had showered after we got to the room and I could feel the robe was all she had on. I ran my hands down her side and Marilyn moaned, and pulled me tighter into her arms. I was running on pure instinct. My kisses became more intense and I continued running my hands along her body, and she continued to respond. And then my right hand was inside her robe, and for the first time in seeming forever I was cupping her breast.

Oh, God, it felt so good there, so warm and full and firm. Marilyn has tiny nipples, so faintly pink as to be almost nonexistent, but they were poking at my fingers. I licked my way down her neck and across her chest until I was sucking her nipple, as my fingers played with the other. Marilyn was very sensitive to this, and she moaned and writhed on the bed. I took this opportunity to loosen her robe and slide a hand lower, down her body and along her hip, and then around to the front. She had a small triangle of fur between her legs, and it was wet with desire. I slipped my middle finger into the tangled mat and ran it along the greasy slit. As soon as it touched the little nubbin at the top, Marilyn arched her back and let out a silent cry as she orgasmed.

I began to slowly lick and nibble my way down her body, reacquainting myself with territory long since forgotten. Marilyn shuddered as she came over and over. When I got down to her pussy, I used the finger of one hand to hold her labia open while I licked feverishly at her clit. My other hand undid my pants and pushed them and my briefs down. As soon as I could get them out of the way, I began eating my way back north, with stops at her belly button, her breasts, her neck and then her lips.

And then I was over her, and between her legs, and inside her. Marilyn flinched as I tore through her maidenhead, but I stopped once I was fully inside and bottomed out. I continued kissing her and she relaxed, and that was when I began to slowly stroke in and out. Marilyn was moaning as the top of my cock rubbed against her clit, and her ass was humping up and down off the bed, thrusting up at me and driving me in deeper. It had been so long since I had done this, and it felt so good and I was getting closer and closer and it was so much better than when we did this the first time.

That thought was like a blast of cold water. Even as my cock began to spasm, I pulled out and began spurting on her belly. The first time we made love, I hadn’t used a rubber and Marilyn hadn’t been on the Pill, and here I was being so incredibly stupid again. Worse, I knew Marilyn had always felt wrong about sleeping with me that first time, and here I was raping her drunkenly. I rolled off to one side and just lay there staring at the ceiling. I couldn’t even get this right!

Marilyn roused herself and rolled over to face me. “Oh my God!” she said. Then she looked at me, and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I never wanted it like this. This wasn’t the way I wanted it to be.” I felt ashamed of myself.

I wanted to turn away, but Marilyn put an arm on my chest, and asked, “What did I do wrong?”

I turned on my side to face her. “It’s not you, it’s me. I wanted this to be special, not this, me drunk and taking advantage of you.”

Marilyn was silent for a moment. “Carl, I think I’ve known since we came here that we were going to end up like this. If I wasn’t thinking about this, I would have never stayed in a suite with you, two bedrooms or not. How did you think this was going to happen?”

I had to smile at that. “I was planning on wining and dining you and seducing you to the point you would be begging me to, well… this.”

“So instead of that, tonight you wined and dined me and seduced me. I guess that was a seduction.” I thought she was starting to laugh at me.

I looked at her and saw a smile starting to form. “Crying is a seduction technique?”

She grinned at me. “A lame one, anyway.” She twisted around a bit more and winced as she moved.

“Are you all right? I mean, does it hurt?”

Marilyn sat upright and moved a bit slowly. “I’m fine. I’m just a bit sore.” She wrapped the silk robe around herself again, but noticed the stickiness on her belly. “Why did you stop?”

“I realized we weren’t using any protection. I didn’t want to take the chance.” I glanced at her and said, “I’ll be back in a moment.” I climbed to my feet and went into the bathroom, grabbing my pants as I went, and ran a washcloth under the hot water. I looked down at myself and saw some blood, and washed that off before pulling my pants back on. Then I rinsed out the washcloth, and brought it and a towel out to the bedroom. Marilyn watched as I sat down next to her and washed off her stomach and the bloody seepage between her legs.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” I told her.

“I’m fine, Carl. I love you. I think I’ve loved you since that first night I met you. I think I’ve known all summer long we would make love when we saw each other again.”

“Well, I don’t think anything else is going to happen again tonight.”

Marilyn moved around gingerly on the bed. There was some blood on the bed cover, so I stood up and pulled that away and tossed it on the floor. I sat back down, with my back against a pile of pillows at the headboard and Marilyn snuggled up against me. “I want you to sleep tonight, and then tomorrow morning you should take a nice long hot bath. You’ll feel better. Maybe tomorrow afternoon I’ll kiss it and make it better.” I was watching her as I said this and Marilyn turned about three shades of red! “I think you like that idea!”

She glanced up at me, saw me grinning, and quickly looked away. Then she looked up at me shyly and said, “I’ve never even heard of that before!”

“Marilyn, there are all sorts of things I can teach you.” I gave her an evil laugh as I said that.

“I think I like that idea,” she shyly said.

“I love you.”

“I know. You’re safe with me Carling. I won’t hurt you.”

I looked out the window into the darkness, and then turned back to her. “You’re my home now. When I came here today, I no longer had a home. Now I have a home again. It’s wherever you are. If you’re here, my home is here. If you’re in Utica, my home is in Utica. You’re my home now.”

Marilyn moved up and kissed me. “I love you Carl.” She snuggled back into my chest and a few minutes later fell asleep in my arms.

Chapter 34: Ocean City

I woke the next morning when the sun came in and hit me in the face, an early hour since the window was facing the beach to the east. I was in the same position as last night, leaning back against some pillows, with Marilyn curled up at my side. Surprisingly, despite a slight crick in my neck, I was feeling pretty good. By that I mean I wasn’t hungover, although I did have to piss something wicked. I managed to extricate myself and went into the bathroom. After using the facilities, I stopped and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked a little worse for the wear, and my eyes were bloodshot, but I actually felt better than I looked.

I went back to bed and found Marilyn stirring awake. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“What time is it?” she asked blearily.

“Sunrise! Can’t you hear the birds chirping cheerfully?”

“That’s too early. What are you doing up?” she asked.

“Nature called, and somebody had to answer. Ready to get up and face the world?”

She looked at me with sleepy eyes. “You are way too cheerful in the morning. If I had known you were this cheerful in the morning, I would have never have slept with you last night!”

I sat down next to her and leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “Speaking of which, how are you feeling?”

“I’m good.” Then she gave me a funny look and pointed at my chest. “Hey, what’s with the necklace? It felt kind of scratchy!”

“Necklace?” It took me a second to realize what she was referring to. “Oh! Those are my dog tags! They’re my military ID. I got them when I started ROTC. Sorry about that. I’m so used to wearing them I forget they’re there.”

“Oh.”

“Is that a problem?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No, just curious.”

I nodded. “Then I’m going out for a bit.” I stood up and went back into the bathroom, where I brushed my teeth and washed my face. After that I slipped back into the bedroom as quietly as I could and changed into some gym shorts and a t-shirt, along with socks and sneakers. I grabbed my keys and clipped them to my dog tags.

“Where are you going?” asked Marilyn, finally sitting up and paying some attention to what was happening.

“I need to run.”

“Why?”

“Because if I don’t burn some calories, last night’s dinner will stay with me for years to come!” I patted my midsection. Last night Marilyn had the surf and turf, while I had some seafood in white sauce on linguine. Maryland has the best seafood on the planet, and I was going to thoroughly enjoy my vacation in more ways than one!

“Ugghhh!”

I bent down and kissed her quickly. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. You sleep some more, and then take that nice hot bath we talked about. Afterwards we’ll get some breakfast, okay?”

“Mmmm…” Marilyn closed her eyes and sank back down into the covers. I grabbed my sunglasses and headed for the door to the suite.

I rode the elevator down to the lobby and headed out onto North Baltimore Street. According to the map, we were a few blocks north of the Boardwalk, which sounded like a good place to run. I stretched briefly, and then headed south, moving at an easy lope. I kept the pace down until I hit the Boardwalk, at which point I picked it up. I had read somewhere that it was about two and a half miles long, so a round trip would be five miles. I should be able to do that in an hour.

It was a nice run. The sky was grayer than I liked, and I could smell a storm brewing, but I had missed the forecast. At this hour it was empty except for a bunch of joggers and bicyclers like me out getting a quiet workout. I nodded to a few of them and simply enjoyed the run. The stores and tourist traps were still shuttered closed, although you could hear people working inside some of them. When I got to the end of the Boardwalk I reversed course and powered it up another notch. By the time I got back I was sweating and breathing hard. I walked from there back to the Hilton. I desperately needed to shower.

It was a good thing nobody was in the elevator as I rode back upstairs, because I think my smell would have had them getting off long before their floor had arrived. I let myself into the room and tossed the room key onto a buffet and walked into the bedroom we had used. The bed was rumpled but empty. A light was on in the bathroom, and I found Marilyn happily immersed in bath bubbles. I guess bubble bath must have been in the courtesy kit in the room, or Marilyn packed her own, which I wouldn’t rule out; she liked bubble baths.

“Well, you look like you’re having fun,” I commented from the open doorway.

Marilyn squealed and ducked even lower under the bubbles, although there were enough I hadn’t seen anything anyway. “You’re not supposed to be in here!” she protested.

“Considering that this is my bedroom and my bathroom, I could say the same to you.” Marilyn stuck her tongue out at me. “You know, maybe I need a bath, too!”

“No, you can’t!” she protested.

I peeled off my shirt and kicked off my shoes. “Why not?” I asked with a smile.

“Because!”

I peeled off my socks and dropped them in the corner with the sweaty shirt. “Because why?”

“Just because!”

“You sound like you’re telling something to a four year old,” I laughed.

She smiled at that. I rescued her modesty by turning on the shower (deluxe suites had deluxe bathrooms, with both showers and tubs.) Then I stripped down and jumped in for a quick shower. She blushed when I stepped out and dried off. “You know, you saw everything last night,” I reminded her. I wrapped the towel around my waist and turned the water on in the sink.

“Not really,” she admitted. “I think my eyes were closed.” She gave me a very sheepish look.

I grabbed my towel and moved so as to whisk it away. “We can fix that!”

“NO!” Marilyn yelled, and then actually ducked down under the water. When she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she surfaced and wiped the suds from her eyes, to find me standing there, my towel still around my waist, and laughing my ass off at her. “Now I have to dry my hair!” she complained.

“That’s not my fault,” I said with a laugh. I turned away and went to the sink to begin shaving, and found a wet wash cloth flying through the air to hit me in the shoulder. I turned to face her and did a bump-and-grind, yanked off my towel and then showed her my butt as I shaved. Marilyn gave a little harrumph of displeasure.

When I was done, I left the bathroom and allowed her to finish up in privacy. I pulled on some clean briefs and a clean pair of chinos, along with a sports shirt. I also took a look at Marilyn’s silk robe. It had a few blood spots and semen marks from last night. I took it into the common room and found a dry cleaning bag and stuffed it inside, and then I called down to room service and asked for a bellman for some dry cleaning. Maybe it could be cleaned. Those types of stains aren’t the type you want to keep around and reminisce about; just ask Bill Clinton!

From behind me, in the direction of the bedroom, I heard Marilyn. “Carl? Have you seen my robe?”

Ooops. No good deed goes unpunished. I went to the bedroom door and said, “I sent it to the cleaners.”

“Well, what am I supposed to wear now!?” she protested.

I laughed and pushed the door open. Marilyn squealed in outrage and tried to wrap her towel around herself. I simply strode up to her and wrapped her in my arms. “Will you stop worrying! You might not remember what I looked like from last night, but you can believe that I remember what you looked like, and I liked every single square inch!” I tugged away her towel and kept hold of her. “I like seeing you like this. I think I’m going to have to see you like this more often.”

Marilyn blushed, and then she giggled. “I guess I am being silly.”

“Yes, but I like that, too. Now, get dressed and we’ll get breakfast.” I tossed her the towel and she went off to her room carrying her towel. I followed, happy to see her from behind.

“I think I can do this myself,” she said with a smile.

“Well, I mean, it just seems logical, if I get to take your clothes off of you, I get some say in what goes on you,” I countered.

“You’re too logical for your own good.”

“Then let me make a suggestion, seriously. Put on a long skirt or sundress, and leave off the unmentionables. It will cut down on the irritation, hmmm?” I figured this was a long shot, but it sounded logical, and would definitely be more interesting.

“OUT!”

I skedaddled out of there. I figured I would be able to experiment later and see if she liked my idea.

Marilyn came out a few minutes later in some flat sandals and a long halter topped sundress. I smiled and looked at her hips to see if I could figure out if she was wearing anything under the dress. She noticed and laughed at me. “I’m not telling you, either.”

I shrugged and smiled. “It’s even more fun to wonder.” I grabbed her hand and the room key and we headed out the door. In the elevator I took a chance and hugged her, and in the process ran my hands along her rear. At first she moaned slightly, but then she jumped back and swatted at me. “That’s cheating!”

“I can’t imagine why you would trust me not to cheat. I wouldn’t trust me not to cheat!”

She glared at me for moment, but I just smiled innocently, and then buffed my fingertips against my shirt theatrically. Marilyn blushed again. Unless she was wearing a thong, and thongs weren’t all that common back in ’74, I was pretty sure of the answer.

Breakfast was a buffet, and Marilyn happily loaded up on some scrambled eggs, toast, and juice, while I limited myself to juice and some fruit salad. “You’re not hungry?” she asked.

“Breakfast isn’t my big meal for the day. I normally just have some fruit and juice, or something light. My big meals will be lunch and dinner. I need to watch my weight.”

“You’re kidding me, right? You’re like pure muscle.”

I laughed at that. “Not hardly. When I was a little kid I was nothing but skin and bones. I have to work at it. Besides, a soldier can’t afford to be fat; I need the muscle.”

“I find that hard to believe, too. I can’t see you as a soldier.”

“Hey, you saw the ‘Wall of Heroes.’ Even if I am drummed out of the family, my mother will put my boot camp photo up there next year,” I told her.

We talked some more about the road trip that summer, although I avoided discussion of my winning at the casino in Las Vegas. We also talked about our schedules for that fall, when school started.

After breakfast it was time to take a walk around town. It was continuing to stay gray outside, but it wasn’t raining, so we walked down to the Boardwalk holding hands. By now businesses were open and people were coming out to the beach, although there weren’t as many as if it had been bright and sunny. There are about a million tourist traps and stores along the Boardwalk, and we went into several. I bought a box of salt water taffy, which Marilyn had never had before. I said we’d have to buy a big box for Tusker and Tessa, and Marilyn asked me why it was called salt water taffy if there was no salt water in it, and I couldn’t answer that one.

I bought a straw fedora for myself and a big floppy straw hat for Marilyn. I also pointed out several different miniscule bikinis and offered to buy them for Marilyn, which earned me a lot of blushes. I decided I would revisit the question later in the week.

We perambulated down the Boardwalk slowly, taking in the sights and letting the breeze blow around us. At one point it picked up enough that she had to grab her dress to keep it from flipping up and answering the question she refused to answer herself. I laughed and pointed to a little girl walking with her mother on the other side of the Boardwalk, towards us. She was giggling and pointing at us, among other things. I leaned over and whispered to Marilyn, “I know what she just told her mother.”

“What?”

“She said that you weren’t wearing any underpants and that her mother needed to call the Panty Police!” Marilyn squawked at that and smacked me in the arm, which got me to laughing so hard my hat blew off and I had to chase it down.

We had lunch a bit before noon at a pizza place. I was starting to get worried about the weather. It was getting darker and the wind was starting to blow stronger. We ate lunch and hurried back north. The rain held off until we were about a block away from the hotel, and then we ran back as fast as we could before we got drenched. I led the way to an ocean view bar and we sat and had a couple of rum punches. I admired the view of Marilyn more than the storm. Her dress got a bit clingy and sheer when wet.

After drinking the rum punches, Marilyn’s dress dried enough that it wasn’t so clingy and sheer, and I decided I rather preferred it the other way around. Or, in other words, I started thinking with my dick. I signed for the drinks and took Marilyn’s hand. “Come on, I need to get something from the room.” Marilyn nodded and stood up, slurping her rum punch down through the straw first.

We walked out to the lobby and got into the first available elevator. Thankfully it was empty. I slipped behind her and wrapped my arms around her, and then lowered my face to her shoulders. One of Marilyn’s major erogenous zones was her shoulders; she just went nuts went I touched her or licked her there. She stiffened and arched her back, and whimpered slightly. “I think I know what you want in the room,” she said lowly.

“Is that a problem?” I asked, licking her neck as I whispered to her.

She whimpered some more, and haltingly answered, “No…”

I kept tormenting her for the rest of the ride to our floor, which was only a few seconds more. I gave her a knowing smile, to which she blushed, but she also smiled. I unlocked the door and led her inside. As I suspected, the room had been made up, and my bed had a new cover on it. I led her to the bed and gently pushed her backwards. “Sit down.” She gave me a shy smile, but she sat promptly and looked at me expectantly.

I gave her a much more wolfish smile and knelt at her feet. “I seem to recall saying something about kissing something and making it feel better. Maybe I should check on that.” I said this as I ran my fingertips lightly over her ankles. She was too excited to answer me, but she nodded vigorously. I tugged her sandals off and tossed them behind me, where they clattered against something, but I didn’t bother looking. I slowly ran my fingers up her ankles to her calves, and under the hem of her long skirt. Then I lifted her left leg up and gently kissed her calf. “Was it here I was supposed to kiss?”

“No,” she answered weakly.

I gave her an innocent look and rested her calf on my right shoulder, and then lifted her right leg up and kissed my way from her right calf up to her right knee. I gave that a little more attention, and then looked up at her. “Here?”

“Unh unh.” Marilyn’s face was starting to get red and her eyes had a slightly glazed look to them.

I shrugged slightly, rested her right leg on my left shoulder, and turned my attention to her left leg again. Now I had to push her hem northwards, very slowly, and I kissed and licked my way about a third of the way up her left thigh. I could definitely smell her musk now, and I could feel the pulse of her racing blood under her supple flesh. “Now?”

She just shook her head.

I switched sides. Her dress was now almost up to her hips, although I still couldn’t see the final objective. I kissed my way up to just a few inches south of the endpoint. “Now?”

“Oh, God, stop teasing me!” she pleaded.

I smiled to myself and kept licking. Another three inches and her dress was up to her hips, her legs were spread wide, and my lips were planted on her naked pussy. Marilyn gave a happy little shriek as I started lapping my tongue up and down her greasy slit, burrowing my way through the triangle of fur. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” she babbled. Juices were pouring from her, and when I started concentrating on her clit, her ass was humping off the bed and her hands were on the back of my head trying to pull me inside her.

I licked her through two very quick orgasms, and then as she came down from the second, I backed off slightly and slowed down to a stop. I could feel the wetness on my face and I looked up at her again. Marilyn had collapsed back onto the bed, and now she lifted up onto her elbows and looked down at me dazed. “Feel better now?”

“I think you know I do!” She smiled down at me and I crawled up onto the bed next to her. We were both still dressed, although Marilyn’s dress was up around her waist. I reached behind her neck and undid the clasp holding the halter together, and it fell down, exposing those beautiful tits. Marilyn’s skin is pale, and you don’t get a whole lot of sun in upstate New York, so she wasn’t tanned. I took a good look at her and then pulled her dress up and over her head, with Marilyn moving around and assisting me. Then she was laying on the bed next to me naked.

I sat up and peeled off my own shirt. I had already kicked off my shoes. “I think I’m overdressed. Care to do something about that?”

Marilyn blushed but said, “Okay.” And then she stopped, unsure of what to do. I should have expected that; she was very naïve and innocent when we met. She may have known the theory, and what with nine brothers and sisters, she was quite well versed in the aftermath, but she was quite unsure of the practical aspects. To tell the truth, way back when we were first starting out, I was pretty much as fumbling as she was. That’s probably why certain things never really improved. As I mentioned before, Marilyn gave a lousy hummer, but to be fair about it, I never taught her what I liked. I never knew how to teach her what I liked. Don’t blame the student if the teacher is an asshole!

I lay back on the bed and pulled some pillows under my head. She looked nervously at me, so I took her hands and brought them to my waist. “The pants have to come off first. Why don’t you start with the belt, and work your way from there?”

Well, that she could figure out. She undid my belt and then stopped to look at me nervously, but I just nodded encouragingly and she undid the snap and then pulled my zipper down. Just the pressure of her fingers through my pants on my painfully stiff cock had me twitching. She looked at me again, so I simply arched my back and lifted my ass up. “Now they need to come off.”

Marilyn blushed fiercely, and she tugged my pants down to about my knees, and I told her to pull them completely off. That left me in my tighty-whiteys, so I arched my back and said, “Everything!”

Marilyn steeled herself and grabbed them and pulled them south, although she was quite surprised when the waistband caught on my stiff cock and I had to reach in and free myself. She looked down at me with both fascination and fear. This was quite a bit different than bathing one of her baby brothers. I even mentioned this to her. “There. I bet you had to do that when giving a bath to one of your baby brothers.”

She smiled at that. “Yeah, well they sure didn’t look like that!”

I reached out and took her right hand and laid it on my cock. It twitched happily at that, and she yanked her hand away by reflex. I just reached out and took her hand and brought it back, and wrapped her fingers around the shaft and began using her hand to jerk myself off slowly. I murmured happily as she got the idea, and decided to give some positive feedback. “Mmmm, yeah, just like that… nice and slow, don’t grab or yank, mmmmm, keep going… that feels good, don’t stop…” I was originally planning on just a little foreplay, but I was fairly worked up after eating her out, and seeing her there in her youthful beauty was doing a number on me. “Don’t stop, that feels so good… keep going, more, just like that, just like that.” I knew that when I popped she would be so startled as to yank her hand away, so I put my right hand around hers to guide her, and stared at those beautiful tits. A couple of minutes later she got the surprise of her life, when I groaned and this white goop started shooting out of me. Much as I thought, she tried to move her hand, but I kept her in place and had her pump me dry.

Afterwards, I smiled at her. “Oh, baby, thank you. That was very nice.”

“That was all right?” she asked tentatively. There was some of my come on her hand and she was eyeing it curiously.

I grinned at her. “Honey, guys are pretty easy to figure out. This…” I said, pointing to the jism sprayed on my torso “… is sort of the desired outcome. We get this, we’re happy. We’re very simple creatures.”

That got a nice giggle from her, and she calmed down quite a bit. I took the moment to teach her a little about Little Carl and the boys, and even about the end result. She offered to go get a washcloth, and I said that was probably a good idea. While she went to the bathroom, I rolled over and opened my night stand drawer, and pulled out a box of Trojans I had picked up. It was sitting there on the night stand when she came back in.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“That’s the next lesson.” I had Marilyn wash me off, and then she looked around to place the wash cloth somewhere, so I just grabbed it and tossed it aside. “Everything washes out, but some things need dry cleaning,” I explained. “That’s where your robe is. I sent it out for dry cleaning this morning.”

“I was wondering about that. Wait a minute! That means they might know what happened?” Marilyn had an alarmed look to her face as she considered the implications.

I just had to laugh at that. “Trust me, Marilyn we aren’t the first two people to have stayed in this hotel who’ve had sex. I don’t think it will be a problem.”

She gave me a shy look and smiled at that, and then glanced back at the box of rubbers. “So, what’s that?”

“That, my dear, is a box of prophylactic condoms, otherwise known as rubbers. They are used during the act of sexual intercourse to prevent the transmission of disease and to prevent pregnancy. I assume the nuns over at UCA didn’t get around to explaining how these work.” I picked up the box and opened the top.

Marilyn colored and laughed. “It wasn’t in the curriculum!”

“Well, these work a whole lot better than the Pope’s approved version.” She gave me a curious look. “The rhythm method. I would think with your family you’d know about that, but then again, with ten kids, I don’t think your folks are being too rhythmic.”

“I don’t think so. This definitely isn’t on the Pope’s list of things to do,” she replied.

“Really? I wonder what method he uses?” I asked innocently. As anticipated, this earned me a squeal of outrage. “Don’t be so hasty, babe. Read up on your history of the popes. The Borgia popes had both wives and mistresses, and they weren’t the only ones. But I digress…” I pulled out a foil wrapped rubber from the box and held it up for her to see.

“Now, step one, Mister Happy needs to be very happy first.” I took her hand and placed it back on my semi-limp cock. She had the program figured out now, and a minute or two later I was pleasantly stiff again. For step two I demonstrated opening up the foil wrapper and extracting the device, and then had her watch as I did the banana demonstration using my own personal banana. Then I grinned at her. I slipped a finger between her legs and ran it into her pussy. She was quite wet and ready to go. “Now, I think it’s time for a test run.”

Marilyn happily rolled onto her back and spread her legs. I climbed over her and inserted Little Carl, now wearing his protective raincoat, and sank in deeply. There was a whole lot less drama this time and a whole lot more pleasure. She was very tight, but not uncomfortably so, and she was very juicy. I had to concentrate not to blow my load too soon, and I was whispering to her the entire time about how good it was. I kept asking her to tell me what she wanted, but Marilyn has a very hard time concentrating on such things during sex. Her natural reaction is to simply lay there and enjoy it. Nor is she naturally vocal. I had to train her there before, and I knew I would have to do so again. It wasn’t an unpleasant prospect.

Eventually Little Carl and I both had very satisfying conclusions, and from the sounds Marilyn was making, she was satisfied as well. I collapsed onto her, and then rolled over to my side, making sure to reach down and grab the used rubber so it wouldn’t slip off. Marilyn noticed this and watched with considerable distaste as I peeled it off. “Ooohh, yuck! Gross!” She looked really horrified when I dropped it on the floor on top of the washcloth already there.

“It is what it is, babe,” I told her. “It’s better than the alternative.”

“Oh?”

“You bet, MOM.”

She stuck her tongue out at me. “Not interested. I am not having a baby while my mother is still having babies!”

“There is an alternative. When you get back home, go to Planned Parenthood and get on the Pill. I’m not all that thrilled with these things either.”

She just nodded in agreement and then looked back at the box and towards me. “You were planning this?”

“Let’s just say I was certainly hoping, and the Scout Slogan is ‘Be Prepared.’”

“I find it very difficult to believe you were ever a Boy Scout!”

I really had to laugh at that, so I sat upright, gave the Scout Sign, right hand up, middle three fingers upright and the thumb and pinky folded in, and said,

“On my honor, I will do my best

To do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law;

To help other people at all times; and

To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.”

Then I lay back and smiled. “Would I lie?”

“Yes, you probably would!” I just tried to look innocent. At that point she looked back at the box of Trojans, and then down at Little Carl. “How long does he take to, well, you know…”

I grinned at her and tossed her another condom. “I love a good experiment! Why don’t you find out?!”

There’s a lot to be said about experimentation in the biological sciences! This time around I had Marilyn get on top, and taught her about saving a horse and riding a cowboy. The scenery, with her bouncing away on top of me, was much better than the rainstorm going on outside. Afterwards I had her remove the offensive trash, and we both lay down and napped the rest of the afternoon.

This actually reminded me somewhat of our first times together. Marilyn had been a rather scared and nervous virgin then, also, but once we had done it, and she was no longer a ‘good girl’, she had a healthy appetite for sex. She was just as horny as the next girl, and just as eager to fuck me as I was to fuck her. I was definitely going to need to get a refill on that box before the weekend! Probably two refills!

I was snapped out of my nap by the sound of a phone ringing. I looked around and tried to orient myself, and found it on a nightstand near my head. I shook the cobwebs loose and sat up and grabbed it. I grabbed my watch and it said it was just after 3:00. “Hello?” I wasn’t sure, but I had a pretty good idea who would be calling.

“You were supposed to call me this morning.” It was my father, as I expected, and he didn’t sound overly happy. Well, fuck him! This whole mess was their fault anyway.

Marilyn rolled over and looked at me. I think she had figured out who was calling, too. “Well, Marilyn and I were out on the Boardwalk this morning.”

“You should have returned my call!”

“Hey, Dad, it was either take my girlfriend out for a walk or talk to you about my asshole brother. I went with Option One. Still seems like a good choice.” I was already getting tired of this conversation.

“Don’t you dare speak to your father that way!”

I sighed. “Yeah, whatever. Dad, you called me. What’s up?”

I could hear him try to calm himself down. “You haven’t even asked about your brother.”

“I wasn’t planning to. The last I saw of him he was moving on the kitchen floor and starting to moan and cry, and the State Police haven’t battered down the door here, so he must still be alive. Beyond that, I just don’t care.”

“You broke his jaw in two places.”

No wonder my hand hurt! “Yeah? Well, tell him to consider himself lucky. The next time he mouths off like that to Marilyn I’ll break his neck in two places. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him, and you know it.”

“Your mother is furious about this!” He was trying the mother ploy, since the injured sibling trick wasn’t working.

“She’ll get over it. I’ve been getting over her being furious about me since I was a kid.” I rubbed my face. This was getting me nowhere.

“DON’T YOU DARE SPEAK ABOUT YOUR MOTHER THAT WAY!”

“Okay, whatever. Here, let me make this real simple, Dad. I’ll see you around some day. Feel free to take me out of the will and tell the family and neighbors I ran away and joined the circus. I just don’t care anymore. Tell Suzie I’ll write. She’s the only one in the family worth a shit anyway, and that includes me. Goodbye.” I hung up the phone.

I looked over at Marilyn and shrugged my shoulders and gave her a bleak smile. She just stared back in silence. We sat there like that for another minute or two, and the phone rang again. I picked it up.

“DON’T YOU DARE HANG UP…” I dared and hung it up again, and then I picked it up and dialed 0. When I got the switchboard operator, I told her I didn’t want any more phone calls sent through, and that she should take a message and tell the caller she would pass it along. My parents weren’t about to air ‘dirty laundry’ to a mere telephone operator.

I turned to face Marilyn and gave her a wry shrug. She looked at me very seriously and said, “I wish you hadn’t done that. I don’t like being the one who gets in between you and your family like this.”

I traced a finger along her cheek and gave her a smile. “Whatever is going on here, it has nothing whatsoever to do with you. You just happened to be there at the time. Trust me, this is not about you. This has been building for years.” I eyed her naked back as she lay there on the bed, facedown and looking at me. Grabbing the box of condoms, I rattled it and grinned. “Care to spend the rest of the afternoon doing something a little more interesting?”

Marilyn grinned at me. “You’re hopeless! You’re an incorrigible child!” I just rattled the box some more. “No way! I actually feel kind of grungy!”

“That just means we’re doing it right!”

“No! I need a shower.” Marilyn rolled off the bed and scampered off to her room, staying out of my reach. I had a good laugh at that, and then climbed to my feet. In my closet I found a Hilton bathrobe, and I carried it and the box of Trojans out of my room and over towards her room. I listened at her door, and waited a minute. Then I heard the shower go on in her bathroom, so I snuck inside. I tossed the robe on the bed and the rubbers on the nightstand, and went into her bathroom. Marilyn didn’t even know I was in the room until I opened the shower door and slipped inside.

“What are you doing!?” she asked in a startled voice.

I grinned down at her. “I thought maybe you’d need help washing your back.”

That got a smile. “Oh, really? You’re just being helpful?”

I gave her the Scout Sign and recited the Scout Law. Helpful’s in there somewhere, I knew that. “Remember that ‘cheerful’ line?” I glanced down between us where Little Carl was pointing towards her. She followed my glance and laughed. “I think that’s cheerful.”

She reached down and grabbed me. “I am sure that’s not what they had in mind.”

“Hey, some of us are more cheerful than others!” I took the soap from her hands and began rubbing it all over her body, concentrating on the front side.

Marilyn closed her eyes and moaned. “I thought you said you wanted to wash my back?” she asked raggedly. I simply pulled her tightly against me and ran the bar of soap up and down her back. That got me a few more moans. Marilyn turned out to be absolutely filthy, and needed an awful lot of scrubbing to get her clean. Eventually she begged me to stop washing her, and she concentrated on me. I only had one piece of equipment that needed special cleaning, and she washed that until I spurted onto her belly.

By that time we were starting to turn into prunes, so we turned off the water and wrapped each other in towels and made our way to Marilyn’s bed. I lay down next to her and began to lick and suck on her nipples and began fingering her little clit again. Marilyn pushed me away long enough to grab a rubber and managed to tear the foil open and put it on me all by herself this time. Despite the number of times we had already screwed that afternoon, I found her incredibly stimulating and had no difficulty getting hard and fucking her hard.

After coming and filling the condom, I peeled it off and dropped it onto my towel. She looked at it and said, “It may be necessary, but it’s still pretty gross.”

“Promise me you’ll go on the Pill, so we won’t need these,” I replied.

“Oh, believe me, I’m convinced!”

“That way if we wanted to do it back there in the shower, we could have,” was my comment.

Marilyn’s eyes opened wide at that. “What? There? In the shower?”

“I plan to teach you all sorts of things.” I leaned over and nibbled her ear.

She smiled and pushed me away. “No more of that! We need to stop. I’m starting to feel sore again.”

Well, considering what we had been up to all afternoon, I would have been surprised if she wasn’t. Now that I thought about it, Little Carl was pretty tuckered out, too; he wasn’t going cave diving again for a few more hours. I leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “Then maybe later tonight, when we go to bed.”

That got me another smile. “Yes, I think so. Don’t worry about it. I like these lessons. Feel free to teach me anything you want to!”

I had to laugh at that. “Marilyn, I know things that would curl your toes!” I laughed some more and climbed to my feet. “Listen, take a nap. I’m going to clean up again and get dressed. Whenever you get up, we’ll think about getting some dinner.” Then I gave her a lewd look. “Unless you want to stay like this and get room service.”

“Not just yet,” she replied, blushing. “Scoot!”

Teach her new things, indeed. That reminded me of the time I was teaching her how the Internet worked, back when it first started, and she asked what I meant when I said a search engine could find all sorts of stuff. She asked me what, so I typed in ‘anal fisting’ and watched her turn green while I rolled on the floor in laughter.

I scooted and took the box of Trojans back to my room, along with the robe. I took a very quick shower and then pulled on some clean clothes. There was a directory of local restaurants in a binder near the telephone in the common room, along with a listing of hotel services, and I started looking through the restaurants. I marked several down on a piece of Hilton stationery, to remember to ask Marilyn later. Then I sat down and turned on the television and flipped channels for a few minutes. I eventually turned it off and dozed in the armchair.

I woke up an hour or so later when Marilyn came out of the bedroom with her Hilton robe on. I rubbed my face and then smiled over at her. “Any ideas on dinner?”

She shrugged. “What’s available?”

Marilyn sat down next to me on the couch and we went through the directory. I had never heard of any of these places, but I jotted down some names and addresses on a piece of stationery and figured I could always ask down at the desk. The leading candidate was what seemed to be a nice Italian place. I wanted to take Marilyn to a nice place, where she could dress nicely. We split apart to dress, since all of her stuff was in her room. I pulled on some clean slacks and a dress shirt, along with a sports coat I had packed. I was fairly sure Marilyn had something decent to wear since she had cleaned out her closet before coming down here!

Marilyn came out in a calf-length black and pink print dress with lace at the hem and short sleeves, along with a pair of medium high heels. “You look lovely,” I told her.

“Is this all right? I didn’t pack anything all that fancy. I really don’t have anything all that fancy?”

I smiled. She brought down enough bags to cause her car’s front end to lift off the ground, and she didn’t pack enough! I did, on the other hand, believe her about not having anything fancy. That really wasn’t her style. “Well, if we go out later on to a fancy place, I’ll just have to buy you a fancy dress.”

“Carling, that isn’t necessary!”

“Oh, it’s not that bad an idea. The rule is, though, that if I buy you something to wear, I get to take it off of you later,” I replied.

She gave me a smirk. “That sounds more like you.” I just tried to look innocent and we went down to the lobby. The girl at the front desk agreed the Italian restaurant was a good choice and gave us directions; the valet brought the car around.

Tonight, instead of drinks, I ordered a bottle of Chianti Classico from a cellar I was familiar with. Marilyn prefers sweeter wines than I do, but the Classico was a good compromise. Then we started reviewing the menus while waiting for the waiter to return. It was then that Marilyn asked, “I wanted to ask you about what Hamilton said the other day.” I must have looked blankly at her, because she then lowered her voice and said, “You know, what he said right before you punched him.”

“Marilyn, my brother is a horse’s ass, and I’m probably insulting horses by comparing him to them. Forget about him. He deserved it.”

“It’s not that, it’s what he said. I wanted to talk to you about it.”

Okay, I was still confused. I lowered my voice so that it wouldn’t carry, and responded, “Marilyn, I know you’re not a lying slut.”

“No, not that, before that. He said I was just another one. That.”

My eyes opened wide. DANGER, WILL ROBINSON, DANGER! “Marilyn, I’ve never dated any girls like that. My brother is a very disturbed individual.”

“I believe you. However, you have to admit, I am not the first girl to, you know…”

The danger signs were flashing in bright red for me now. If anybody here was a slut, it was probably ME! “Well, perhaps not. Is it important?”

“How many? I think I need to know.”

Oh shit! Not only was I under fire, I was taking artillery fire! “No you don’t. It’s really not important. You’re the only person I’m with anymore.”

“That’s not an answer, Carling.”

“No it’s not, but I don’t want to get into numbers or details. That is the past. You should only need to know that I have no diseases and am responsible about that sort of thing. You already know I’m responsible about not having children just yet.”

“Carling, I want to know if I’m number 2 or number 200.”

I just rolled my eyes. “No. I’m not going there. You have no need to know. I won’t hurt you or embarrass you. Nobody is ever going to come up to us in public and demand a paternity test. I was just a friendly kind of guy.”

“Is that what you call it, being friendly?”

“Well I’d certainly hate to do it with somebody I wasn’t friendly with! Remember, a Scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly… That’s number four on the list.”

“And not what I’m looking for.” She was looking a little peeved with me.

“Okay, I’m going to give you a brief history. I want you to keep a few things in mind.” She nodded solemnly. “First off, very important, it doesn’t matter how many girls I’ve known before I met you. Since the day I first met you, you have been the only girl I have been with. Period.”

That sort of woke her up. “You mean, since February…”

“Longest six and a half months of my life, lady!” I answered with a smile. “But worth it!”

That got her to blush. “What else?”

“Another important thing is related to the first thing. I don’t fool around. I won’t cheat on you. I don’t see two girls at the same time. I’m not going to have a Utica girlfriend and a Troy girlfriend.” This was a major change since my first trip around the universe. Back then I had cheated on her right up until we got married. Never after, though, but I figured, I hadn’t made a promise yet, so it didn’t count. If Marilyn had ever caught me, though, she would have dumped me like a hot potato! “The third thing is that I don’t force myself on women. My friends have all been willing volunteers, so to speak.”

“Tacky!” she said. “So, how many?”

I just shook my head at her. “Not getting into that.”

I continued. “Listen, you’ve heard the rest of my life story. Here’s this portion. Ever since I figured out that I could use Mister Happy for more than just writing my name in the snow, I have been very happily doing so with young ladies of like mind. I have been very careful about that, but the fact is that girls enjoy it just as much as guys do. That ended my junior year in high school when I started going out with this one girl on a steady basis. We stayed together almost two years. I never messed around on her, not once. We broke up after graduation. Since then, I met one lady for one night in the fall semester, long before you and I met. And that, my dear, is my history.”

I could see the wheels and gears turning in her brain. I knew what the next questions would be. “So, if there have been only three of us since junior year, you made all those friends before that?”

I couldn’t help it. I gave her a big smile. “I really enjoyed junior high and high school.”

“I can’t believe it!”

“You’re looking at it all the wrong way,” I said.

“Oh?”

I reached out and took her hand. “You aren’t my first love, but you are my last. Those other girls simply trained me to be the best possible person for you. Forget them. I’m with you. You’re all I ever wanted.”

“They trained you?”

“I’m a very quick study.” I rubbed her calf with a toe. “I’ll give you another lesson tonight.”

“I can’t believe this.” She said this with a smile, so I knew I was past the worst of it.

“Just remember, it doesn’t matter how many were before you, only how many now, and the answer to that is one, you, and I don’t want anybody else. Only you.”

That must have satisfied her, since she leaned over and kissed me softly. She also had a wicked gleam in her eye afterwards. “Junior high, too?”

“Let’s just say that my growth spurt in the ninth grade made everything bigger.” Marilyn blushed fiercely at that. Thankfully she let the topic drop and we finished dinner without my feeling like I was wandering blindly through a minefield. Later that night I taught her a few new techniques. Education is a good thing.

By Thursday morning the storm was blown out to sea and the day was sunny and warm. We used another of the dwindling supply of rubbers and then cleaned up and dressed in our swimsuits and cover-ups. Marilyn was heading for the beach, and no matter how I tried to entice her back upstairs, she headed for the ocean as soon as breakfast was over. Even my entreaties that she needed to lie down for a few hours after every meal failed!

She searched around trying to find the perfect spot, with me trudging behind her like in a bad sitcom. I settled the matter by dropping our stuff in the middle of the beach and spreading a couple of jumbo towels out while she stood there and studied other locations. It wasn’t until I pulled off my shirt that she decided this was adequate after all. Off came her shirt, and I smiled to see her in the bikini she had teased me about earlier. She posed and smiled at me. “Is this all right?”

By the standards prevalent when our kids would be going to the beach, it was definitely stodgy, but by 1974 standards it was very nice. It was a blue and white floral print, with a slightly underwired top that didn’t cover too much, and a full coverage bottom, but still a fair bit skimpier than granny panties. I twirled my fingers around and she twisted around for me. “I really think you need to go upstairs and lie down for a bit. You shouldn’t go swimming for at least two hours after eating. Maybe more!”

She wagged her finger at me. “Nice try, but I am not going to spend my entire vacation at the beach looking at it from inside a hotel room!”

“Well, if you get a cramp and drown horribly, don’t blame me.” I pulled a bottle of suntan lotion from the duffel bag we were using for a beach bag. “Why don’t you let me help you?”

She deftly snatched it from me and plopped down on the blanket next to me. “Maybe my back.” We oiled up, and then did each other’s backs, and if I lingered longer than was necessary, it was simply to ensure proper coverage. Marilyn’s quiet moan was simply from my massaging the muscles of her back.

“You sure about not lying down?” I whispered into her ear.

She laughed. “You are evil!” She jumped up and sprinted towards the gentle surf. I followed her into the water and we horsed around some, splashing and body surfing. If I managed to cop a few feels and otherwise torment her, it was purely accidental. Trust me!

Eventually we came into shore again, put on some more lotion, and sat there and watched the sights. We both had sunglasses on, so I felt safe with some girl watching. Not many girls were as pretty as Marilyn, but it was a worthy exercise anyway. For all I know, she was boy watching; I never asked, but fair is fair.

Lunch was beer and sandwiches at the Hilton’s beachside café, followed by some more swimming and a nap on our towels. That part wasn’t planned. I hoped I had on enough suntan lotion, but I have an unfortunate tendency to burn badly, and I suspected I would know it by tomorrow. By late afternoon I convinced Marilyn to go back upstairs for some afternoon delight.

She was giggling as we entered our suite. Like before, I followed her into her bedroom, and we kept on going right into her bathroom. “I need to wash my suit out,” she commented.

“Mine, too.” I wrapped her in my arms and reached around to undo the clasp for her top. I pulled it off and then knelt down and pulled her bottoms off. I couldn’t resist the temptation, so I leaned forward and gave her pussy a quick lick. She tasted salty, and a bit sandy. I stood up and shucked off my suit as well, and we got into the shower together.

“I don’t think we’re actually saving any water,” commented Marilyn while I rubbed the soap over her tits.

I pondered it briefly. “Would you prefer it if we stopped and separated?” I asked this as I began teasing her nipples.

She gave me a smile and grabbed my stiff cock. “Efficiency isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

I washed her all over, but then I diddled her clit until she gasped and came, shivering in my arms. She ended up leaning against the wall of the shower while I quickly washed and rinsed, and then I turned off the water. We dried ourselves quickly. Marilyn scampered bare-ass into her bedroom and flopped backwards on it, spreading her legs lewdly. “Hurry up!” she ordered. I had created a monster!

I stood there at the foot of the bed and smiled as I took in the scene. “Bitch, bitch, bitch! Always with the orders!”

“Yes, yes, yes! Come on, get over here!”

“You don’t love me! You’re only using me for sex!” I cried out theatrically.

Marilyn laughed loudly at that. “I recall that it was you that wanted to stay up here instead of going to the beach.”

I shrugged at that. I decided to torment her some first, so I knelt down on the floor and crawled onto the bed between her legs. I kissed and licked her pussy, but pointedly avoided touching or tasting her clit, so that she got to the point where she was squirming around on the bed and trying to push my head where she wanted it to go. Eventually I relented and ate her through two long and loud orgasms.

After the second orgasm, I crawled onto the bed next to her and tucked the pillows behind me, so that I was sitting semi-upright. Marilyn watched me with glazed eyes, and asked, “What about you?” looking down at my very hard cock.

I toyed with her some more. “I can’t move. I’m suffering from whiplash!”

I was expecting at least a blush, but Marilyn said, “But what about those… things?”

“You’ll have to go and get them.”

“Unh unh. You wore me out. You have to get them.”

So I got to my feet and brought the box back in. I pulled one out and looked inside. We were going to have to go shopping. That had potential for major league humor. I let Marilyn open it and put it on me, and then I climbed on board for some good old fashioned missionary position. “You are so beautiful. I love you so much,” I whispered to her. Marilyn’s pussy felt extra tight and hot this afternoon. I continued whispering to her, and spiced it up by adding some extra comments. “Ummm, your pussy feels so good… you’re so wet and juicy… does it feel good?”

The dirty talk kicked it up a notch for Marilyn. Her arms were wrapped tightly around me, and I brought my hands down to that warm and full ass, to cup her buttcheeks and pull her against me even tighter. I had her wrap her legs around me and hold on while I pounded her into the mattress. My cock was slamming into her and rubbing her clit on each up and down stroke. After a few minutes of this, I collapsed onto her, and my cock pumped a load into the end of the rubber. It felt like it would never end, and I was wondering about the capacity of the things, but afterwards, when I rolled off of her and pulled it off, it was still in one piece.

Marilyn rolled over against me and tossed a leg over mine. “That was… amazing,” she said, gasping slightly.

Yeah, it was! I told her, “Yeah!”

“Is it always this good?”

I smiled. “Well, we’re still getting used to each other. I’m sure it will get better.”

Marilyn gave a little shudder. “I think that would be impossible.”

“I can guarantee it.” She looked up at me, and I reached out and grabbed the box of Trojans. “For one thing, we won’t always need these, will we?”

“God, no!” She took the box from me and poured the remaining rubbers out on my chest. “What happens when we run out?”

“Honey, it’s not like these are the only ones left on the planet. We’ll get a few more.”

Marilyn smiled at that and reached down between my legs and started playing with my cock again. “Good!”

Afterwards, we took naps, and then showered again (separately) and got dressed. Tonight we went casual and I took Marilyn out to a Chinese place. Along the way, I stopped at a drug store. I got out and invited her inside.

“What for?”

“I need to pick something up. Come on.”

I led her inside and wandered towards the pharmacy counter in the back. In those days, rubbers weren’t something placed on the rack, right next to the KY and sex aids. Condoms were behind the counter and you needed to get them from a pharmacist, even though they weren’t prescriptions. It was all very hush-hush and sinful, and when I was younger more than a few places wouldn’t sell them to me since I was a minor. Some states, in fact, refused to allow them to be sold unless you were married, since having sex outside of marriage was illegal. That took a Supreme Court case to get thrown out. We walked towards the back, and once we got to the counter, I turned to Marilyn and asked, “What kind do you want?”

“What kind of what?”

I pointed at a rack behind the counter. “What kind of condoms would you prefer?”

Marilyn’s eyes opened wide and she stared at the small display. “OH MY GOD!” She took off out of there like a scalded cat.

I laughed loud and long at that. The lady pharmacist who had witnessed this simply grinned at me. “You are so bad!”

I agreed with her and bought two boxes and paid for them. Outside the store I found Marilyn sitting in her car, beet red. I handed her the bag and she tossed it in the back like it carried the plague. I smiled at her. She was trying to look angry at me, but not really succeeding. “I can’t believe you did that!”

“You want to go back with me and return them?”

“NO!” I smiled and shrugged, and then started the car and put it into gear. After a few seconds she asked, “How can there be so many different types? Aren’t they all the same?” She glanced at my lap and then quickly looked out the windshield. “You know…”

“No, they aren’t.” I started laughing. Marilyn made such an amusing target on things like this. “For one thing, there are a number of different manufacturers. Some are thinner or more expensive and so forth. You can get them in colors…”

“COLORS!”

“Sure, red, blue, black… that can be very popular among the brothers.”

“The brothers? At Kegs?”

That made me smile. “No, baby, not those brothers. Assume that you and I were of the African persuasion. Would you want to be making it with a white cock or a black cock?”

“I can’t believe you said that! You’re such a racist!”

That was a subject that we would never agree on. Marilyn, who I don’t think had ever even met a black person until she went to college, considered that because she was a Yankee, she was automatically non-prejudiced, and that because I was born somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon Line, was automatically a bigot. This never was resolved. I sighed, “No, I’m not, but these things are actually made for the purpose.”

She simply sniffed at that. It was the only part of her being a Yankee I found an issue. I continued on. “There are even glow-in-the-dark rubbers.”

She turned and stared at me. “You’re kidding me, right!?”

I grinned back. “Think of it as your own little portable flashlight, for when the lights are out.”

“Gross!”

I laughed long at that. We pulled into the parking lot for the Chinese place. As we went inside I said, “During the Vietnam War they were even used for psychological warfare.” Marilyn gave me a confused look and I went on. “We had one of the manufacturers make these extra large models, but then had them label them as ‘Small’ and packaged in Army green, like they were government issue, and then they would accidentally allow a shipment to be captured every now and then. The idea was to make them feel small.”

“Did it work?”

I shook my head ruefully. “No idea. We lost the damn war, so it couldn’t have been that important.”

“So they come in different sizes?” she asked after a second.

“Looking to trade me in already?”

Marilyn blushed, and then I laughed when I caught her looking at my lap, which only made her blush more and stare at the far wall. I never did answer her question, since I kept laughing about it.

After dinner we went back to the hotel, walked briefly on the beach, and then went up to our room and finished off the box of condoms. The next morning we would need to crack another box.

Actually, we didn’t. I got up and ran a few miles and then used the Nautilus machines in the Hilton’s workout room. By the time I got back to the suite, Marilyn was already up and bathed and dressed. I offered to let her scrub my back, but she just laughed and told me to hurry up and join her downstairs. Then she grabbed the key from the dresser and scampered out of my reach and out the door. I just shook my head and took a quick shave and shower, and then went down to the lobby. As I suspected, she was in the main restaurant working on her buffet breakfast. She smiled and waved at me, so I wandered in and sat down next to her. I got a big kiss from her, along with, “I was hungry!”

“You burned up a lot of calories late last night,” I replied.

That got me a big grin. “That’s some diet plan you came up with!”

“You have no idea!” I got up and grabbed some fruit salad and juice, and came back to the table. “So what’s the plan for today? Back upstairs and work on your diet some more?”

“Stop it! No, we’re going to take a walk down the boardwalk and window-shop, and then this afternoon we’re going to go swimming again.”

“You’ve got this all planned out, don’t you.”

“To the minute! Hurry up, we’re running 30 seconds late.”

I had to laugh at that. Marilyn couldn’t tell time to save her life. Despite her protestations of being on time, she was chronically late for everything. The only clocks in the house that were ever correct were my wristwatch and the clock over the television, which I controlled. Everything else was set from five to fifteen minutes early, and she still managed to be late. The rule was that if Marilyn had to be somewhere at a specific time, you lied to her and told her half an hour early. Even the kids knew this, and knew I would protect them if they got caught lying to their mother about schedules. We even had a name for it — ‘Mommy Time!’

“Right. I think I’ll finish my breakfast first. Why don’t you spend the time thinking about what parts of the diet plan you’d like me to emphasize with you. Be specific.” That turned her face beet red, and I had to laugh some more.

She sputtered a moment, and said, “See if we work off any more calories!” I just kept laughing. Eventually I was banished back to the room to grab our straw hats, and Marilyn stayed down below so she wouldn’t be tempted into losing any calories.

The weather was beautiful again, so we strolled leisurely down to the Boardwalk and started doing some window shopping. Again I pointed out several swimsuits and outfits I would be happy to purchase for her, all of which would assist us in the quest for fewer calories. Marilyn wasn’t too terribly shocked by my suggestions and tended to giggle when I told her how it easy it would be to burn off calories while she wore them. She also told me she had several more sundresses in our room that she had bought and hadn’t gotten around to showing me yet, so maybe I should wait until I saw them. That sounded very promising, so I simply tabled the notion.

After about a mile of walking, I spotted a place that I had missed while running. It was small and had a very psychedelic sort of front. I tugged Marilyn’s hand and said, “Let’s look in here.”

“Okay.”

Marilyn followed me inside. It was a small shop, narrow and deep, and had all sorts of odd stuff inside. I had immediately recognized it as a head shop, but Marilyn was very much a goody-two-shoes in that regard. As we slowly wandered through, I explained some of what was there — bongs, brass or blown glass pipes, rolling papers, a variety of drug and rock music related posters. This was all a new experience for her. Towards the back of the store I found a section that in future days would be known as ‘adult oriented.’ In 1974 you just didn’t have stores like this; they were always in the back of head shops or Spencer’s Gifts or other counterculture sorts of places.

I picked up a copy of an illustrated Kama Sutra. “Think of this as sort of an exercise guide.”

Marilyn looked at me curiously and took the book from my hands. She flipped it open randomly, stared at the page, and slammed it shut. “Oh my God!” She thrust it back at me.

“Beats the hell out of Jack LaLanne, doesn’t it?”

“That’s… that’s a book on…” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “sex!”

I whispered to her, “Yes, I know. Why are we whispering?”

“Well, what if someone hears us?” she whispered back.

I looked around the store theatrically. “Well, nobody’s here except us and the clerk, and I think he knows this stuff is here, since he sells it.” I looked around some more, and found a small box and handed it to her. “Here, open this.”

Marilyn opened it gingerly, not knowing what was about to happen, and she was so startled by the contents she managed to drop it on the floor. It was a dildo. We both had to scramble to pick it up and stuff it back in the box, and we were laughing quite guiltily as we did so. “You have to be kidding me!?” she said.

“For those times I’m not there to help you out with that diet,” I explained.

“Keep up with the diet cracks and I’ll end the diet!” was the reply. That earned a few more laughs.

“So you don’t want me buying you a belated birthday present?” Marilyn’s birthday is in June, so she was actually five months older than I am. She was already 19.

“God, no!”

“Maybe I’ll get that for you for Christmas. I can’t wait to see you open that up under the Christmas tree.”

“That’s not even funny!” If it wasn’t funny, why was she laughing? I just waggled my eyebrows lewdly and got her to laughing even more.

I put the dildo back on the shelf, and we headed back towards the door. I, however, had grabbed the Kama Sutra and I stopped at the cash register. Marilyn’s face was beet red as I paid for it, and she quickly hurried out of there without ever looking the clerk in the eye. “I can’t believe you bought that!”

“Hey, if there is a single guy on the planet who believes in education and books more than me, you find him.”

She glanced back at the store. “You seem to know an awful lot about the other stuff in there.”

I looked at her curiously. “What, you mean the bongs and pipes and stuff?” She nodded and I shrugged in response. “I never really thought about it. It’s for drugs. I’ve seen pot on the school bus since I was in junior high. Nobody smoked it there, but it got bought and sold.”

This really shocked her. I didn’t want to push it and tell her that it was a guarantee that it went on at UCA, too. “Have you ever…”

“What? Done drugs?” I shrugged again. “Yeah, I have. I’ve smoked pot. I don’t do it very often, but I have done it. Hash, too, but that’s another cannabinoid anyway. Nothing else. Other stuff — heroin, coke, speed, acid — that shit scares the hell out of me. But yeah, I’ve smoked pot.”

It took Marilyn a second to digest that. “I don’t know what all that stuff you said is. Do you smoke pot much?”

“Not particularly. Maybe every other weekend back at the frat. To be fair, I drink a lot more than I smoke.”

“Did you bring any here?”

“God no! I make no promises about what might happen when I get back to Kegs, though.”

She thought about it, and then looked at me curiously. “What’s it like?”

I laughed. “I’ll let you try it someday. I can tell you one thing, though.”

“What?”

I lowered my lips to her ear and whispered. “It really makes girls horny!”

Marilyn blushed at that and stared at me. I just gave her my innocent and truthful look and she quickly looked away. That set me to laughing.

Later that day, after lunch, we changed into our swimsuits and headed back down to the beach. I took the Kama Sutra and tucked it into the duffel bag. “Light reading, for the beach,” I told her. I put my book in there as well, a well worn copy of Alexander Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo. You just can’t beat the classics.

I teased her into pulling it out of the bag later that afternoon, although she covered it with a towel. She glanced through it, and I explained its source as an Indian holy book. “It probably starts out as a beginner’s section, then moves on into intermediate and advanced sections.”

She gave me a prim look. “And just where are you in the book?”

“Are you kidding me? I teach the advanced classes. I’m listed in the section marked Professional Training Required, Do Not Attempt At Home!”

“You are so full of shit!”

“Tell you what. You start at the beginning, I’ll start at the end, and we’ll work our way to the middle.” That got Marilyn to stick her tongue out at me. I simply said, “I think the tongue thing starts on page 47.” She quickly sucked her tongue back in.

Marilyn kept looking through the book, and eventually started asking me if I had ever done this or that. I would glance over her shoulder and comment on them, and I promised to help her with some of them later on. After a bit she got sort of quiet and I looked over at her. She saw me and looked at me a bit sheepishly. “Is this something you like?” she asked.

Curious, I shuffled over a touch and looked at the book. She was on a section about oral sex, and the diagram showed a woman sucking the head of a man’s cock. I decided to ask her a question. “Do you like it when I do that sort of thing to you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that sort of answers that question, doesn’t it?”

She thumbed through that section, and I returned to the escape from the Chateau D’If. Suddenly I heard her breath shorten and she gasped, “Oh, no way in the world!”

I set my book down and looked at Marilyn again. She was staring at a section on anal sex. “Well, I had no idea the book was quite that thorough.”

She looked at me with a shocked expression. “You know about this!?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve done this?”

I glanced at the book again. “Giving — yes; receiving — no. I don’t think I’d like prison very much.”

“This is never going to happen!”

“Okay.” I picked my book up again, smiling to myself about Marilyn’s outrage.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“Marilyn, you said no, I said okay. Nothing is ever going to happen that you say no to. I won’t make you do anything. If you want to try something in there, we’ll try it. I thought you understood that,” I remarked.

That mollified her somewhat. “Well, okay, just so long as we never even think about doing that.” She gave me a small but victorious harrumph, and I laughed at her.

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.” Marilyn wasn’t a big fan of buttfucking, but if she got a few drinks in her and I got her turned on enough, she not only went along with it, she even occasionally asked for it, and she always came that way. Her little brown pucker was another major erogenous zone, just one I hadn’t introduced her to yet.

“Gross!”

I pointed at the book again. “You just keep thinking about some of the things in there. Feel free to mark some pages for practice later on.” She stuck her tongue out again at me, and I quipped, “That will be one of the things we practice.” The tongue disappeared as quickly as it came out.

Eventually I decided I was probably about as sunburned as I wanted to be today, so I stowed my book and stood up. “Let’s hit the water and then clean up.” Marilyn slipped the book inside the bag and ran with me down to the water. We fucked around and splashed each other, and I copped quite a few feels once we got deep enough to hide my actions. I even slipped a hand down into her bikini bottom and fingerfucked her to orgasm as she clung to me.

“You are being very naughty,” she whispered afterwards.

“Advanced training, remember.” I grabbed her hand and we walked out of the surf and back to our beach towels. We cleaned up all of our stuff and headed back inside.

Once in our rooms, I steered her towards her room. “Go clean up and come over in a few minutes.” She was a little mystified as to why I wasn’t showering with her, but Marilyn simply nodded and padded off to her room. I took the duffel bag into my room and opened it up. The towels went into a corner of the bathroom, along with my swimsuit and tee shirt. I put Dumas on the dresser, and the Kama Sutra on the nightstand, along with a few condom packets. Then I jumped into the shower and washed clean. I dried off quickly and pulled on my bathrobe. I came out of the bathroom just in time to greet Marilyn coming into my room, also wearing a Hilton bathrobe.

I sat down on my bed and stretched out, and Marilyn joined me, Lying down next to me and turning to face me. “Have I told you today just how beautiful you are?” I asked.

She blushed. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you are absolutely gorgeous.”

“I think you just like seeing me in my bikini.”

I tugged loose the belt holding her robe together, and found her naked underneath. “You’re not wearing a bikini now.” I slipped a hand inside her robe and caressed the smooth skin beneath it. She still felt warm and slightly damp from the shower. My hand went behind her back and pulled her closer. Marilyn moaned happily and I moved my lips to hers. She returned my kisses feverishly, and reached between us and inside of my robe, to grab onto my stiff cock and start stroking me.

I had something a little different in mind, though. I maneuvered her so that she was laying on her back, but then I threw a leg over hers and kept her trapped there, with her legs spread apart. Then I took one of her hands, the one on her far side, and gently tugged it down between her legs. Much like I had done the other day, using my hand to guide hers in jerking me off, now I guided her hand into caressing her most intimate region.

Marilyn was breathing hard and turned her face towards mine. I kept her one hand between her legs, while her other hand stroked me slowly. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” Marilyn gave me a guilty look and didn’t answer, so I kept pressing her, even as I forced her fingers into her slit. “Haven’t you!?” I demanded.

“Yes,” she finally whispered.

“Before you met me, or after?” Again she resisted and I stepped up the pressure some, lowering my face to her chest and lightly flicking my tongue across her nipples. “Before or after?”

“Both,” she admitted. “Stop it. I need you.” She tried tugging me onto her, but I resisted.

“Is this how you did it?” She nodded silently. “Did you come when you did it?”

“Not like when you do it. Oh, just fuck me! Don’t be so mean! I need you!”

“I want you to keep playing with yourself. I want you to come when you think about me. I want you to fuck yourself.” I kept whispering in her ear how I wanted her to pleasure herself over and over, and Marilyn began orgasming, humping her ass up off the bed and whining for me to fuck her.

Eventually I relented. Pulling away, I grabbed one of the foil wrappers and tore it open, even as Marilyn watched me through glazed eyes. Then I had it on and I crawled over her. She was practically lifeless as I sank into her, except for the gasping sighs as I started fucking her. “Is this what you wanted me to do?” I teased her in a whisper.

“Uh huh.”

“Tell me. Tell me what you want,” I ordered her.

“Don’t be so mean, You know what I want.” By this point Marilyn had her arms and legs wrapped around me, and was fucking herself up at me as fiercely as I was fucking my cock down into her greasy pussy.

“Tell me!” I demanded. She continued resisting until I smiled and pulled out, leaving just the tip of my cock inside her. “Tell me!”

Marilyn cried and tried to force me back deeper but then she gave in. “Oh, God, fuck me! I need you to fuck my pussy! Fuck my pussy! Fuck my pussy!”

I slammed back in and Marilyn shot off in another wailing orgasm. I kept pounding into her and she kept coming, and then I filled the rubber with a nice large load. I collapsed on top of her, and we were both breathing raggedly for several minutes. After a few minutes like that, I reached between us and grabbed the end of the rubber and rolled off, to remove the condom and drop it onto the floor.

“That is still gross,” she complained.

“You know the answer,” I reminded her.

Marilyn shucked off her bathrobe and lay back down in my arms. After a few minutes more, she reached up and over my head (pushing her tits into my face, but I didn’t complain) and then she grabbed the book on the nightstand.

I sat up and tossed aside my own bathrobe, and then arranged the pillows so we could lean against them in bed and read side by side. Marilyn flipped through some pages and I commented on several that we had already done, basically missionary and a couple of girl-on-top varieties. I pointed out several more, in the doggy style, that I knew she would enjoy. Then when we flipped to the oral stage, she looked at me shyly. “I don’t know how to do that. What if I do it wrong?”

I had to smile at that. “Well, as long as you don’t bite it off, I’m sure the scarring will heal.”

“That’s not being very helpful.”

“Okay, so let’s give you a lesson.” All this talk and looking at the book had already gotten me stiff. I had Marilyn scoot her butt down and roll between my legs so she was face to face with me, so to speak. I gave her a quick lesson in the male anatomy, with some highlights and important thoughts thrown in. “Now, one very important lesson is ‘No Teeth!’ Nothing turns off a guy quicker than the prospect of being bitten. Very important. Also, be very careful with the little guys down below.” I lifted my nut sack up and Marilyn moved a finger to touch them. I gently swatted her fingers away. “Be very careful. Some guys like it when you touch them there and play with them, but not me. Don’t fiddle with them.”

She looked at me with a wrinkled brow. “But how do I touch you without touching you? I don’t get it.”

“All I’m saying is just be careful. Speaking in an evolutionary sense, exterior testicles are a really poor design decision.”

She gave me a wry look at that.

Holding my cockshaft, I bent it down and aimed my cockhead at her face. “Here’s a useful tip for all you amateurs out there. Most of the nerve endings are here at the end.” I used my index finger to describe an area around the glans. “There’s not so many back along the shaft.” I pointed there as well. “That means you can provide maximum pleasure by concentrating up here, and simply jacking the shaft down here. Deep throat is vastly overrated.”

“What are you, some kind of tour guide?” she asked.

“I told you, I teach the advanced classes.”

“Well, behave before I break one of those rules you told me about earlier.” She stuck out an index finger and moved it close to my balls.

“Yes, ma’am!” I replied contritely. Some guys like that sort of thing, but even looking funny at my nuts will make me cringe. I hadn’t enjoyed my vasectomy at all, and if we ended up with kids and Marilyn wanted me to do it, it would be a very unpleasant repeat for me.

“What’s deep throat?”

“I’ll rent the movie someday.” She looked mystified at that. Porn was not something on the curriculum back at UCA.

“So what’s next?” she asked.

“Now we get to the lab work.” Marilyn’s eyes opened wide at that. I moved my cock around so that the head was near her lips. “Open wide and say ‘Ahhh!’ This won’t hurt you a bit!”

She smiled and said, “You are really pushing your luck, Mister Instructor.” Still, she did what I asked, and opened her mouth. I pushed the end of my cock inside, only about an inch or so, and she reflexively closed her lips around me.

Ohh, that felt so good, so warm and wet. “Oh, yeah, just like that.” She suckled on the tip for another minute and then looked up at my eyes. “Yeah, just suck that and don’t stop. Now, jack me off at the same time.” I took one of her hands and put it on my cock, and she instinctively began pumping me. Now it was really feeling good! “Oh, that’s good, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

Marilyn was starting to get into a rhythm and was beginning a very pleasant suction on my cock. “Baby, just keep doing that, just like that… don’t stop, keep going… don’t change what you’re doing, it feels good… keep going, don’t stop…” Historically, Marilyn had a tendency to keep trying to shift around or change technique and it was very distracting. Now I wanted to teach her correctly right from the start. “Just like that, don’t stop… can you taste me?… don’t stop, don’t stop… that’s my pre-come… keep going, just like that… that means I’m getting close, oh God, it’s so good… don’t stop… when I come, keep sucking and pumping me, don’t be surprised… oh, so good…” Marilyn was a very apt pupil. She stayed in position with about an inch or two of my cock in her mouth, suctioning away, as she pumped my shaft.

“That’s it, don’t stop, don’t stop…” I felt it racing up my shaft and suddenly spurt into her mouth. She backed off, and the second spurt hit her on the chin, but then she moved back and sucked me some more while she finished milking me dry. I just gasped and sagged back against the pillows with a dopey grin on my face.

Marilyn looked up at me with some come on her lips and chin. “I guess I did okay?”

“Baby, that was great.”

She swallowed and grimaced. “It’s not exactly champagne.” She wiped off her face with her hand, and then stared at what was now on her hand. “It’s actually kind of yucky.”

I had no reply other than a shrug of my shoulders. “It is what it is. I’m told it gets better with practice, so I promise to keep licking your pussy if you keep sucking my cock.”

“I think I need to clean up.”

I followed Marilyn to the bathroom, where she washed her face and drank some water. I leaned against the door frame. “On the plus side, nobody has ever gotten pregnant from a blowjob. I am guessing that your Mom is not sucking your Dad’s cock, not if you’ve got nine brothers and sisters.”

“Gross! I don’t even want to think about that!”

I laughed and crept up behind her and rubbed a finger down between her buttcheeks. “Remember that section in the book about this? Can’t get pregnant that way either!”

“Gross, gross, gross!”

I laughed some more and went back to bed. I lay down and fell asleep.

I woke up with Marilyn wrapped up in her robe and snuggled up against me, snoring. If there is one bad thing about her, it’s that she snores. Loud! The kids used to joke about it even. I can remember one night when she went to bed early, and started snoring so bad my children asked, incredulously, “You sleep with that?!” It never really bothered me. If she snored too loud, I’d elbow her in the back and she’d roll over and I could fall asleep before she started snoring again.

I pinched her nostrils together gently and after a moment she roused herself and started swatting at me blindly. She looked at me angrily and I said, “You were snoring.”

“I wasn’t!”

I nodded. “Yes, you were.”

“I don’t snore!” I just laughed at that. “Well, you snore, too!”

“No, I don’t. I stayed up one night and proved it.”

“Ha, ha, ha, Mister Smarty Pants!”

“You’d prefer I was a Dummy Pants?” That got her to stick her tongue out at me, which just made me laugh even more. “Get up and get dressed. Let’s get something to eat.”

“How formal are we going to be?” Marilyn swung her feet to the floor and stood up. She looked so young and innocent standing there, barefoot in that oversized bathrobe.

“Let’s just go down the Boardwalk and get some pizza and a beer. Maybe tonight we can go out.”

Marilyn simply smiled and nodded, and ten minutes later we were heading back down the Boardwalk in short, tee shirts, and sneakers. Although it was about six and the crowds were all thinning out, there were still a number of places open, and we stopped at the first one where we could get a few slices and a beer. I loaded mine up with red pepper and we sat down to look out at the beach. “So, what did you have in mind for tonight?” asked Marilyn.

“You know, I have no idea. I mean, it’s Friday night, there must be something to do around here. Right?”

“Don’t ask me. You’re the guy who’s been here before.”

I gave her a sheepish shrug to my shoulders. “Yeah, but not like this. I think the last time I came to the beach I was fifteen, and no way were my parents letting me out on my own.” I looked around the pizza place and got an idea. “When venturing into a new and unknown territory, it is best to ask members of the indigenous population for assistance.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Let’s ask the natives!” I turned around and waved to a couple of waitresses hanging around the counter. They saw me and looked at me curiously, so I gestured for them to come over. They were a couple of pretty and well tanned sun bleached blondes about our age. Once they came over, I asked them, “So, is there any action in this town on a Friday night?”

“Sure. What did you have in mind?” asked our waitress, a girl slightly shorter and blonder than the other girl.

“Oh, almost anything, I suppose. Any good bars or dance clubs around?”

The two girls both started talking at once, and we got names and directions for several places back off the beach. We thanked them and talked it over. Afterwards, we walked for a while and then went back to the Hilton, and I cornered a couple of the desk clerks and asked them the same question. A couple of the names they gave coincided with the ones we got from before, so that was where we would head.

“What should we wear?” asked Marilyn. She was pretty much a small town girl and out of her element, and Utica is not what one would call a hub of excitement. I wasn’t sure if she had ever actually been to a bar or night club.

“It’s pretty casual around here,” commented one of the clerks.

“Yeah, it’s not like Manhattan,” said the other, in a definite Brooklyn accent.

“I’m guessing clean khakis and a sport shirt for me?” The two girls nodded, and I continued, “And maybe a miniskirt and top and heels for her?”

Marilyn’s eyes widened at the thought, but the two clerks just grinned. They leaned over the counter and looked at her, and one girl, a short brunette, said, “Oh, definitely!”

“Absolutely!” agreed the second, a tall and skinny redhead. “God, I wish I had your figure! If you’ve got it, flaunt it!”

I laughed and pulled a shell shocked Marilyn over to the elevators. “I keep telling you, you’re gorgeous. Now you’ve had independent confirmation!”

Marilyn blushed. “So what do you want me to wear?” she asked when we got to the suite.

I wrapped my arms around her from behind. “I want you to wear your shortest little skirt, your tightest little top, and your highest heels.”, I whispered to her. “You are going to look so good, nobody will notice if I show up looking like a homeless derelict!”

“You’re crazy!” she protested, but then she went off to her room, while I went off to change out of my beach clothes.

I knew Marilyn would take between half an hour and an hour to change, so I took a quick shower and a shave. My outfit was pretty simple — clean khakis, a brightly colored short sleeve Hawaiian shirt, and my deck shoes. It wasn’t suitable for a Manhattan nightclub, but this wasn’t Manhattan.

I was waiting in the common room, where I had made a couple of drinks for us. Marilyn’s I had left in her room while she was in the bathroom. She came out looking a little nervous, and my heart just about stopped. “Is this all right?” she asked.

“Holy shit!” I exclaimed. There was no way her parents knew she owned clothes that looked that good, because they would have locked her away in a nunnery! She had on a dressy red halter top, sort of in a tie-dye pattern, a tight little denim skirt that stopped at least six inches above the knee, and these high heeled sandals that lifted her about three inches and did the most amazing things to her ass and legs. “Wow!” I set my drink down and came closer.

“Is that a good wow or a bad wow?”

As I got closer I picked up her scent, a light floral that just magnified everything. I couldn’t take my eyes off her legs. Marilyn isn’t all that tall, and she doesn’t have long legs, but oh, that shape — you just wanted to start licking at the bottom and work your way up! They looked so very nice and toned, if still fairly white, and so smooth and lickable!

“Oh, God, you look so good!”

Marilyn looked relieved, and turned to look in the mirror over the buffet, exposing the back of her halter top. It only had a couple of small straps at the bottom and the tie around the neck, exposing almost all of her back and sides. I think I was whimpering when I got to her.

I wrapped my hands around her from behind and inhaled that scent. I think it was something called “Rape and Pillage”, or at least it should have been called that! I buried my face in her neck. “You look amazing!” I nibbled her collar and Marilyn moaned at the touch. I brought my hands up and cupped her breasts, naked except for the halter, and felt her nipples responding to me.

“Oh, Carling!” she sighed.

It was too much for me. I had to have her, right then and there, and I told her so! “I need you! Right now!”

“Carling?”

I popped the tie holding her top up and watched in the mirror as it slipped down, exposing those perfect tits. Then I licked down her back and knelt behind her. I pushed that little denim skirt up around her waist, so that I could pull her little cotton panties down and off her legs. Then I stood up behind her and pressed myself against her from behind.

“I am going to take you! Now!”

“Carl?”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a foil wrapped condom, and then undid my slacks and pushed them and my briefs down. I kept Marilyn facing the mirror as I put the rubber on, and then I nudged her legs apart. We hadn’t done doggy style yet, but I couldn’t wait. That perfect little bubble butt, and those gorgeous legs, now at the perfect height, thanks to her heels; those amazing tits staring back at me from the mirror; that intoxicating perfume — “I need you!” I put my hands to her hips and bent my knees enough so that my wrapped cock slipped between her thighs. I reached around and guided my cock into her and was happy to see that she was as excited as I was. Her pussy was drenched.

I pushed forward, hard and fast, and Marilyn gasped. “God, I need you! I need to have you! I need to fuck you!” I pounded my cock into her from behind.

“Fuck me, fuck me!” she begged, panting. “Fuck me!”

It didn’t take either of us long to come. I was too far gone, too excited, to last beyond the orgasm she had, and I pumped my load into the tip of the condom while her pussy was spasming around me. We humped mindlessly for a few moments more, as we came down from the orgasmic high. Then I looked at her reflection in the mirror. “I love you so much!”

She smiled, and then started giggling. “I love you too, but what got into you!”

“You are so amazing! I don’t know if it was your legs, your tits, or that incredible perfume that drove me crazy!” I pulled away and removed the rubber, leaving me with a wet dick. Now what? I glanced down and saw Marilyn’s panties laying on the floor at our feet. I picked them up and used them to wipe up with.

Marilyn caught me doing this and gasped in indignation. “Carling, I was going to wear them!”

I just gave her a shit eating grin. “Not anymore!” I tugged her denim miniskirt back down.

“You’re kidding me!”

“Not one little bit!” I wrapped her in my arms and kissed her thoroughly, enough to have her melt in my arms.

Marilyn capitulated, if not quite gracefully. She retied her halter and adjusted it and her skirt back into position. “Well, why not?”

I leered at her. “Because you look so good I’ll probably need to do that at least two or three times more tonight.”

She shook her head, but was smiling nevertheless. “You’re nuts. Is that why you had a rubber in your pocket?”

“I’m a good Boy Scout. Be Prepared!”

“You and your Boy Scouts!” she said in an exasperated tone. She checked her hair in the mirror. “Let’s go before you get any more bright ideas!”

“Babe, I am full of bright ideas.” I had to tuck myself in and adjust everything, too, and then I grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the suite before she thought about it anymore.

Down in the lobby more than a few heads turned to watch us as we walked across the open expanse and out to the valet area. I should say that they were watching her, since she looked simply amazing. Marilyn was a bit more nervous. “I feel like everybody is staring at me,” she whispered.

“They are staring at us. They think you are beautiful and they think I’m the luckiest guy on the planet!” I was definitely a lot smoother on this go-around than when I was on the first time through. I got a big smile out of Marilyn for that. I grinned and leaned over to whisper in her ear while the valet went to get her car. “Actually they’re all looking at you, and wondering if you’re the kind of girl who lets her boyfriend use her for hot sex.”

That got me an elbow to the ribs. “Maybe I’m the one using you for hot sex. Ever thought of that?”

“You just keep right on using me, honey. I promise not to complain.” That earned me another elbow in the ribs, but she was smiling afterwards.

We went to a couple of places that night. Marilyn didn’t really like the first place, so we had a drink and left. The second place we stayed at for several hours, dancing and having a few drinks. It was fairly crowded, but it was a Friday night and was a young crowd. If she was worried about anybody noticing her, she didn’t have to worry. There were a lot of hot looking girls there, and some dressed in quite a bit less. I continued to tease her throughout the night, whispering that guys were trying to look up her skirt (impossible in the low light), her skirt was riding up while we were slow dancing (impossible since the skirt was pleasantly tight on her rump), and the like. It was crowded enough she spent a fair bit of time sitting on my lap, so I traced my fingers over her knees and thighs, causing her to shiver. I also whispered in her ear, asking if her pussy was wet and if she wanted me to screw her right there in the club.

Around midnight I took her back to the Hilton, by which time she was a bundle of jagged and oversexed nerves. We never even made it to a bedroom; I just pulled my pants down and sat on the couch, and pulled on a rubber, and Marilyn kneeled over me and fucked me on the couch, madly humping me. She was just wildly sexed up and drenching with desire — no, need! Afterwards we went to bed and used another couple of condoms before falling asleep.

Chapter 35: Meet the Parents, Part 2

And so our vacation went. We stayed until the following Friday. One day I drove us up to Rehoboth and showed her around that small town. Another day we drove down to Assateague and went to the National Park. One night we drove down there very late and parked in a deserted spot, went skinny-dipping, and made love in the dunes. Most days we worked on our tans and practiced various things in the Kama Sutra book. We used those two boxes of rubbers I had bought and ended up buying a third!

Friday we needed to leave. For one thing, Marilyn’s period hit her and put an end to our Kama Sutra practice sessions. For another, we had to go back home. After checking out, we drove back to Towson and over to the bar where Tusker and Tessa worked. I picked up my car keys and gave them a big box of salt water taffy. We also talked about all of our plans for the future, and I really pushed Tusker on the idea of going back to school, at least part-time, and taking some business classes. I got their address and gave them one of my cards, with the frat phone number penciled in.

Tessa had giggled, “You and your business cards!” I had gotten some new cards printed up freshman year, with a Troy PO Box number, and no phone listing. Freshman year I didn’t have a phone I could accept calls on, and in the frat we had several. We had a pay phone down in the foyer, and there were a number of private lines among the brothers. Usually one guy would front the account and handle billing, and we would run party lines to two or three nearby rooms. I handled this one year. In those days, phone calls were expensive, especially long distance, and you would have to go through the itemized phone bills and sort each long distance call to a user, and bill them. Major pain in the balls!

From there, Marilyn followed me to the storage unit I had been renting since I moved out of my apartment. We crammed everything but the furniture into our two cars, and I paid for another year’s rent on the unit. I had already rented a storage unit in Troy. The plan was that I would move all of my stuff north in one or two trips, so that I was effectively living entirely in New York. For all intents and purposes I was no longer a Maryland resident. I had already registered as a voter in New York. I wondered if my father was still claiming me as a dependent. I hoped he didn’t get in trouble if he was.

It had been a long day. We drove for a few hours more, until we got about half way through New Jersey, before pulling off the road and getting a room for the night. Marilyn was somewhat embarrassed by her monthly visitor and apologized to me that we couldn’t make love. I just smiled and told her it wasn’t important, and let her snuggle in my arms until she fell asleep. It was a very pleasant and comfortable feeling. I had always enjoyed sleeping with Marilyn, even if it was simply snuggling up against her spoon fashion. I wanted to keep doing it.

Saturday we drove the rest of the way to Troy, and then dumped my stuff at the storage unit. Suddenly both our cars rose up off the springs! Then we drove over to the frat and moved into Bradley’s and my room on the third floor. He wasn’t scheduled to arrive for another day or so, so we could spend the night together without worrying about him. It was a chaste night. Sunday, Marilyn gave me a good-bye kiss and headed home.

Sunday almost all of the other brothers showed up, including Joe. It was the start of Work Week, an annual bacchanalia dedicated to patching up the house. This was under the control of one of the two paid positions in the house, the House Manager. The other paid position was the Kitchen Steward. Pay was set as equal to room and board, so no cash actually exchanged hands. I already described the Kitchen Steward job, which I had previously had. House Manager was not my thing. It called for somebody with very practical hands-on skills in repairing an antebellum Federal style monstrosity. Something was always falling apart in the place, it was generally a death trap if a fire occurred, and the furnace and water heater were always in need of repair. It was a thankless position.

Work Week was the week before classes started, and attendance was mandatory. During the day, the House Manager broke us into teams to do various repairs and maintenance — lawn work, fixing the fence, painting all the trim, patching and painting drywall, and anything else he could dream of. At night, we applied these same techniques to our own rooms. Joe and I painted everything and stripped and varnished our desks and bunk beds. It isn’t totally work, though. Every night was a drunken bash around the swimming pool. Marty, Ricky, and I told the others about our adventures on the road, and we all swapped lies about our girlfriends over the summer. Okay, they weren’t lies in my case, but I really didn’t go into too much detail; Marilyn would not be amused.

Barry was running the phone system on the third floor of the main house that year. I used my knowledge of running twisted pair phone cable and rearranged telephones for both Joe and myself. By mid-week I got my first letter from Marilyn, a syrupy love letter that made several references to the fun we had in Ocean City. She used strawberry scented stationery with little hearts all over it, the sort of thing a fourteen year old girl uses in junior high.

Back when I rubbed that lamp, I still had those letters from college from her, stuffed in the back of a file cabinet. Some things you don’t throw out.

I called her at her home after I read her letter a few times. We talked for about half an hour, until Bradley came in and I hung up. No way did I need him hearing me talking to her. We discussed when we could see each other again. She couldn’t say anything openly, since I think she was talking on the kitchen telephone, but when I asked her if she had gone to Planned Parenthood, she said, “First thing I did Monday morning.” That made me smile. We decided to wait a few weeks until after school started before trying a visit. I was to travel to Utica to meet the Lefleur family. The plan was to do this in about three weeks.

That didn’t work out. Three weeks out I caught the flu, along with about half the house and RPI. I could barely make my way down the stairs to the bathroom, let alone a hundred miles across the state. By the time I recovered enough the next weekend, Marilyn had a cold. We put things off another weekend.

Scholastically, I was taking all senior level math courses by now, with a grad level Information Theory course tossed in for good measure. The grad courses weren’t going to be a problem. What I was worried about was my doctoral dissertation. It was already pretty definite that Professor Rhineburg was going to be my thesis adviser, and we made the relationship formal. He taught my class on Information Theory, and it looked like that was going to be my area of specialty.

The nice thing about RPI for grad studies is that they don’t pin you into neat little boxes. They specialize in interdisciplinary studies. Many students do degrees mixing engineering and a science, or two different scientific disciplines. If somebody could think up a way to mix chemical engineering and French literature, and find a way to sell it to the academic committee, they’d be allowed to get a degree in it. I was thinking of mixing two different fields of Set Theory together, probably Information Theory and Topology, both of which I had always found fascinating.

This time around I kept my vices under much better control. Last time I had spent a lot of time smoking dope with Andy Kowalchuk, and not spending any time on school work. I cut that shit way back, not out of any moral difficulty with it, but simply because it was too distracting. I remembered back when I went to grad school the first time. Suddenly I was going to work days and school nights and I was commuting to grad school. Later, when I got married and had kids, it really hit me, just how much time I had wasted goofing off. By putting even a little effort into time management, and not being stoned 24/7, I actually was able to go to class and learn a thing or two. I went from a C average to straight As.

Eventually both Marilyn and I were healthy, and it was my turn to visit her. I let Marilyn give me directions to her house (which were wrong, in any case; like I said, she can’t find her way out of a paper bag) but I already knew perfectly well how to get there. Friday afternoon I packed my trusty B4 and tossed it into the Galaxie, and headed out for a road trip.

It wasn’t really all that ridiculously far. I ran down 787 to 90, and then over to the Thruway. From there you go straight west to Exit 31, which dumps you off in North Utica. Cross over the river into Utica and get on 5S going west, and stay on it after it turns into 69. The Lefleurs had a farm about halfway between Utica and the Oriskany battlefield, but they didn’t run a farm. Instead they had about fifty acres that they used to run Lefleur Homes, a mobile home dealership.

It took me about two hours to get there, since the speed limit was now at 55. I pulled into the parking lot about four or so. I parked next to the Lefleur’s farmhouse and out in front of the double-wide trailer they used for an office, and got out and stretched. It really felt like going back in time! I had spent gargantuan amounts of time here professionally before. I swore to myself that would not be repeated!

I was standing there a few feet from my car, just looking around and taking it all in, when suddenly I hear, “Carling! Carling!” I looked around and smiled to see a little brunette whirlwind come running across the parking lot. Marilyn was dressed in jeans and a tee shirt and sneakers and was calling my name as she ran towards me. I grinned and she didn’t even slow down, she just jumped into my arms and wrapped herself around me. “I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you!” she said repeatedly, in between kissing me.

I just laughed. It was a good thing I was in shape and working out, because Marilyn was completely off the ground, her arms wrapped around my neck and her legs up around my waist. My hands were under her butt and holding her up as I kissed her back. “I guess you did miss me!” I told her.

“I did, I did, I did!” Marilyn replied, kissing me even more.

I started slowly walking towards the house, still carrying her. “You know, this isn’t the easiest way to carry a person.”

“If you loved me, you’d carry me!”

I snorted at that. “If that’s the case, we’re making a small adjustment!” I moved to drop her and Marilyn squealed and lowered her feet to the ground. I simply bent forward and grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her up and over my shoulder like a sack of cement.

Marilyn squawked! “Put me down!”

“Hey, I love you, so I have to carry you.” I gave her a loud smack on the bottom and continued towards the house, with her squirming and fighting me all the way to the door. I looked the house over as I approached. Marilyn’s mother was watching us through the kitchen window, and one of her brothers was looking at us through the glass in the door.

“Put me down!” she demanded. I simply shifted her around a touch, freed up a hand, and opened the door to the house. Her brother laughed and scampered away, and I carried Marilyn inside. I dumped her unceremoniously inside the door.

I leaned down and gave her a quick kiss. “That will teach you to challenge me on something.”

“Very funny!”

Her little brother came romping up, and I recognized him as Michael, who must have been about five or six at the time. He held his hands up to me and said, “Pick me up.” Marilyn looked quite amused at this, so I picked him up. I lifted him up to eye level, and then higher, over my head.

“Now what?” I asked.

“Put me down!” I put him down, and he repeated, “Pick me up!” I picked him back up.

“He’s your problem now,” commented his sister. Marilyn left me in the living room with her brother and went off to the kitchen.

“Put me down!” “Pick me up!” “Put me down!” Michael was having a grand old time, with me using him as a set of free weights.

After a few more lifts, I flipped him upside down and carried him into the kitchen, holding him up by his feet. “Look what I caught! I think he’s kind of small. Should I throw him back?” I held him out towards his mother.

“Put me down! Put me down!”

“I don’t want him!” she said, snorting and smiling.

I turned towards Marilyn. “Here, you take one leg and let’s make a wish!”

Marilyn laughed and grabbed one of Michael’s legs, as he kept yelling for me to let him go. Eventually the noise level got too loud and Mrs. Lefleur told us to put him down. I slowly dropped him to the floor, and let him loose. Michael scampered away, but only after asking me to pick him up again. Mrs. Lefleur shooed him out of the kitchen, and then turned to face us.

“Mom, I’d like you to meet Carl Buckman.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Lefleur.” I held my hand out and she gave it a solid shake.

Harriet Lefleur did everything solidly, because she was a very solid woman. A large woman. A hefty woman. She was also a short woman. Marilyn was only 5’4" tall, but she was at least an inch taller than her mother. Harriet wasn’t quite as wide as she was tall, but seemed to be approaching that size. She was a good person, and a nice person, but a very unattractive person. When I first met her, I thought it was because the stress of having ten kids had taken a toll on her body, but then I saw the wedding pictures, back when she was nineteen. That was when I realized she hadn’t just been hit by the ugly stick, somebody had smacked her with the entire damned tree! She was from some tiny village north of Plattsburgh up by the Canadian border, and all I could think of her husband, also from the same small village, was that there must have been some mighty slim pickings on the frontier!

It was then that Big Bob Lefleur came in, through a side door to the kitchen. Big Bob’s nickname was tongue in cheek and given to him by his kids, like calling a bald guy ‘Curley’ or a tall guy ‘Shorty’. Big Bob was anything but big. He was only about 5’9", maybe, and slim. He was one of the most incredibly depressing people ever put on the planet, with a perpetual hangdog look, permanently slumped shoulders, and an ever present sense of foreboding. We used to say that when things were bad, he would be worried they would stay bad, and when things were good, he would be worried they were about to go bad. He would ultimately be diagnosed both as depressed and bipolar, a hell of a combination.

On the other hand, Big Bob really got his nickname because he thought big thoughts! He was an absolute dynamo in his business. He came up with a dozen ideas a day; eleven would be totally off the wall and useless, but the twelfth? That twelfth idea might actually make you some money!

He was an incredibly complex guy. He had grown up much like my father, in a Depression era farmhouse without electricity or water, but unlike my Dad, had dropped out of school at 16 to get a job. He had never graduated high school, but still managed to build the largest trailer dealership in New York. Harriet wasn’t much different, but she had at least gotten through high school. They married when they were 19, and started having kids at 20, and never stopped. They were also the purest form of white trash I had ever seen! Christmas lights were kept up all year long. Have you ever wondered who buys those singing fish on plaques you see on late night television commercials? They didn’t buy just one! They bought them for family and friends! Forget about going to Vegas or Europe or Florida for a vacation — send them to Dollywood!

Lest anyone think I didn’t like them, that really wasn’t the case. We had absolutely nothing in common save their daughter. However, they had many fine qualities. They were absolutely scrupulously honest, and treated their customers far better than the industry average. While I had my differences in how they raised their kids, I had to admit they did a fantastic job — 13 children all married off and gainfully employed, with no drug or alcohol problems and nobody ever in jail. They were deeply involved in their church and donated heavily to it.

They could also be said to be mean spirited at times, treating family worse than the employees. They had absolutely zero interests outside of the Catholic Church and the family. They certainly considered me to be a burden inflicted on them by God, despite my ace record in sales and management for them, and somehow got the idea I was a drunk and couldn’t hold a job. Again, very complex people, and I spent far more time with them than my own family. I worked for them 14 years before Marilyn and I bought a piece of the pie, along with some of her siblings.

I liked them, but I wasn’t planning on a repeat of my previous history with them. Once was quite sufficient.

Big Bob came in and saw me, and Marilyn introduced me to her father. I shook his hand and he mumbled something to me, and then he kissed Harriet. Then he grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and headed out of the room, not saying anything to either Marilyn or me. I glanced at Marilyn curiously, but she just smiled. That was a good greeting, as I recalled.

Marilyn sat down on a bar stool at the kitchen island, so I sat down next to her. It was surprisingly quiet in the house, although I suppose that is a relative term when there are ten kids around. Michael kept running through, and Harriet kept shooing him out. A little girl, Ruth, about two or so, wandered through and Marilyn had to change her diaper, but as soon as that was done, she wandered away again. The newest addition, maybe a month or two old, was Peter, and he was sleeping and rocking in a little baby chair gizmo on the end of the counter. Otherwise, that was it. None of Marilyn’s other brothers were around.

Harriet wasn’t making dinner, since it was Friday. This was always pizza night, for decades! It was a good thing, too, since I was not looking forward to dining there otherwise. Marilyn was without question the worst cook in the world, but she came by it honestly. Her mother was the second worst cook in the world. I always found it significant that every single one of the kids found a spouse (even the girls) who was a massively better cook than what they grew up with. Partly this was because of Big Bob, whose taste buds must have been surgically removed as a child. Salt and pepper were exotic foreign spices. Worse, all meats had to be cooked thoroughly. Forget rare, even well done wasn’t well done enough! If it was at all moist and flavorful, that simply meant it needed to be cooked some more, to make sure it was thoroughly cooked. I planned to take Marilyn to dinner on Saturday night, and make sure I departed on Sunday before supper.

The quiet was short lived. By about five-thirty teenage boys started filing into the kitchen, to be surprised by the new face sitting there. Part of Marilyn’s problem was that after she came along, there were seven boys, all of whom she was expected to help take care of, since she was a girl. By now she was treated as the second mother, only without the respect that their real mother got. Most of the boys treated her like furniture. Then again, in a lot of ways, it was way better than my family, even on the last go-around. Like I said, I generally preferred her family’s company to mine. Two boys were given some cash and sent out to pick up the pizzas. Here’s the list of family members:

Marilyn, my beloved, just turned 19 over the summer. Yes, she was actually older than I was, by a few months. I never let her forget this, that she was an older woman. It made my birthdays so much easier.

Matthew — 18, just out of high school and driving a truck for Lefleur. He was a pretty good guy, cranky as hell at times, but a good friend. He and Marilyn basically bracketed me in age.

Mark — 17, senior at Notre Dame. Very smart, he ended up going into sales for Lefleur. He had arrogance by the bucket load! He made me look humble. He rose to be Number 2 in the firm, and when Big Bob didn’t name him boss in the mid-90s, he took his marbles and went home. He quit and bought a dealership 60 miles away and went into business for himself. There was a huge amount of bad blood over that! Good businessman, and a good person, but not on Marilyn’s or my list of good friends.

Luke — 15, sophomore at Notre Dame. Ended up running the contracting business at Lefleur. Not the most personable fellow. Actually, kind of a rude prick. Half the company wanted nothing to do with him, including me. He had on a cast on his left arm, from playing football. All of the boys were jocks, and over the years there were enough casts and bandages to pay for an orthopedic wing at the local hospital. That always made me think that while they were jocks, they weren’t good jocks.

John — 13, freshman at Notre Dame. Very personable and very smart. John ended up actually running the show at Lefleur after we all bought it. He was a dream to work for. He handled setup and service. We became good friends.

Gabriel — 11, junior high at St. Peter’s. Also very personable and smart. He ended up running sales at Lefleur. I spent half my time reporting to him and the other half reporting to John, but it really wasn’t confusing. Also a good friend. He went to college at Siena for business.

Rafael — 10, elementary at St. Peter’s. Extremely volatile. Worked in sales and accounting for the company, but I can’t say he was any great shakes at either. Half the time I wondered how he managed to survive, but a rising tide raises all boats, so to speak. Most of his positions amounted to where he could do the least damage. Very prickly, and not a friend. He went to college at St. John Fisher for history.

Michael — 6, just started St. Peter’s. Very friendly and a natural born salesman. By 16 he was working for Lefleur in sales, and rose to Number 2 in sales. He died in his mid-40s from cancer. A hell of a nice guy!

Ruth — 2. There was a four year span between the oldest eight and the youngest five, and Ruth was the first of the ‘second family.’ There was actually some resentment among these kids, and most of them wanted nothing to do with the company. Ruth was quite unfortunate, in that she looked a lot like her mother (ugly and morbidly obese) and had the IQ and personality of a rock. Literally! We employed her in positions where she could do the least damage, and then monitored her closely to fix what she still managed to fuck up. She was our flower girl.

Peter — newborn. Peter wanted nothing to do with the company and went to college to become a physical therapist. Nice guy, married a tiny little redhead who was smoking hot, and they had four kids. He was the ring bearer at our wedding.

Still to come, in future years:

Paul — Worked for many years as our dispatcher, but then transitioned to sales, where he proved to be an absolute genius! Nice guy, he married one of our salesladies.

Sarah — Grew up to become a school teacher. When Harriet and Big Bob passed away, she became one of the executors, and was an incredibly meddlesome troublemaker at it. She made very few friends in the ‘first family.’

Miriam — Also became a physical therapist. She was also a meddlesome troublemaker when Harriet died. Harriet developed liver cancer, and Sarah, Miriam, and Ruth would argue over the treatment. Harriet ended up listening to the last one around, so she ended up changing her treatment and doctors several times, to the point where nothing could save her. Then the three of them repeated the process when Big Bob got melanoma two years later.

An incredibly diverse crew, to be sure. One thing to notice is that all the names came from the Bible. The boys started off with the four gospels, followed by the three named angels, and then they moved on to the saints. All the girls were named after saints or important Biblical figures. Even Marilyn! Within the house she was known as Mary, and when I asked her why, she explained that her father had named her Mary Lynette, after the Virgin Mary, and his baby sister Lynette. Unfortunately, the nurse was hard of hearing and changed it to Marilyn. Nobody noticed until she was enrolled at UCA, where the nuns demanded they use the names on their birth certificates.

Most of the older boys were quite mystified when I showed up. I don’t think a single one of them thought of their older sister as a person in her own right, deserving of a life and love of her own. I was the first guy she had ever brought home. Most of the boys found me a curiosity but got over it quickly. Matthew saw me as a guy his age and we talked together fine. From Luke on down the boys were quite a bit younger, and they basically ignored me.

Little Michael didn’t ignore me, however. I was the new friend who picked him up and played with him. After listening to me talk to his parents for a few minutes he popped up and asked, “How come you talk funny?”

Marilyn and his mother gasped and told him he was being rude, but I just laughed at him. “That’s because I’m a southerner and y’all are just a bunch of Yankees,” I told him. I wasn’t overly surprised by this. I had always had a strong southern accent, and simply hadn’t realized it until I went north to school. On my first trip through I had lost it almost totally within my first year, but I would still pick it right back up whenever I traveled south. This time I hadn’t lost it, and I didn’t think I would. For one thing, every time I went to boot camp or other training, I would be in the heart of Dixie!

“What’s a Yankee?” asked the little boy.

“A really lousy baseball player,” That earned me a lot of grief from Michael’s older brothers, most of whom were Yankees fans. “Just remember, buster, that where I come from, y’all are the ones that talk funny!”

Marilyn gave me a raspberry for that.

Mark, on the other hand, thought of me as a challenge. He was very smart, and more than a little brazen and egotistical. He would always try to push his luck with Marilyn and me, knowing that Marilyn would never go up against him and that she would keep me in line. Tonight was no different. After he and Matthew brought back the pizza and wings, he decided he needed to sit at the bar, so he took Marilyn’s barstool. No big deal, since she wasn’t sitting on it at the time, and the rule is, ‘you snooze, you lose.’ However, he ended up yanking it out from underneath her as she started to sit on it, and she fell on the floor. Everybody stared at Marilyn, although nobody offered to help her up, and he looked at me with a smirk.

Bouncing him off the wall would not get me in anybody’s good graces, especially Marilyn’s, so I simply stood up and helped her to her feet. As I did, I heard him snicker behind me. I took a deep breath, and Marilyn grabbed my arm. “Don’t!” she said lowly.

I took another deep breath and nodded to her. I turned to face Mark, and saw all of the family watching us. I slid my own barstool over to Marilyn and allowed her to use it, and then looked Mark in the face. “Mark, do you have a girlfriend?” I knew he did, since he married her a year after Marilyn and I got married.

“Yeah, why?” he said with a touch of bravado.

“Just curious. Suppose somebody you had never met came into her kitchen and knocked her to the floor in front of you. What would you do?” I reached into one of the pizza boxes and pulled out a slice of pepperoni pizza, but I never took my eyes off of him. Marilyn put her hand on my arm, but otherwise kept quiet.

Suddenly Mark’s eyes widened. I think he decided that maybe the new guy wasn’t somebody to test quite so boldly. He grabbed a slice of pizza and headed out to the living room. I took his abandoned bar stool and sat down next to Marilyn. I looked at her and gave her an innocent smile. “Can I get a beer?”

She smiled back and said, “You just behave yourself!” She got up and grabbed me a cold one from the fridge. I just smiled back, and nobody, including her parents, said anything about Mark and me.

Harriet instead asked, “What are you studying, Carl?”

“I’m going to school for mathematics, ma’am,” I answered.

“What do you do then?” asked Big Bob. “Become a math teacher?” He wasn’t asking in a rude fashion, but simply because he had no idea what college graduates did when they left college. The only thing he could imagine a scientist doing was working in some kind of school teaching science.

It struck me as a touch odd, so I looked over at Marilyn. “You never told them?”

“It never came up,” she answered, with a shrug.

I looked back at her parents. “I’m sorry. I thought Marilyn had already told you. I’m going to be a soldier. I’m on a military scholarship.”

“A soldier!?” squawked both her parents, loudly. I should have expected it. The Lefleur family was the biggest bunch of draft dodgers ever collected in a single place. There must be a gene for public service, and if so, the Lefleur family is completely lacking in this trait. The entire concept of joining the Army, and not just being drafted, but actually volunteering, was utterly alien to them. This actually led to a certain degree of friction between our two families, but it was just one of many reasons we were different.

The room fairly erupted with questions. The only soldiers these people ever had dealt with were the enlisted soldiers up at Fort Drum who would sometimes come down and buy a trailer. Marilyn’s parents were rather distressed, in that their daughter was marrying somebody stupid enough to go into the Army, and couldn’t come right out and say it to her face while he was sitting there. Likewise, her brothers all found this rather fascinating, if strange. The gene had skipped them as well, along with all their children. Of all of the grandchildren, only Parker ended up serving.

“You’re going into the Army?” repeated Big Bob. Sort of like, ‘You’re becoming a child molester?’

“Yes, sir. It’s an ROTC scholarship. They pay for four years of college and I need to serve four years as an officer.”

He looked at Harriet with a degree of consternation, and then shrugged. “Does the Army need mathematicians?”

It was my turn to shrug. “I wouldn’t know, sir. I intend to apply for combat arms. I’d like artillery, but I’d also go for either infantry or armor.”

They stared at me in utter disbelief, completely ignoring the look on Marilyn’s face. Her feelings were quite a bit more complicated. In many ways she hated the military, having a very idealistic view of the world. ‘Fighting never solves anything’ and so forth. On the other hand, she was also proud of our son and his decision to serve, and understood the hard work and sacrifice involved. On this trip through, she was equally proud of me. When I felt her take my hand, I looked over at her to see her smiling at me. That made it all worth it.

It was Harriet’s turn to speak. “But that could be dangerous. You could be killed.”

“Yes ma’am. I had a second cousin who died in Viet Nam. I never met him, but I heard he died in ’68 or so. Another couple of my ancestors died in the Civil War.”

Gabriel popped up and asked, “Which side?”

I smiled at that, and grabbed a second slice of pizza. “Both, actually. One died at Chancellorsville and the other died at Gettysburg, but I couldn’t say which side they were fighting for. I only know we played both sides of the bet.”

“Which one are you descended from?”

“Neither. They had a third brother who was too young to enlist, so he stayed home and worked the farm. Pretty much my whole family has served, or at least the men. Buckmans have been serving the country since the War of 1812,” I explained.

“You’re kidding!” commented a horrified Big Bob.

“All of you?” asked an intrigued Luke. He was a young teenager and the idea was fascinating, at least in a sense.

I nodded and chewed my pizza. Once I swallowed I gave the family history. “Marilyn saw some of this when she visited the house. We actually have lists and photos of servicemen. My great-great-whatever came over from England in the 1750s and bought property and became a farmer in Maryland.”

“The 1750s? What side was he on in the Revolutionary War?” interrupted Matthew.

“Neither. He was a farmer and wanted to stay out of it. Anyway, he had a bunch of kids and after the war they all thought of themselves as Americans. One of the younger ones joined the Maryland Militia, and was in the War of 1812, and ever since then somebody has been in the service.”

“Such as?” he asked.

“Well, his youngest son was in the Mexican War. He got his foot shot off, and went home and back to the farm. He had three sons, two of whom died in the Civil War, and the third had some more sons. For the next couple of generations, the boys joined the Navy. My great-grandfather was at the Battle of Manila Bay. So, after him, my grandfather went into the Army and served in France in World War I. My father was in the Navy during the Second World War. Now it’s my turn,” I finished.

Harriet and Big Bob just stared at each other. I was sure that Marilyn was going to get an earful after I left.

“We’re in ROTC, too!” piped up Luke, pointing at himself and John.

I looked at the two boys. “Really? Aren’t you a little young for that?”

“We’re in Navy ROTC,” he said.

I gave him a curious look, and John added, “Junior ROTC. Navy Junior ROTC.”

I remembered that Notre Dame actually had an NJ-ROTC program, although I never could figure out why. I think the kids enrolled to get out of gym. They also got to wear uniforms, and the ROTC Ball was the big prom type dance at the end of the year. “Junior ROTC? What’s that like?”

I let them yammer away about it. Neither Matthew nor Mark had joined it, but Luke, John, and Gabriel all joined. This was the closest to any form of service anybody in the family ever attempted. Finally I asked, “What happens if you quit?”

“You have to take gym. Why?” asked Luke.

I grinned back at him. “If I quit, they hand me a rifle and ship me overseas as a private. It’s a little different.”

After dinner everybody sort of moved out to the living room, where the kids turned on the television. The older boys all left, and Marilyn’s parents plopped themselves down in armchairs. I ended up on the sofa, with Marilyn curled up next to me. I whispered in her ear, “I don’t think your folks think much of me becoming a soldier.”

“It’s pretty unusual in our family. Nobody’s ever enlisted, at least as far as I’ve ever heard.”

“Bunch of draft dodgers!” I whispered, at which she gave me an elbow in the side. I laughed and whispered, “Don’t tell them I ran away from home when I was sixteen, or that I’m a pagan. That would drive them totally crazy.”

She grinned up at me. “You’re not a pagan. You’re a heathen. There’s a difference.”

“Trust me. As soon as they learn, I’ll be the main attraction at the next bonfire!” That got me some more giggles and we chatted quietly about the differences between our families. Despite the enormous differences, the Lefleurs were good people, and over the course of my lifetime, I ended up spending much more time with them than with my own family.

After a bit, I asked her, “What’s on the schedule for tomorrow?”

“Well, we have church at four, but other than that, nothing. What did you have in mind?”

“How about I take you out to dinner and then we go out for a while? Know any decent bars or clubs?”

“Not really.”

“Know any indecent bars or clubs?” I asked innocently.

“Only you would ask that!” She thought for a second, and said, “I’ll call some of my girlfriends and see what they say.”

“Okay. Tomorrow you can show me all the wonders of the greater Utica metropolitan area.”

“That will be a very quick trip,” Marilyn replied.

“Where am I sleeping tonight?” I asked. “I assume it won’t be up in your room.”

Marilyn glanced nervously across the room at her parents. Her mother was sleeping upright in her armchair, and her father was totally oblivious to us. “Keep your voice down. That isn’t even funny!”

“Sorry. Anyway, they can’t hear us. Down here somewhere?”

She pointed towards an archway to the side. “Over there, in the library.”

“And tonight? Any chance of us going out for a while?” I waggled my eyebrows lewdly.

Much to my surprise, Marilyn waggled hers right back at me. “Later, when the little ones go to bed, and my parents go upstairs, I’ll tuck you in. Think that will do?”

Suddenly my mouth felt very dry and my pants felt very tight. I nodded and cleared my throat. “Uh, yeah, good idea,” I croaked out.

“I’ve missed you, too.” she continued on with a grin.

I glanced over at her parents, still sleeping and watching television. Then I looked down at her. “Oh, yeah, I’ve missed you way too much!”

Marilyn giggled and gave me a quick kiss, and then snuggled back against me. In short order she was napping too.

About nine or so, Harriet woke with a snort, which wasn’t much quieter than her snores. (Tonight had been relatively minor, but when she gets going, bears run away!) She glanced around and then stood up. She nudged Big Bob from where he was dozing and then bent down and picked up a sleeping Ruth. Big Bob stood up as well and ordered Rafe and Gabe upstairs. All this activity woke up Marilyn, so she stood up and picked up Peter in his bassinet and carried it and him up the stairs. Suddenly I was alone. It was time for me to get ready for bed. I went out to the Galaxie and pulled my bag from the backseat, and then popped the trunk and grabbed my sleeping bag. I couldn’t remember the details of the library, but I wanted to be prepared.

Back inside, I turned off the television and moved through the arched doorway into the library. Much of it I remembered. There were the shelves of books, but all from the World’s Greatest Literature series of books, in the fake leather covers and the fine, thin paper, all unread. Big Bob had bought his library by the yard, and never read any of it. There was a fish tank, empty and unused in the corner. It had a worn leather sofa and a matching armchair, neither of which was all that comfortable, as I recalled. Heavy shag carpet in a burnt orange color, very ugly, but clean and soft. The room had a few windows, but they were completely covered by heavy drapes, and even in the day the room was dark.

I had to smile when I saw the picture on the wall. It was the most perfect reminder of the tastes of Big Bob and Harriet. They had bought, on their last vacation trip to somewhere really tacky, matching leisure suits for Big Bob, all four of the gospels, and all three of the angels. The picture was of the eight of them, standing together side by side, from tallest to shortest, wearing these ungodly awful blue-green polyester double knit leisure suits that looked like rejects from a bad Saturday Night Live sketch about the Seventies. They were so horrendous as to be fascinating, at least in the same sense that everybody watches NASCAR for the crashes. In another thirty-some years there would actually be websites devoted to really hideous and embarrassing pictures, and this photo would deserve to be on the main page!

I stared at it for a minute, and then tossed my gear on the sofa. There were already a pile of blankets and comforters on one end of the sofa, and I decided to simply sleep on the floor, as opposed to using the couch, or trying to figure out how to open the sofa up. As I vaguely remembered, it was a sofa-bed. I laid out a couple of comforters, and then unrolled my sleeping bag and spread it out. I also unzipped it and laid it open. Inside it was an old sheet I used as a bag liner. I couldn’t find any pillows, so I went out into the living room and grabbed a cushion from an armchair and brought it back in. Then I grabbed my B4 and dug out my toilet kit. There was a half bathroom off the foyer, and I used it to brush my teeth and otherwise prepare for bed.

Marilyn still hadn’t come down, so I just kicked off my shoes and socks, and lay down on my bedroll, and pulled a copy of The Hobbit from my bag. I had first read Tolkien when I was a sophomore on the first go, and it was still good. Marilyn wasn’t much of a reader, and I could never interest her in it, but she enjoyed watching the Peter Jackson movies. I got through another chapter before I heard movement in the other room, and set the book down, and looked up. Marilyn came into the library and smiled. “Hi.”

“Hi.” I patted the bedroll next to me.

Marilyn came closer and sank down to the floor next to me. She had kicked off her own sneakers earlier, but otherwise was still dressed in her regular clothes from before. “Sorry about the delay. I wanted to make sure my parents and the kids were all in their rooms and sleeping.”

I smiled at her. “I wasn’t sure if you were changing into a nightgown or something first.”

Marilyn stretched out next to me. “That would be really pushing our luck!” I lifted my arm up and she snuggled up against me. “I have missed you so much!”

“I think you need to show me just how much you missed me,” I replied, and wrapped my arms around her and twisted around to face her.

It seemed that Marilyn missed me an awful lot! She brought her hands up to behind my head and pulled my face to hers. As soon as our lips touched, she tried to tongue wrestle me into submission. I moved my hands across her back, where I could feel her bra straps under the thin cotton of her tee shirt. That sort of put her into overdrive. Marilyn thrust herself against me, with her legs trying to wrap around mine, and started humping me as she moaned into my mouth as we kissed.

Well, I was feeling pretty horny and pent-up myself. Just because I had been recycled and had the thoughts of a 70+ year old man didn’t mean I didn’t have the hormones of an 18 year old boy running through me! As jaded as I was, and I most certainly was, Marilyn was turning me on something fierce! I tugged her shirt out of her waist and slid my hands underneath it, to thrill at the contact with that deliciously smooth skin, and then quickly moved north, to pop the buckle on her bra.

Marilyn’s kisses became feverish, but she pulled away enough that she could reach between us and start undoing the buttons on my shirt. As long as she was doing that, I brought a hand around front and began playing with her tits. Marilyn kept working on me, and once my shirt was open, she moved lower, and quickly started undoing my pants. Turnabout was fair play, so hers went next. Her pussy was drenched and I didn’t need to do much petting to know she was primed and ready. We pushed our pants and underwear down far enough to be out of the way, and then I rolled Marilyn onto her back and crawled on top of her.

She squealed as I entered her, but not because of any pain. I already knew she was safe, since her letters had told me she had been to Planned Parenthood and gotten a prescription for The Pill. Now she humped herself up at my naked cock, and our bodies slapped against each other happily. I had reached down under her and was cupping those perfect buns as I drove downwards, and Marilyn was doing the same, feverishly pulling me into her. Meanwhile her lips never left mine, and we French kissed as we fucked wildly. I couldn’t tell whether she was on her second orgasm, or just one really big and long one when I stiffened and drove down into her, and pumped a month’s worth into her greasy cunt.

I lay on top of her for another minute or so, as we caught our breaths, and then I rolled over onto my back. “That was… amazing,” I told her.

“So, do you think I missed you?” she asked in a teasing fashion. Neither one of us moved to get dressed.

“I think you missed me. I missed you, too.”

She glanced down at both our crotches, now wet and sticky. “Yeah, I think you did.”

I watched what she was looking at. “Was it better without the rubbers?”

“Oh my God, those things are awful! I never want to use them again!”

“I agree. I’ll do anything you want me to, but anything else, please.” I could feel myself starting to get hard again.

“It does make things a bit messier this way,” Marilyn commented.

“Maybe, but there’s no incriminating evidence to dispose of, either. Would you want to explain that to your parents?” I asked.

“That’s not even funny!” she said, but she was smiling as she did so.

“Why don’t you see about doing something to clean me up?” I suggested. I pulled my shirt off and then lay back down on the bedroll.

Marilyn stripped off her own clothing, and I was able to see her in her glorious nakedness again, getting me even harder. She kissed her way down my chest until she was face to face with Little Carl. “Is this what you had in mind?” she said with a giggle, and then licked my cock.

I gave a happy twitch and simply murmured happily, and put my hands in that long chocolate brown hair and kept her down there. I suppose my original thought had been to just get a little clean, but Marilyn did a very thorough job. She licked my cock clean, slowly, and was gently stroking it and sucking the cockhead, and generally driving me nuts. Then she started sucking harder, and jacking me harder, and I just said ‘Fuck it!’ “Don’t stop… keep going…” I whispered, as I started thrusting my hips upwards, to drive my cock up into her mouth. The various training sessions we had back in Ocean City paid off. Marilyn kept going, and I kept whispering to her, and then I gave in. “Yes, yes… don’t stop… keep sucking… just like that, don’t stop… yes… that’s it!” Marilyn kept sucking as I spurted in her mouth, and she swallowed it down.

Marilyn popped to her feet and went running out of the library. “Back in a bit!” she mumbled. I just lay there in a happy daze.

Marilyn came back a few minutes later, and sank down on the floor again. “Sorry about that, but I needed to pee and clean up, too.”

“Not a problem.” I studied her as she sat there next to me. “You are so beautiful.” I looked between her legs, and it looked like she had really cleaned up well. “You know, I might be able to return the favor, but only if you promise to keep from screaming my name over and over and waking your parents up.”

That got me a slug in the shoulder. “I’ll try to keep the racket down. Why don’t you try to make me noisy?” She lay back on the floor and spread her legs wide.

“I’m a man who likes a challenge. Just remember, we tried this a couple of times in Ocean City and I always won.”

“I just let you think you won!”

“I think I can tell for sure.” I lay down on the floor between her legs and started to slowly lick on the inside of her thighs. Marilyn gave an involuntary squeal and I smiled and raised my head. “See, I told you I can tell.”

“You just startled me.”

“Give me a minute and I’ll really startle you.” I flicked my tongue across her slit and got another little jump out of her.

“Just don’t do anything to wake up my parents!” she warned me.

“Honey, if they catch us now, no matter what happens, we are both dead! If you’re going to scream out my name, pull a pillow over your face!” With that, I went to work. Now, while eating pussy isn’t always my favorite meal, it isn’t a bad menu choice, either, and the ladies certainly think it’s a good idea. Likewise, while creampies aren’t my fetish of choice, Marilyn had cleaned up enough it wasn’t a problem. I avoided trying to lick my way to China, and concentrated on that little red nub hidden away at the top. Within seconds Marilyn was thrashing underneath me, and whimpering loudly.

For the first few minutes, Marilyn had her hands in my hair, holding me head in place between her legs. That didn’t last long, however; within ten minutes, Marilyn was demanding, in a hoarse whisper, that I get on top of her and fuck her. I gave a last lick to her clit and moved back into position. She wrapped her legs around my waist and her arms around my head. Her eyes were closed and her head was tucked into the corner of my neck and shoulder, and she was holding onto me for dear life. Marilyn moaned and whimpered beneath me, and I could feel her kissing and sucking on my neck.

I was going to have a hickey in the morning. I decided to let Marilyn explain that one!

Because I had already come twice that night, I was able to last longer, and I gave Marilyn a good ride. Still, she looked and felt so good, and she was being so enthusiastic, when I did come, it was another nice load, and I felt a pleasant ache in my nuts from being drained out. I was done for the night. We slowly untangled and I gently kissed my beloved. “I love you so much!” I whispered to her.

“Oh, I wish I didn’t have to leave here,” she said.

“Well, if you don’t somebody is going to be very surprised in the morning!”

“No shit!” She smiled at me. “I’d better get dressed again.” She reached out and grabbed for her tee shirt and jeans.

I grabbed my own pants. “I told you I could win the bet.”

“What? Oh! I think you cheated!”

“How?” I asked with a laugh.

“I don’t know, but you must have cheated. I want a rematch!”

“Any time!”

By now Marilyn was dressed, though she had stuffed her bra and panties in her pants pockets. “What was the bet for, anyhow?”

I had to think about it for a second. “If I won, you’d go to bed with me, and if you won, I’d go to bed with you.”

“Spoken like a true mathematician!” She leaned down and kissed me. “We’ll have to see about that rematch.”

Chapter 36: Lefleur Homes

Well, I slept happy that night, let me tell the world! It was the sleep of a well fucked man! All good things must end, however, so I woke at six the next morning when my alarm clock went off. I stumbled off to the bathroom, where I found that, yes, Marilyn had given me a hickey. It was low down, where it would be covered by a shirt, but only if it had a collar. No tee shirt today.

This reminded me of a time when my parents were staying with us. My Dad hadn’t gotten sick yet, so we must have been in our mid-forties, and Marilyn got extra amorous one night. My mother made a number of amused comments about my ‘bruise’ the next morning, much to my embarrassment!

I relieved myself, and then went back to the library. I cleaned up my bedroll and made sure the evidence had been cleaned up or destroyed, and then I changed. I put on some running shorts and yesterday’s tee shirt, and dug some socks and my running shoes out. It was time for my morning routine. I stretched the kinks out and then let myself out of the house.

It was cool in the morning, with dew on the grass, and I looked around at the neighborhood, such as it was. We were a couple of miles west of Commercial Drive, and the area was fairly rural. There were a number of dairy and vegetable farms in the immediate vicinity. While I wasn’t sure, I figured I was about three or four miles from the Oriskany Battlefield, max. I took off at any easy lope down the side of the road. There wasn’t much traffic at this hour.

I kept the pace down for the first mile or so, before picking it up a notch, and made it to the battlefield in about half an hour. It was definitely warm enough by then, or I was warm enough, that I took off my shirt and carried it. Once there, I wandered around in the parking lot, not that there was much to see. The Battle of Oriskany was one of the opening salvos in the Saratoga Campaign in the Revolution, but it was a small battle and not very well known. There isn’t even a visitor’s center, just a monument and some memorial plaques. After about ten minutes I ran back to the Lefleur house, and tried to up my pace, so that I had a good sweat going by the time I got there. I made it back about 7:15 or so, just in time to find some of the older Lefleur boys wandering around the parking lot.

I wiped my face with my shirt and walked up to them, blowing out and cooling down. It was Mark, Luke, and Gabriel, and they were looking at the old rust bucket Galaxie. “Hey guys, what’s up?” I asked.

“Where’ve you been?” asked Gabriel.

“Out running. I try to run or work out every morning.” I wiped my face off again.

“Where’d you run?” asked Luke, looking around the yard.

I pointed down the road. “I ran down to the battlefield and looked around, and then ran back.”

Luke stared at me. “The battlefield? The Oriskany Battlefield? That’s, like, miles away!”

I nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s three, three-and-a-half miles or so. I wasn’t measuring it, but I left here at six, and I didn’t push it. I guess that’s right.”

Luke kept staring at me, and Mark, true to form, said, “Bullshit!”

I just smiled at my once and (hopefully) future brother-in-law, and I shrugged. “No, no bullshit. Come down and join me tomorrow morning. It’s a nice morning run. Or we can do calisthenics for an hour. You choose.”

Mark didn’t respond, but Gabriel asked, “Why?”

I leaned back against my car. “Oh, a bunch of reasons, but really, only two. First, I’m going to be a soldier. I need to be in shape. Second?” I hooked my thumb towards the house. “Girls like a guy who’s in shape.”

All three of them groaned and rolled their eyes at that, especially when the door opened up and Marilyn stuck her head out. “What are you doing out here? It’s freezing!”

I waved at her and I smiled at her brothers. “Like I said, there’s benefits to being in shape.”

“What’s that on your neck?” asked Gabriel, the youngest of them.

I grinned at that. I winked at the boys and answered, “Ask your sister.” Luke and Mark just groaned in disgust, but Gabriel was mystified. He wasn’t quite at the age where girls mattered.

I headed towards the door with the boys following.

Needless to say, the hall bathroom upstairs was occupied when I got there. I just sat down on the floor and waited. Eventually it was free and I got inside before anybody else got any smart ideas. I made it a quick shower and shave, and then changed into clean khakis and a sports shirt. I grabbed my stuff and went back downstairs; the bathroom was filled as soon as I left it!

I found Marilyn and the three boys in the kitchen with their mother, along with a couple of the smaller kids. Marilyn looked at me curiously, and said, “Gabe says there’s something on your neck?” Behind her, Luke and Mark were damn near breaking up with laughter, and Harriet was eyeing us curiously as well.

I just gave her an innocent look and shrugged my shoulders. “No idea what he’s talking about, hun.” I leaned in and kissed her quickly. There was a basket of apples on the corner table, and I grabbed one. “Want one?”

“No thanks. So, you went running this morning? Down to the battlefield?”

I nodded as I chewed a bite of apple. “I wanted to make sure which side won. I’d hate to find out I was rooting for the wrong side all these years.”

Rafe popped up. “General Herkimer stayed in the house!”

“Really? General Who?”

“General Herkimer! After the Battle of Oriskany!”

I nodded in understanding. The farmhouse was at least a couple hundred years old, and in dilapidated condition almost the entire time. I remembered vaguely that Herkimer died of wounds after the battle. “Did he die here, too?”

“That would be cool!” came from Rafe.

Marilyn said, “Yuck!”

I smiled at her and nodded towards her brother. “Boys!”

“Very funny.”

“Come on, are you going to show me around? I want to know all about trailers.”

“HOMES! They’re homes, not trailers,” said Harriet.

Yeah, Harriet, I know. We used to call it the T-word, sort of like the F-word and the N-word. I spent enough time in the business to call them any damn thing I wanted to. “Yes, ma’am.” I leaned over to whisper directly into Marilyn’s ear. “Trailer, trailer, trailer.”

She gave me an elbow to the ribs, and whispered back, “Behave!” I just grinned at her. When she was done with her cereal, she put her bowl in the sink, and grabbed my hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

I grabbed another couple of apples and stuck them in my pockets, and followed her out the side door. She was already describing anything and everything in sight. It was a pleasure to hear her talk. She loved her family, even though she wasn’t totally in love with the trailer business. I was the one who ended up working there full time; she never became more than a gofer.

In most ways, this was because of Big Bob. Women were second class to men. He was a very traditional sort of father and businessman. It was very curious, in a way. He often hired women for sales positions, which were the highest paid positions in the company, but it was because women were better at the touchy-feely sorts of things in house hunting. He never once promoted a woman to a management position, and his own daughters never rose higher than part-time secretary. Marilyn’s jobs were cleaning lady, trailer escort, secretary, and general gofer. Sarah and Miriam understood this immediately, and it was why they went to school and never got into the business. Ruth never had any choice; nobody else would ever employ her.

I will point out that his sons, the second generation to own the company, never had this problem. We frequently had women in various management positions. Big Bob didn’t like that, but after he sold it to us, he didn’t get a vote.

Marilyn led me on a tour of the facility. The office was a metal sided double-wide that had seen better days. There was a gigantic warehouse full of parts. There were about a dozen or so trailer homes of various sizes, and another couple of dozen used trailers further back, and to one side were three double-wide trailers. It took me back in time. These homes were state of the art in the trailer business at the time. Lefleur’s had a reputation for only carrying high end trailers, and the brand names were like a time machine for me.

Most of the acreage was flat and empty. Eventually the operation would grow immensely. Two more warehouses would be built, along with a massive pole barn capable of storing homes inside it. The existing office building and farmhouse would be torn down and new office buildings would go up. It would continue growing until the Great Recession, at which point it would begin a long, slow, and painful decline. The company finally failed about a year after Marilyn died and I had gotten out of it completely, in 2021, when Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac were finally shuttered and mortgage financing collapsed. I was lucky. Gabriel lost his house, and John committed suicide.

Maybe I could change that. I wasn’t going to work for the company, but maybe I could change things. That would be a worthy goal for the future. I would have to give that some thought.

I pointed at a yellow metal double-wide out back, in a field. “What’s that building for?”

Marilyn laughed. “That’s where the boys live! Come on!”

Marilyn tugged my hand forward, but I stayed where I was and kept her from romping ahead. “Hold on, hun,” I said.

“What?”

“It’s just… listen, do me a favor and don’t tell anybody about my family. Have you said anything to anybody about what happened when we were down there?”

“No! That was just too weird. Nobody would have understood.”

How true, how true. “Okay, so don’t let it out. I’m already enough of a shock to your parents. Let’s not make it worse.”

“I think you’re being too critical of them,” she replied defensively.

I gave her a sad smile. “Your parents are good people, but I am not what they bargained for in a boyfriend for their daughter. They already don’t like that I’m a soldier. Later today they’re going to learn I’m not Catholic. Let them get used to me before we spring on them that I ran away from home as a teenager.”

She looked up at me sadly and wrapped her arms around me. “I love you. It doesn’t matter what anybody else thinks.”

I hugged her fiercely. “If that was all I had left in the world, it would be enough. Just humor me on this. It will all come out eventually. Just let me tell about it first, please?”

She looked like she was going to cry on my behalf. I just grinned down at her. “If I ran away from home and joined the circus, that must be the ring with the elephants out there,” I said, pointing at her brother’s double-wide. “Let’s go feed them some peanuts!”

“You’re awful!” She tugged my hand and pulled me along.

I remembered the building, but not very well at its original purpose. The Lefleurs had a brilliant solution to the problem of how to house their gigantic brood in a farmhouse not equipped to hold them all. They had lots of empty land and the ability to get a big trailer at cost, so they built a four bedroom double-wide trailer out back of the sales lot and put the four oldest boys out there. Then, as each boy graduated from school and went out on his own, the next oldest boy would get moved out to the second house. Since this occurred at the same rate as new kids came along, the house population remained high but stable. Ultimately it became the service building.

Marilyn walked up to the front door and barged right in. I hoped none of her brothers were in a state of undress, but we walked into a small living room. I had been in the building innumerous times, but only once when it was still a house. I had completely forgotten the layout of the place. Four bedrooms, two baths, small kitchen, central living and dining rooms, no foyer, small laundry off the kitchen. Only Matthew and Mark were out there, and neither was naked in the living room. The place reminded me of a residence inhabited by teenage boys — it was messy and smelled of gym socks.

“What’s up?” asked Matthew as he came out of his room.

I was just standing there in the doorway looking around, and Marilyn answered, “I was telling Carl how Dad put a place for you guys up out here and decided to show him.”

“Yeah, we were really getting packed in down there, and then you came back,” he said.

“So where do you keep the beer and women?” I asked.

Marilyn gasped and smacked me in the arm. “There’s no beer or women here!”

Both Matthew and Mark, who had now come out of his room, were grinning as she said this. I just shrugged good-naturedly and said, “How do you know? You don’t live out back here.”

“Because they don’t!” Strong on emotion, weak on logic, that was my Marilyn!

I just held my hands up in an undecided sort of gesture. “You never know, babe, you never know!” Actually I did know. Matthew, for instance was incredibly straight laced, and John was pretty serious, too. (Luke, on the other hand was a party hound, and would do it if he could!) If anything like that were to occur, the chances their parents wouldn’t hear about it were infinitesimal!

Luke and John came in and I asked them where they kept the beer, which got a nice discussion going, and then Marilyn and I left. She shook her finger at me. “Don’t go giving them any ideas about beer and women!”

“Honey, they’re teenaged guys. All they think about is beer and women!”

“No they don’t! They’re good boys!”

“Then they must belong to a different species of humans than the one I know about!” I grabbed her from behind and wrapped my arms around her. “I think about beer and women, or at least just one woman!”

“They’re better behaved than you are!”

“Most humans are!” I decided to punish her for arguing with me, so I started tickling her.

Marilyn is extremely ticklish, and within seconds she was shrieking and trying to escape. She managed to squirm out of my reach and ran off towards one of the warehouses. I ran after her, which made her bolt in a different direction. I caught up to her and tickled her some more, and she kept running away. Eventually I managed to trap her in one of the corners of the warehouse. “Stay away from me!” she said with a warning tone.

“Oh, I can’t do that. All I can think about is beer and women, remember, and there’s no beer out here.” I moved closer, and she tried to squeeze to my left, but I blocked that and moved in.

She was smiling, and said, “I’m not that kind of girl!”

“But I’m that kind of boy!” She moved the opposite direction and I blocked that path as well. By now I had her completely in the corner, with my arms planted on the walls, trapping her.

“Your father would have never done this with your mother!” she argued.

I laughed loudly at that. “Where do you think us three kids came from? The stork!” I moved even closer, so that I was pushing up against her. “I think we should go find an empty trailer.”

Suddenly she got a very scared look to her eye, and tried to push me back. “That would be crazy! We’ll get caught for sure!”

Yeah, we probably would be. You’d think that my experience when Jeana’s parents caught us would have taught me a thing or two, but hormones are powerful things! “We can be quick!”

“My parents will kill us!”

“What a way to go!” I started kissing her.

Marilyn eagerly responded, but then she pushed me back. “No way are we doing anything in the homes or out here in the warehouse. You are going to just have to wait until tonight!”

“Okay, but tonight you’d better have taken your vitamins! It’s going to be a long night!”

“I hope so!” We settled back down to making out. “I missed you so much!”

“Me too, and not just because of that. I like being around you. I love you,” I told her. I never told Marilyn that enough the first time.

“I love you, too.”

“It’s just too bad we can’t be back at the Hilton for a few hours.”

She giggled at that. “I can’t believe we did that.”

“It’d be even better now, without the, well, you know.”

She just rolled her eyes. “Those things are so gross!”

“But necessary.”

She nodded, but said, “Yuck!”

“Come to Kegs in a week or two and spend the weekend with me. We’ll kick Bradley out and get crazy.” I pushed my body against hers. “I really liked sleeping with you, even when we were just sleeping.”

“Okay. Maybe every other weekend we can see each other?”

It was my turn to nod in agreement. “You know how we spent our vacation? How would you like to do that over winter break?”

Marilyn eyed me curiously. There was some sound from the other end of the warehouse, so we pulled apart and slipped out a side door, and walked hand in hand slowly around the lot. “What did you have in mind?” she asked.

“Well, I was thinking, I have off most of January. I don’t know what your schedule is going to be, but you’ll probably have at least a few weeks off. You could come and visit me, and we could go away for a week.”

She had an eager look to her face. “Where?”

I shrugged. “Who cares? Anyplace would have to be warmer and sunnier than New York in the winter!”

She gave me a disdainful look. “New York is a great place in the winter!”

“Not if you’re wearing a bikini it isn’t!” That got a giggle from her. “Do you know how to find a tanning booth or salon?” I asked.

She looked very confused at that. “A tanning salon? Why do I need a tanning salon?”

I wrapped her back in my arms and whispered in her ear, “Because I am going to find you the world’s smallest bikini, and you’re going to need an all over tan before you can ever wear it.”

She blushed fiercely. “Oh my God!”

“It will be so small I will need to shave you, everywhere, before you can wear it!”

“You are evil!” She tugged my hand and we went back to the farmhouse. It was time for lunch.

We goofed off after lunch, and I took a quick nap around two. At three I woke up and Marilyn asked me if I was going to church with her. I shrugged. “Sure, but don’t sit next to me. When the lightning comes down through the roof, you don’t want to be caught by friendly fire.”

“Very funny!”

At three-thirty the entire family showed up. I changed shirts and put on a dress shirt I had brought for the occasion, along with a tie I had tossed into my bag. Back home, when I was growing up, ‘Sunday go to meeting clothes’ consisted of suits and ties for the guys and dresses for the women. I was very surprised to find that to the average Catholic, simple clean clothes were considered sufficient. In the rural area we ended up living in, that could mean fresh overalls and clean barn boots. My mother would have been scandalized! As it was, simply wearing a tie meant I was fancier than any of the boys.

They went to St. Peter’s in two cars, and Marilyn and I drove separately in my car. She simply had on clean jeans and a decent shirt. We sat together in two pews, with Harriet and Big Bob in the back pew, the better to swat unruly heads. I had been to countless masses before, and skipped countless more. It took all my willpower not to whisper to Marilyn my thoughts on the priest’s sermon. Over the years it got to the point where Marilyn stopped asking me to attend, because I wouldn’t behave. I think that was after one of the priests at her church compared the Holy Week to a baseball game. Of course it could have been after the sermon where an older priest repudiated the Second Vatican Council and called Jews the Christ killers. My mother was a quarter Jewish (maiden name Rosenkrantz — long story, but she was still hard core Lutheran), enough to have gotten her into trouble with the Nazis, and it was all I could do not to stand up in the middle of church and denounce the priest and leave. Marilyn was very worried about me that day.

And don’t even get me started on the priestly sex scandals that ultimately broke the church. By the time I stopped going to church with her, I had taken to calling the collection plate the Altar Boy Defense Fund. Marilyn lived long enough to see how all that ended, and it just about killed her.

Marilyn had steadfastly refused to believe there was a problem in the Catholic church. Whenever there was a sex scandal in a Protestant church, maybe once a year at most, she would trot that out to ‘prove’ we had problems like they did. Never mind that for the better part of two decades the Catholic church had a problem every week! That was just anti-religious people like me publicizing things unfairly.

I had a different take on it. Historically, up until about the time of World War II, the priesthood was a good method for a young man from a lower class immigrant family, a fellow with just about zero chances of getting a decent education or any kind of non-blue collar job. As for the whole celibacy issue, well, the church had long experience with that sort of thing, and as long as everybody was discreet, nobody really cared. Following the war, there was a massive expansion of low cost and state funded higher education and the job market exploded. Suddenly, all those Italian and Irish and Polish kids could get college degrees and good jobs. Meanwhile, the church drifted to the right, and began really pushing the celibacy requirement.

The result was massively predictable! ‘Normal’, i.e. straight, men no longer had a need to go into the church to get ahead. That left the only candidates for the priesthood the ‘non-normal’, in other words the gays and pedophiles. Suddenly faced with a massive decline in recruitment, the church drastically lowered standards on who they would let into their ranks. By some accounts, by the Nineties, the majority of Catholic seminary students were non-heterosexual. It’s a mathematical certainty, an element of Set Theory, my specialization — If you exclude all members of a subset from the superset, the remaining members of the superset will all be members of other subsets. In other words, if you actively exclude heterosexuals who like grown up women, you are left with homosexuals and heterosexuals who like kids.

There was probably a different explanation, but I was going with my version.

I hadn’t thought much about John Paul II, who seemed like a nice enough guy, but was definitely old school, and he could never understand why those pesky Americans got so wrought up over priests diddling little boys. Benedict XVI didn’t have much more luck. During his reign the European churches found out their priests were diddling their little boys as well. On the one hand he was much more open about the problem than his predecessor, but on the other hand he was also old school and got caught covering up problems in his own jurisdiction. At least he wasn’t personally involved in anything.

Supposedly, his replacement, John Paul III, was going to be the key to fixing the problems. A dark horse candidate, he was a Swiss bishop (not even a cardinal), young and modern, and had an understanding to the problem. Scarcely had his papal coronation been completed, however, when the videotapes came out, videotapes that showed him when he was a monsignor, with another priest sodomizing a teenage boy who was crying and begging them to stop. The boy later committed suicide, and the tapes came out when the other priest was caught with a different boy.

The outrage was worldwide. There were immediate calls for his abdication and prosecution, but nobody could actually make him do anything. The Vatican is a separate country, and the Pope is the boss. He refused to resign, and then threw fuel on the fire. In a Papal Bull, he ruled that Papal Infallibility not only extended forward to the future actions of a Pope, but extended backwards, to actions in the past. In effect, he wrote himself a pardon.

Within weeks of this, the Catholic Church collapsed. Three-quarters of the world severed diplomatic relations with the Vatican. Even the Swiss Guards, his own security force, from his home country, resigned and went back to Switzerland. The Pope ended up hiring non-Christian Nepalese Gurkhas as his new security force. In the United States, several of the big city bishops and cardinals called an emergency meeting of the Conference of Bishops, and within weeks over ninety percent of American parishes created the Reformed Catholic Church, splitting the church in two. There were no differences in the liturgy, but there was no pope, priests could be married, women could be ordained, and birth control was allowed. By the time I left the scene, the church was actually undergoing a rebirth. Sarah’s husband, the Catholic chaplain at Nazareth College, although not an ordained priest, immediately quit his job and went to divinity school to get the remaining courses necessary to be ordained.

But that was for far in the future, and even thinking about it now would make enemies, including Marilyn. I just sat there in the pew and listened and kept my mouth shut. Nobody said anything until the time for communion came, and I stayed in my seat. Everybody eyed me curiously, and only asked me when we left the church. I simply told them I was Lutheran, not Catholic, and they gave me a very curious look and didn’t say anything more.

In the entire family, with all the spouses and relatives, I was the only non-Catholic. They didn’t make you feel like a pedophile, not precisely, anyway.

Saturday night supper was going to be burgers, which I normally like, except when they are burned to charcoal, which is the way Big Bob liked them. Sunday dinner was scheduled to be roast beef, roasted to a finely dried leathery substance and then smothered in brown gooey gravy. I reminded Marilyn that we would go out, and she nodded and wandered upstairs to change again. I nibbled on some cheese for the cheeseburgers while I waited, and drank a beer with Big Bob. It was Kraft white American cheese, the sort that will survive through nuclear firestorm and the Apocalypse. The beer was Heineken, though; Big Bob had good taste in beer.

Marilyn came back down a few minutes before seven, and my mouth got suddenly dry. She was wearing that short denim skirt she had worn that one night in Ocean City, along with the high heeled sandals. She did have on a very tight red checkered short sleeve blouse and a bra, though. She looked beyond sexy, and her perfume was driving me crazy. I thought for sure her parents were going to say something to her, but they didn’t.

Harriet and Big Bob had perfected the mechanism for not seeing what they didn’t want to see. They didn’t want to know that their eldest daughter was fucking a frat boy soldier, so they simply pulled their blinders on. My parents never learned this skill, and both this time and the last, had constantly quizzed me on whether girls were coming to the apartment or frat house. Neither Harriet nor Big Bob ever asked me once, even when their little girl was running around in a miniskirt and fuck me heels and visiting me for vacation weeks.

Her brothers all knew, just about from day one. They might have been young and virgins, but they weren’t blind. Matthew used to crudely joke, after we got engaged, about the foolishness of buying a cow when you can get the milk for free. Luke and Gabe once walked in on us fooling around under a blanket in front of the fireplace one winter when the library was chilly. I actually stood up to defend myself from their righteous anger, but I forgot that my pants were still down around my knees. They just laughed at us.

I was smiling as we left the house, and I let her walk in front of me so I could watch her legs and ass. God, was she hot! Once in the car, I turned the key and then said, “I think I’ve changed my mind. I want to go over to the Marriott and order up some room service for dinner!”

Marilyn laughed at that. She waggled a finger at me and said, “I don’t think so. Dinner and then we’re going out, remember?”

I groaned at that. “Please, tell me, are you wearing anything under that skirt?” I reached across and laid a hand on her bare thigh.

Marilyn whimpered, but then crossed her legs, which really made the skirt ride high, and said, “You’ll just have to find out later. Let’s go.”

I groaned as I put the Galaxie into gear. “You’re killing me. You know that, right? You’re killing me!” Marilyn simply grinned at that.

We drove into Utica and across the river into North Utica, where I remembered a restaurant on North Genesee that had a fairly young crowd. It was crowded enough we couldn’t get a table right away, so we had a drink in the bar until something opened up. Utica is not one of the great dining cities of the world, but you can always get a steak somewhere. There is, however, a local dish seen only in the Mohawk Valley known as ‘greens’, which I love and Marilyn hated. It basically looks like grass clippings (which I think is actually escarole, kale, or spinach — something like that) mixed with hot peppers and bread crumbs and baked in olive oil, and it’s delicious! Every restaurant has their own recipe, and everybody argues over whose is best. I made sure I had a large serving.

“So what’s the plan for after dinner? Did I hear you say something about driving up into the hills and getting into the back seat of the Galaxie and steaming up the windows?” I asked her.

Marilyn laughed at that. “Is that all you can think of? No! We’re meeting Tammy at a place she knows between Utica and Rome, over on 5.”

“Who’s Tammy?”

“I told you about her. She was my best friend all through UCA. I called her and asked where she liked to go. It’s a country bar sort of place.”

I vaguely remembered Tammy. She was a ditzy blonde, very cute and curvy, who was pals with Marilyn. She was Marilyn’s maid of honor at our wedding, but after that we moved out of the area for a few years and they totally lost track of each other. If I recalled correctly, she was dating a greasy asshole that I nearly got into it with a couple of times. I think they got married and had a nice slew of white trash kids.

“Oh, I think I’ve heard of the place. They have a dress code, right? Women aren’t allowed to wear bras and panties, something like that?”

“You’re horrible!” she said, laughing.

“I’ll have to check on that when we get there,” I insisted. Marilyn just laughed, a sound I really enjoyed listening to. I always loved it when she laughed. Whatever it took, I was going to have her laughing and snuggling with me the rest of our lives, all over again.

“Horrible!”

Marilyn gave me some half-assed directions to the place we were going, and thankfully I knew how to get to 5 and going west, because her directions would have sent us to Lower Slobbovia. It was about nine when we got to the place, which was not quite a night club, but more than a bar. It was a country place, with a live band and a dance floor, and both a bar and table service. This was in the days when you could still smoke in bars and restaurants, and it had a smoky tobacco scent that I loved and that would have my eyes red by closing time. Once we got inside and our eyes adjusted to the low lighting, I recognized Tammy at a table on the side, jumping up and down and waving to us.

I pointed out the girl to Marilyn. “Is that Tammy?”

“Yes!” She grabbed my hand and pulled me along behind her. Tammy was wearing skin tight jeans and a tank top with nothing underneath it. Her date was a greasy and thin scuzbucket that looked like he had graduated from the Oneida County Jail, where he had majored in auto theft. I shook his hand and then carefully counted my fingers. Thankfully we were seated boy-girl-boy-girl, so I didn’t have to worry about getting my wallet lifted just by sitting next to him.

There was a band playing, loud and good, but not great. You want a great bar band, you go to LA or Chicago or New York or Miami, or for country, you go to Nashville or Austin or Branson. You can really tell the difference in those places. There’s a crispness to the music, where every single note is hit with a precision that only comes from superior skill and relentless practice. This band was good, but not up to that standard. They would do the bar band circuit for a few years, before settling down in their day jobs at the Arms or Faxton or wherever they called home. They were okay to dance to, though, doing mostly covers of country and southern rock, lots of Eagles, Molly Hatcher, 38 Special, and some Johnny Cash and Bocephus thrown into the mix. When we walked in, the band was doing Merle Haggard’s Okie From Muskogee.

It was loud enough I didn’t have to converse with Tammy’s date. I just eyed Marilyn and Tammy (surreptitiously, of course). Tammy was a cute and tight little blonde with some interesting knockers swinging freely under her tank top, a look always good on a girl. She had a slight gap in her top front teeth that actually looked very cute on her. I always thought she could have done better than the guys she hung out with.

We danced and drank some beer and danced some more. Tammy and her boyfriend ordered up pitchers of beer and mostly drank them themselves. Marilyn had a few glasses herself. I had a couple, but I’m not a heavy beer drinker and I stayed sober. Marilyn got a bit loose, and Tammy and her friend really got lit up. After an hour or so, Tammy announced she had to go to the bathroom, and Marilyn was drafted to accompany her. They must have union meetings in there, I swear!

When they returned, the two girls were giggling and laughing, and Marilyn asked me for the keys to the car. I asked why, and she said she wanted to put her purse back in the car. I just shrugged and handed her my keys. Tammy’s boyfriend looked at me curiously, and I just shrugged and gave him a mystified look. The girls took off, still giggling.

Five minutes later they were back, still giggling, like little girls with a secret. The riddle was solved when Marilyn and I were dancing again, and the band started playing something slow by the Eagles. As I took Marilyn in my arms, I stroked her back idly, and found something missing. Marilyn’s bra was gone! She and Tammy must have been talking about it, and either she took it off in the bathroom and needed to hide it in the car, or she and Tammy went to the car and Tammy covered for her while Marilyn stripped it off in the parking lot. Normally Marilyn wouldn’t be that crazy, but she was drinking and Tammy was drunk, and they were thick as thieves anyway.

I rubbed Marilyn’s back, and she giggled at me. “So did you do that in the bathroom or out at the car?” I asked her, speaking into her ear.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?!”

“I would! It makes me really hot for you!” I surreptitiously brought a hand up and tweaked a nipple through her blouse.

Marilyn shuddered in my arms. “Behave yourself!”

“Do you want me to?” I asked. “Or do you want me to take you outside and ravish you in the back seat of the Galaxie right now?” I nibbled on an ear while I asked that.

Marilyn whimpered. “Behave!” she told me, weakly in my opinion.

I let it slide and gave her a smile. After our dance we sat back down at the table. Tammy was laughing at us knowingly. Her date was leering at Marilyn and looked like he was about to make a smartass remark. I just looked at him without smiling and he must have gotten the message. I hadn’t been afraid of him way back when, and I certainly wasn’t impressed now. Tammy missed everything, and she grabbed his hand and dragged him out onto the dance floor. The band was doing.38 Special now and she was shaking those tits inside the tank top in an amazing way.

“What’s with you and Jim?” asked Marilyn.

That was his name, Jim. Eminently forgettable as a human. I just smiled. “Nothing, why?”

“You look like you want to fight him or something.”

“Marilyn, I’m a peaceable kind of guy.” I put my hand on her thigh under the table. “I’m a lover, not a fighter!”

Marilyn shuddered and flushed, and I just moved my hand northwards until my fingers were slipping under the very short hem of her denim skirt. “What are you doing?” she asked.

I pulled my hand away and then moved my chair around, so that we were facing each other. I moved my other hand down and placed it on her thigh and quickly moved it up her leg and under her skirt. “I was just wondering whether anything else got left in the car.” I pushed my hand farther in, but the skirt was tight and without some explicit help from Marilyn, I wasn’t going to find the answer.

She whimpered and panted, but begged me to stop. “You can’t… no, stop… not here… people will see… please…” Then her eyes focused and she moved back violently, almost backing into a waitress and getting a shower of beer. “Tammy and Jim are coming back.”

I just smiled. “How much longer do you want to stay?”

Marilyn was breathing hard. “Not much longer at all! Bastard!”

I just laughed loudly at her. I poured the last of the beer around, and finished my glass, and then took Marilyn back onto the dance floor, where I danced slowly with her and held her closely and whispered extremely detailed descriptions of what I wanted to do to her as we drove home and afterwards. After a few minutes of that, she took my hand and headed back to the table, where she finished her beer and waved good-bye to Tammy and Jim, and then dragged me out.

Marilyn led me back to my car, and was obviously in the mood to get home and get into action. I had a slightly different take on things. I looked around and found that the parking lot wasn’t all that well lighted and that not a whole lot of people were outside. Rather than unlock her door, I pushed Marilyn up against that door, and began kissing her. “I know what you want!” I told her softly.

“Oh?” she said, trying to be coy.

“Uh, huh, you want this!” Then before she could stop me, I reached down and pulled her skirt up towards her waist, and I quickly slid my right hand between her legs; my left hand was holding her in place. As I suspected, her panties were missing along with her bra, and her curly little patch was wet and musky.

Marilyn gasped, and shook, but she also tried to pull back. “No… we can’t…”

I diddled her clit furiously, and Marilyn whimpered and sagged back against the car door. “We can, and we will!” I fingerfucked her, standing there in the parking lot until she came. “Tell me when you come!” I ordered her.

Marilyn was quietly whining by now. “Unh… unh… unh… oh God… I’m, I’m coming, I’m coming!” she gasped after another minute.

I kept up this torture. “Tell me.”

“Oh, please… I’m coming!”

I relented at that and stopped. I also pushed my face against hers, and she greedily took my kisses, as I smoothed her little skirt out. “I love you.”

“I can’t believe the things I do with you,” she replied, shaking her head in disbelief.

“But you like them,” I said, laughing. I unlocked my car and Marilyn climbed in. I went around to my side and let myself in. I had to unlock my door since Marilyn seemed a little dazed. I noticed her underwear in the back seat of my car. That gave me another thought. I started the car and put it in gear.

As I pulled back out onto the road, I patted the seat next to me a couple of times, and Marilyn got the message. She unbuckled her seat belt and slid over towards me. There was something to be said about that big old Detroit iron — bench seats and no idiot lights or warning beepers. “You better not hit anything!” she commented.

I draped my right arm around her shoulders and drove with my left hand. “I can handle it. I was the soberest one at that table, although that’s not a glowing tribute.” I draped my arm a touch farther, and lowered my hand down to the front of her blouse, and grazed my fingertips across her nipples.

Marilyn gasped and looked up at me. I felt her movement and turned my head to grin at her. “Watch the road!” she said.

I maneuvered my hand a touch lower and firmly cupped her breast and tweaked her nipple. “Well, aren’t you the Little Miss Bossypants?”

“Behave.”

“I didn’t think I was misbehaving.” I tried to slip a finger inside her blouse.

“What if we have an accident?”

“Then the coroner is going to have a whole lot of fun explaining this to both our parents,” I replied, laughing. Marilyn gave me a sheepish look at that. I pulled my arm from around her, but set my hand on her bare thigh. Now that we were alone, she spread her legs apart, and I slipped my fingers between her soft and warm thighs. I wormed my hand upwards and began running my fingertips across her greasy little slit.

“You are driving me crazy!” she panted out. By now she was laying back in the front seat, sprawled out with her legs spread wide and her skirt had worked its way up her thighs so that her pussy was in view.

“Unbutton your top,” I told her.

“Just watch the road,” she said, but she also undid the buttons on her blouse. This was also like our first trip through. Whenever Marilyn and I went out on date night, underwear was notably absent, and the drive home was always hot and steamy, even well into our sixties.

I drove a few more miles, until we were close to the Battlefield, at which point I turned off the road and went up into the hills south of Utica. I only drove until I found a side driveway that went into an abandoned farm. I pulled in far enough we couldn’t be seen from the road, and put the car in Park. “And just what do you think we’re going to do here?” teased Marilyn, sitting upright and sliding closer to me.

I undid my seat belt and took her right hand and placed it in my lap. “I think you know exactly what we’re doing here!”

We didn’t do a whole lot of talking after that. Marilyn definitely had an idea of my plans, since she was working on my belt and zipper within a few seconds. She got a surprise when she found me going commando under my pants. A light rain had started falling by then, cooling the car, and we really fogged up the windows! Marilyn got a mouthful of jism while blowing me while I finger fucked her, and then I got stiff again and crawled over to her side of the seat and we tore off a vigorous piece on that side of the car.

Afterwards, as we struggled back into our clothing, she said, “We could have done this in the library and been a whole lot more comfortable, you know.”

“You have been driving me crazy in that skirt and those heels all night! I couldn’t wait!”

“I ought to make you wear these heels,” she complained.

“I’ll make a deal with you. You only need to wear heels when you are wearing a skirt or dress,” I replied.

“Why do I think you’re up to something?” she countered.

“I don’t know. Maybe because I really want you to dress only in skirts and dresses?” I answered innocently.

“Uh huh. I thought so.”

“I’ll compromise. You just keep wearing this little skirt with nothing underneath and the highest heels, and you can wear hot pants and high heels the rest of the time.”

“Dream on!”

I popped my door open and hopped out into the drizzle, and tucked my shirt in and straightened up, so I didn’t look like I had just gotten dressed in a car after screwing my brains out in a car. Marilyn made sure her blouse was all set, and she tucked her panties and bra in her purse. I started the car up and we went back to her house. Back at the house, I insisted we find out if the library was more comfortable, and Marilyn went along with my experiment.

Experimental sciences are the best sciences!

Chapter 37: Sophomore Year

Sophomore year is an interesting year for most students, in that this is their first really independent year, at least academically speaking. Not in lifestyle, of course, since that occurs freshman year. Freshman year is a huge change for the average college student. For the vast majority that are now living away from home for the first time, this is a massive culture shock. They are now being treated as adults, and need to learn discipline quickly. Mommy and Daddy are no longer going to be there to hold their hands, and they will have to adjust to a totally foreign environment and meet new people and assume new responsibilities. More than a few students totally bomb out at this; Marilyn and Buddy were just two examples. Buddy was obviously more extreme, but Marilyn didn’t have the discipline needed to study away from home. She needed a structured environment.

A lot of students don’t survive freshman year. Those that do find that sophomore year is more interesting. For most college students, not just at RPI but at almost any college, freshmen are interchangeable parts. All engineers need to take a couple of semesters of basic engineering before they can specialize. All chemists need to take basic chemistry so they can have the proper language. All liberal arts majors need to take some basic English courses, so they can learn to write. RPI was more extreme than most, but not by much.

Almost all colleges understand this, and to some degree or other try to help their students cope and adapt. They have tutors and help offices and at RPI the structured nature of freshman courses (everybody does the same classes) helps. That doesn’t affect the fact that more than a few students are simply too immature to be on their own, and will simply spend their time fucking off, like Buddy.

Sophomore year is when you start to specialize. At this point the classes become a lot smaller and more intimate. Gone are the days when 500 students crammed into Chemistry 1 classes. Now you get lectures for maybe 30 Organic Chemistry students. Different disciplines will have different requirements, so electrical engineers won’t need to take hydraulic engineering courses, and so forth. Make friends with these guys, because they’re going to be with you for the next three years!

The classes also become tougher, and it’s very easy for the professors to spot the students sleeping through class, since it won’t be in a giant lecture hall. There will be another cut on students who somehow managed to fake their way through freshman classes and now have to take it up a notch. Likewise, at this point a lot of students start moving off campus, and have to face those challenges as well. While some colleges insist that everybody live on campus, most colleges simply don’t have the dorm space to do that. At RPI fully 1 in 4 students live in frats, and just about as many live in apartments in town. The school simply does not have enough rooms for all students.

As I settled back into full time life at Kegs, I could see some of these dynamics working already. Joe and I had meshed nicely. He was a relatively quiet guy, who didn’t drink much and never even looked at drugs. He didn’t chase women around very much, and in fact kept that part of his life rather quiet. That being said, I never once had a warning bell from my gay-dar, and I suspected he had some action going back home. Home was in suburban New Jersey, a place I had once lived in for a few years and never much cottoned to. Joe had a good sense of humor, in a quirky and understated sort of fashion, and was actually a decent magician. He did a lot of card tricks, with the most awful stage manner, but you could never see how he made those cards appear or disappear! He was a hard core Catholic.

We made it through September fine, and then I did that first weekend at Marilyn’s the first weekend of October. She visited two weekends later, and as I promised Joe, he had plenty of advance warning. We were already working on a calendar — I would visit Marilyn the beginning of November, she would visit a week or two later, I would visit her for Thanksgiving, and that would be it. December we would go bonkers for finals, and then we would have the winter break. We’d worry about the 1975 schedule then. I wanted to keep things under control this time around, and be a better roommate. Joe was a decent guy, and I always felt guilty about being an asshole with him. I knew he didn’t like my being a doper and one time Marilyn and I went to bed while he was still in the sack himself, and that really offended him.

I could already see what was happening with some of my incoming brothers. Andy Kowalchuk was a big time pot smoker, which I knew now but not on the first trip through. He got me into pot big time back then, but I kept it much more low key now. Still, he got Bill Keswick, a chemistry major, to design a hash oil still and steal some lab gear to run it. This turned out to be an amusing weekend project for the two of them. Jerry Modanowicz was proving to be an asshole, but since he had moved into the glorified closet that was one end of the Underground Railroad, he didn’t have any roommates to worry about. The Cisco Kid was back, uglier and stupider than ever, having barely managed to keep his grades high enough to come back. Within two weeks he had already broken one chair when he sat in it, and I knew it was the first of many to come.

Joe was a math major, and was taking sophomore level math classes, but he didn’t need all that much help from me, and rarely asked. He thought my working on a doctorate was a little strange, but it wasn’t that odd. In fact, despite being a real animal house and a nest of dopers and drunks, Kegs had a surprising number of geniuses living there. A lot of the upperclassmen were in five year engineering masters programs. Both Pabst and Schlitz, the Beer Buddies, would graduate with electrical engineering degrees (pure math) in three years, and Homer Simpson would get out in four years with a masters in computer science. Joe would graduate in four years with two bachelors degrees, math and economics, and then defer his military duty while he went to Wharton on his own dime and get both an MBA and a masters in operations research (also pure math) in two years. My doing a doctorate in four years was not at all out of the question.

Marilyn showed up two weeks later in the middle of the afternoon on Friday, while Bradley was taking a rare late afternoon Friday class. We quickly tore upstairs and snuck in a quickie before he got back, although we giggled a lot when he came back from class and found us sitting there pretending to study. Marilyn had already met Joe before (he was my second in the duel with Ghormley) as well as the rest of the brothers, and settled right in. There were always a few girlfriends around the house, some serious and some not. We did not live a chaste lifestyle. It was rather more of a desperately horny lifestyle!

The best example of this was a fellow about five years ahead of us who made a name for himself and the fraternity at every college campus in the area. He combined the finest traits of nerdly math wizardry and terminal horniness. He figured that an average brother would meet, over the course of a semester, ten to twenty girls at various parties. They would end up getting one or two of them in the sack, a closing ratio of roughly 10 %. So therefore, apply some good old fashioned Yankee ingenuity to the problem. He would hit on 100 to 200 girls a semester! If it had two X chromosomes, he would buy her a drink at a party, quite bluntly say that he was only interested in one thing, and ask if she was interested in it also. If so, they could leave together. On the down side, he got his face slapped a whole shitload of times, had drinks dumped on his head even more, and earned a major reputation as a first grade creep. On the plus side, he figured his ratio held true, and he got laid a lot! It took us years to live his reputation down!

By strange happenstance, we were having a party Saturday night, the first big one of the semester. It wasn’t Halloween, which was the following week, but we were celebrating Oktoberfest, so we had a couple of kegs going. Next weekend we’d get even sillier. That afternoon, Marty and I and Marilyn set up the bars, much like I had done with Marty last year when I met Marilyn. It was looking like I was a junior member of the Social Committee, or maybe they had just figured out I was a lush. Joe was spending the night in the triple with Bruno and Lynchburg, and with any luck, Marilyn and I could spend some quality time alone before the party that afternoon.

We had finished setting up the bars and were relaxing in the living room when another couple of guys, juniors, came in and plopped down on the couch. They were starting to argue about learning and education, which Marilyn found amusing, since she was an education major. Meanwhile, they got totally off the first topic and started arguing about what the most important thing they learned in high school was. That was when I chimed in. “Hey, I learned everything I ever needed to know back when I was five years old. Everything else is just BS.”

“Like what?” sneered Jim Easton.

“Well, I learned to play well with others and to share my toys when I was five. Didn’t you learn that, too?”

That got a good laugh from everybody there, including Easton. “That’s true. It didn’t take, but I do remember learning that.”

“Everything else important is from that time, too. Don’t you remember being told to watch both ways before you cross the street? Five years old!”

Everybody nodded, and they started tossing around stuff like, ‘Don’t run with scissors.’, ‘Don’t cheat.’, ‘Nobody likes a tattletale.’, and so forth.

I nudged Marilyn in the side and said, “Here’s a good one. Always take a nap every day.” Marilyn turned bright red at that, especially when Marty asked if I needed a nap.

“Maybe,” I agreed. “Besides, I always remember what I learned on Romper Room.”

That got a few people reminiscing about Romper Room. Marilyn got some attention when she announced, “I was on Romper Room!”

“Really? You and Miss Sally?”

“It was Miss Nancy in Utica.”

I nodded. Romper Room was a sort of franchise operation, and every town and station in those days, back before you had nationwide broadcasting like that, had their own hostess. “Well, I learned a very important lesson from Miss Sally.”

“What?” she asked, falling into my trap.

“Be a Do-Bee and eat your honey!”

Oh my God but the place roared at that, and Marilyn turned beet red and squealed as she ran out of the room. I raced after her and caught her and carried her up to my room. I was a Do-Bee!

Marilyn put up with quite a few jokes the rest of the weekend, but we left the party early and had our own party upstairs. Sunday morning, after a nice bout of early morning loving, we hit the bathroom early. The procedure was that you could lock the main bath on the second floor hall from the inside, and then clean up together. Sometimes, if the traffic was heavy, a girl would simply barge in and hop into the shower, and then peel off her robe and hang it up by sticking her arm out through the curtain. That I saw more than once in my time there.

Sunday morning I had to get up early anyway, since I was cooking. Not just cooking myself and Marilyn some Sunday breakfast. No, I was cooking Sunday Supper for the entire fraternity! I was confident of my abilities in preparing a nice intimate meal for two, or a delicious family sized meal, but this was the first time in either life that I would cook a professional meal for a large group of people on a budget. I was a little nervous.

Normally we had a cook who came in at about 11:00 and worked until 6:00, Monday through Friday. She made a simple lunch, sandwiches and soup, that sort of thing, and then made dinner. The Kitchen Steward was in charge of ordering everything needed, overseeing the budget, and running the assigned labor. All the brothers acted as waiters and dishwashers in rotation. Saturday we did the same, but Mrs. Clarity simply prepped the meal ahead of time. We simply warmed it up.

Breakfasts were usually cereal or toast or eggs, which were free, or you could do yogurt, which had a signing sheet on the fridge, where you marked down what you took and it was added to your bar bill at the end of the month. That’s how I learned to do omelets, studying under Ricky in the middle of the night when we had the munchies.

Sunday was different. We only had one meal, a big deal meal, at 1:00. You scrounged for yourself Sunday night. This was usually a big roast of some sort, veggies, potatoes, dessert, etc. We had these things at other meals, but Sunday was definitely supposed to be bigger and better. We would also have more people in attendance. Girlfriends were usually around, and we often brought pledges and potential pledges in for meals. The cook was one of the brothers, from a list of three or four brothers who had demonstrated superior kitchen skills over the years. They got paid $10 for a Sunday meal. I had been a Steward once, but I had never been a cook.

I didn’t have an unlimited budget, and I didn’t have unlimited manpower. I had me and Marilyn, after I promised to split my fee with her. She was generally hopeless in a kitchen, but I would supervise her and use her for the scutwork. I just wouldn’t tell her that. I had been assigned a beef roast, and Arnie, the current Steward, had gone over my menu. I promised him roast beef, canned green beans, potatoes, gravy, rolls, and my choice of either Jell-O and Foo (a non-dairy whipped topping that we made from a powder) or ton cake (it’s bigger than a pound cake), which was nothing more than a sheet cake with some baker’s sugar sprinkled on it.

So that was the menu, but it didn’t mean I couldn’t improvise. We started early, and I had Marilyn help with mixing the ingredients for the ton cake and pour it into a baking tray. Marilyn, for all her being a lousy cook, is a perfectly adequate baker. As soon as the cake was in one side of the double oven, I had her make some dough for biscuits. Again, this can be pretty simple, but we needed 50–60. Meanwhile, I quickly washed three dozen potatoes and set them on a tray, and put them into the other side of the oven.

Just because we were doing meat and potatoes, it didn’t mean we were doing something boring. I remember reading Heinlein’s Starship Troopers, and there is a passage about the fall of communism. It basically goes that not everybody has equal abilities. A good cook can turn apples, sugar, and flour into a tasty treat, a great chef can take the same ingredients and turn out a brilliant confection, and a lousy hack can turn them into an inedible mess. I was going for something special today. These weren’t just going to be baked potatoes; I was going to make double baked potatoes! You bake the potatoes until done, remove them from the oven, and cut them in half lengthwise. Then you carefully scoop out the potato from the skins and save the empty skins. The potatoes get mixed up with some milk and butter and chives, into a creamy mashed potato filling, get spooned back into the potatoes, and then rebaked. It takes a little longer, but it’s very nice.

While the potatoes were baking and Marilyn was working on the biscuits, I was preparing the roast beast. I was going for a horseradish crusting. You slit some pockets into the roast and then dredge the roast in flour and place it in the roasting pan. Next you prepare a paste of melted butter, horseradish, parsley, and lemon juice that you pour into the pockets and then cover the outside of the roast with. Then you roast as normal. Very tasty!

For gravy, I was taking some standard canned gravy, but modifying it by adding some beef bouillon, garlic, and horseradish. For my veggies, I was using canned green beans, which I had to use since I couldn’t budget for fresh and didn’t have the time to prepare them anyway. I was tempted to bake a green bean casserole, but instead settled for adding some chopped onions and cilantro to the pot while they were warming up.

By noon everything was cooking along nicely. The real trick to cooking is not the individual dishes, but the timing required to bring it all together at once. Some items, like the dessert, can be prepared ahead of time without worry. Others can be cooked and then kept warm for a bit longer, like the potatoes. The meat needed to be ready about fifteen minutes early, so I could carve it in time to be served on the dot at 1:00. The biscuits and the gravy needed to be ready without any delay. By half past twelve Arnie was marshalling the waiters and starting to prepare everything for serving. The kitchen smelled fabulous; Marilyn and I looked like we had been dragged through a knothole!

By 12:45 the tables were set and people were starting to congregate. I was slicing roast beast as fast as my little fingers could go. On my own I used an electric carving knife, but here I used a big chef’s knife. Meanwhile Arnie had the main counter lined with serving plates and bowls, and he and Marilyn were slopping beans and biscuits and gravy out. At five minutes of, cries of “Food! Food!” were sounding in the dining room, and we could hear the thumping of fists on the tables. I just grinned at the others as we started portioning out the roast beef onto serving plates. We actually got done with about ninety seconds to spare, by which time the hue and cry was thunderous. I looked at my watch as the grinning waiters picked up their plates, and as the second hand hit the 12, I flashed my hand down and sent them on their way. I leaned back against the counter and grinned at Marilyn. “Some fun, huh?”

She gave me an exhausted look. “I think I need a raise!”

“I’d make a smartass comment about the type of raise you’re going to get, but I’m too tired,” I admitted. I pushed her towards the dining room, where I had reserved her a seat near the kitchen, next to my roommate. “Sit. Eat. Rest!”

Bradley looked at me as I leaned in the kitchen door next to Marilyn. “What’s in the gravy?” he asked.

“You like it?”

He nodded. “Yeah!”

“I added some beef broth, garlic, and horseradish. The horseradish is what gives it the extra kick. That’s on the beef as well.”

“It’s good!”

“What’d you do to the green beans?” asked Boris.

“Added some onions and cilantro.”

He made a funny face. “I hate green beans.”

Then why ask? I just shrugged. Everybody else was stuffing it in as fast as they could, and waiters were starting to head for the kitchen for seconds. I followed them in and sent out some more food.

About ten minutes later, the calls for dessert started, and I had the waiters send out the trays of plates with cake on them. As I knew would happen, there were immediate cries for ‘Foo! Foo’, done in a high falsetto voice. I also knew that Arnie would clamp down on it. He jumped up and yelled back, “No, you don’t get Foo, not after last week! No more Foo until you learn to behave yourselves!” Last Sunday the dessert was Jell-O and Foo, and had resulted in a Foo Fight at the end. In fact, it was about even odds that when Foo was served, a Foo Fight would ensue.

I grabbed a clean plate from the pantry and loaded it up with some food and took Bradley’s seat, and had some supper while Marilyn dawdled over her cake. Arnie came in with a slice of ton cake and sat down across from me. “So, you want in the rotation?” he asked.

I smiled. “So, I passed the audition?”

“You passed.” I grinned over at Marilyn, who grinned back at me. “You want cash or do you want me to put it against your bar bill?”

“Put it against my bar bill.”

“Where’s my cut?!” asked Marilyn. She held her hand out, palm up, and twiddled her fingers.

“Considering what I should be charging you for lessons, I thought we’d call it even.”

“Lessons? Think again!”

“True. A gentleman never charges a lady.” Arnie snorted at that and stood up. I simply pulled out my wallet and handed Marilyn a ten. “Keep the change. I’ll take it in trade later.”

“Not if you have that attitude!” Still, she was smiling as she said it.

“Go clean up before you go home. I’d offer to wash your back for you, but I’d rather just take a nap.” We headed upstairs while the dishwashing crew took over. Marilyn cleaned up, and I dozed in my armchair at my desk. When she came back from a second shower, I carried her bags out to her car and kissed her good-bye. I would see her in another couple of weeks.

And so it went for the rest of the semester. I went back to Utica in two weeks, and Marilyn visited the frat house two weeks after that. In Utica I was becoming a fixture. Mark kept trying to needle me, but Marilyn kept me calm, and then really ripped him a new asshole one night at the dinner table, during the early November visit. For Thanksgiving, I planned to spend the holiday weekend in Utica with the Lefleurs, much to the disappointment of any frat brothers staying over.

I was worried about what would occur when Harriet and Big Bob found out I was estranged from my family. I dodged that bullet when they asked about it that first weekend in November, simply stating it was too far to travel. They nodded in understanding at that, since it was at least 300 miles away. For Thanksgiving I would drive over to Utica Wednesday morning and stay until Sunday, my longest visit yet.

The house was extra cramped that weekend. I was in my usual spot in the library, but Marilyn had a roommate, too, her Aunt Lynette, who was visiting and sleeping in the same room as the only other adult female. She was Big Bob’s baby sister, and only about ten years older than Marilyn and me. She worked in the admissions office at Plattsburgh State. She was the person who Marilyn was named after, sort of. She was a spinster, in that she never married, and as far as I ever knew, never had any romantic inclinations.

She was a little pistol, though, and I do mean little. Lynette was maybe 5’1" tall, if she was standing straight and thinking tall thoughts. One of the rules was that the little kids couldn’t think of themselves as “big” until they were as tall as one of the grownups, so they all looked forward to getting as tall as Aunt Lynette and being “big”. She got off the hook a generation later, when Peter married a blazingly hot redheaded Irish girl who was only 4’11" tall. Suddenly you had all these nine and ten year old nephews and nieces and grandkids who were “big”. You simply had to laugh at it all.

One interesting thing was announced. Harriet was pregnant with number 11, who was expected in the late spring. I don’t think a year would pass between Peter and Paul. If nothing else, Harriet and Big Bob had figured out the mathematics of being fruitful and multiplying!

Wednesday went okay, pretty much like my other two visits. Marilyn and I went out to dinner and then she tucked me into bed later, before sneaking up to her room a couple of hours later. Both of us were smiling when she left the library.

The plan for Thursday was to just hang out with the family, watch football in the afternoon, and then suffer through a Lefleur Thanksgiving dinner. Maybe Marilyn could pour a lot of booze into me before dinner. The morning started off fine, and football was okay. I’m not a big fan, but Marilyn’s brothers certainly were. For me, while I was always a big fan of the Baltimore Colts, I already knew that they were going to move in a few years to Indianapolis and that just ruined football for me in the future, and for me, that meant now. Tenses get weird with this back to the future shit.

So while the day had started fine, things changed during dinner. Dinner did not go well, not well at all. In fact it was an absolute catastrophic disaster! We were all seated at the dining room table, all except the little kids who were either at the bar or in high chairs. Marilyn was across from me and Lynette was next to me, and since we were the oldest, we were down next to Big Bob and Harriet. “So, Carling, where do you go to school?” asked Lynette.

“RPI.”

“Oh, that’s a good school! What are you studying?”

“I’m taking mathematics,” I answered.

“Really! What kind of degree is that?” she continued.

Marilyn popped in at that. “Carl’s working on his doctorate.” She looked over at me. “Isn’t that right? You’re working on your PhD?”

Suddenly it felt like the whole room was staring at me. I nodded. “Technically I don’t start until next semester, but I’ve already started working with Professor Rhineburg, and he’s agreed to be my thesis adviser.”

“Your PhD? Oh my! That’s amazing!” said Lynette.

I tried to shrug it off, but it was out there now. Big Bob stared at me. “You’re going to be a doctor?”

“Of mathematics, sir.”

“Damn fool thing to be going into the army then,” he said huffily. “If you’re so smart, why didn’t you get a real scholarship?” I just rolled my eyes and bit my tongue.

“Just how old are you, Carl?” asked Harriet.

“I just turned 19, ma’am.”

“What are you, some kind of genius?” asked Mark.

I put my utensils down and wiped my mouth with my napkin. Mark was trying to push my buttons again, and had been all day long. Worst of all was that his parents knew what he was doing and didn’t call him on it. Marilyn had gotten into it with him a couple of times earlier in the day, but he hadn’t stopped and his parents hadn’t said anything to him. I wondered if they were trying to test me. Marilyn couldn’t figure it out, either. For instance, earlier that day Mark had heard her laughing at me about being a Boy Scout, and he had started in on it. I simply recited the Scout Law while his parents listened in, and then asked if he thought his sister should be dating a guy who didn’t believe those things. He had just sneered and then left the room.

Now, as he rode me about working on a doctorate, I looked over at him and said, “Yes, Mark, that’s exactly what I am. Is there a problem with that?”

He blinked his eyes and tried for a comeback. “Yeah, I think you’re full of crap! If you’re so smart, what are you doing with Marilyn?” That got a number of laughs from his brothers. I noticed that Harriet and Big Bob weren’t laughing, but they weren’t telling their kids to shut up, either.

I felt very cold inside, and if it had just been me, I would have punched him out. I knew that was a really lousy idea, but I couldn’t put up with it any more. I set my napkin down beside my plate. I felt a kick at my ankles and Marilyn was trying to keep me calm. I looked across at her and she was silently pleading with me to keep my cool. I took a deep breath and just nodded at her. Dinner had been bad but edible; the turkey was dry as a bone, but with enough gravy and salt, anything can be eaten. Now it felt like an icy ball in the pit of my stomach. I looked at Mark. “Your sister, Mark, is a bright light in the darkness of my soul. The real question is what is an amazing girl like Marilyn doing with me.” I turned my head to Harriet. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll excuse myself for now.”

I pushed my chair back and stood up. I think everyone was in a certain state of shock at my leaving. I went out of the kitchen and through the living room, and found myself in the library. Behind me, Marilyn started yelling at her brother, and the volume level became intolerable. I looked around the room. While I normally unpack when I stay in a hotel, there was no place to put anything, so I was living out of my bag, and I rolled up my sleeping bag every morning. I put on my coat and hat, grabbed my shit, and headed out. The screaming in the kitchen was approaching jet engine levels. I went outside and tossed my stuff in the back seat of the Galaxie, and then went back inside.

Nobody had even noticed I had gone out or come in. I went back into the library and found a scratch pad and a pen, and wrote some stuff on the pad. Then I went back into the lions’ den. Everybody stopped yelling and stared at me, now wearing my winter coat and my hat. I walked up to the table where Mark was sitting on the far side and dropped the note pad onto his dinner plate, right in the middle of his mashed potatoes. “Mark, you think I’m full of crap about college? That’s the number for the RPI switchboard, and Doctor Rhineburg’s office. Feel free to call him on Monday to confirm I’m going for my doctorate. If you ever call me a liar or insult your sister in front of me again, I’ll feed you your teeth.”

Mark just stared at me as I turned towards his parents. “Mr. Lefleur, feel free to think me a fool for defending this country. My family has been defending your family for generations. We don’t ask for your thanks, but please do us the courtesy of not mocking us, either. Mrs. Lefleur, dinner was very nice, but I think I’ve worn out my welcome. I’ll take my leave now before I say or do something we will all regret.” I headed back out to the living room.

The room erupted, with Marilyn leading the howl. I was already out the door when she started crying out, “Stop! Stop! Wait!” Marilyn caught me as I was opening the door to my car. “Where are you going?! Come back!”

I turned to face her, and smiled down at her. I wrapped my arms around her. It was absolutely frigid and she was already starting to shiver. “If I don’t get out of there, I am going to go bust, and punch out either your brother or your father or maybe just both of them. I’m heading back to Kegs.”

“You’re leaving?!”

I gave her a wry smile. “The guys staying there need me to cook for them. They’re probably starving by now!” She started to protest, but I leaned down and kissed her, stopping her. “It’s for the best. I can’t stay here.” I gently turned her towards the house. “Go inside before you freeze to death!” She stood there numbly, and I got into my car and pulled away.

I drove back to Troy on autopilot, not really noticing or seeing anything. I felt as numb as if I had walked back through the cold. I parked the Galaxie at Kegs and walked in through the kitchen. The light was on in the living room and I found Marty there watching television.

He looked up at me in surprise. “What are you doing here? I thought you were at Marilyn’s?”

“It was a disaster!” I tossed my bag on the floor and sank down onto the opposite couch.

“How so?”

“Well, let’s see.” I held up my hand and started ticking things off on my fingers. “Marilyn’s parents discovered I’m working on my doctorate. They think college is a waste of time and think I’m a fool for going to school.”

“Yeah? They sent their daughter to college!” Marty interrupted.

I waved that off. “She’s a girl. That’s so she can meet a guy and get married. Anyway, that’s one. Two, her brother called me a liar and said I wasn’t going for a PhD and I threatened to feed him his teeth.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Marilyn stopped me.”

Marty nodded. “Should have anyway.”

I shrugged. “Three, her old man thinks I’m an idiot for wasting my time in the army. Only idiots go in the army.”

“He’s right about that.”

I just flipped my friend the bird. I started a fourth finger. “They treat Marilyn like shit, and I feel like smacking the bunch of them upside the head with a two-by-four half the time. Let’s face it, Marty, they’re white trash! Hell, they make white trash look good. Jesus Christ, her father’s a trailer salesman for God’s sake! Name one job more white trash than that!”

“Yeah, what’s that make the guy mooning after his daughter?”

“An asshole. An asshole that needs a drink. You got the keys to the bar cabinet? I’m all out.”

Marty rolled upright off the couch and shrugged. “What the hell, why not. Come on.” He went off to his room and came back with a ring of keys. The bar cabinet was the most secure room in the frat house, considering that everybody who lived there was an alcoholic in training. He unlocked the bar room and then the bar cabinet, and I reached in and found a fifth of Black Velvet. “It’s going on your bar tab, you know.”

“Fuck it. You want a shot?” I grabbed a couple of shot glasses from behind the bar and filled them without waiting for a reply.

Marty grabbed his. “Mud in your eye!”

“Skoal!”

Marty locked up the bar and took a second shot for himself, and we headed back upstairs. “You going to be all right?”

“Peachy.” I wandered off and went into the formal room. I sat down in an armchair in the corner, and left the lights off. It was dark and quiet, and seemed to fit my mood.

There are many different types of drinking. There’s binge drinking, party drinking, social drinking, happy drinking, sad drinking, and all sorts of other types of drinking. The most dangerous type of drinking is thinking drinking. It’s deliberate, slow, relentless, dark, and depressing. You think, and then you have a drink, and then you think some more, and then you drink some more. You keep this up until you either run out of thinks or run out of drinks. I was doing some serious thinking drinking.

I had really fucked up this time. You could always trust me to do and say the exact worst thing. It was bad enough that I got into it with Mark and Big Bob. No, I couldn’t let the assholes slip by, I had to go after them. I had to react to them, let them call the tune. I couldn’t act like a grownup. I had to act like a spoiled little boy. I had left Marilyn. She’d never want to see me again. Now what was I going to do? The only thing I cared about in the whole damned world was gone. I had already destroyed my own family, now I was working on Marilyn’s. I sat there and slowly sipped shots of Black Velvet in the dark.

After a bit, I heard the back door open. Somebody else must have come in. There weren’t any other guys staying in the main house, but there were about three over in Grogans’, I thought. Whoever it was climbed the back steps and went upstairs, and I poured myself another shot. A minute later, as I stared at my shot glass, I heard somebody coming down the front stairs. For some reason I thought it sounded like a woman’s walk.

“Is he here? I saw his car in the parking lot.” It sounded almost like Marilyn. I swallowed the whisky and pondered that thought. Now I was hearing things.

Marty answered. “He’s in the formal room. What happened? He said his visit didn’t go well.” I heard the creak of the old couch, like somebody was getting up. I eyed the bottle and contemplated pouring another shot.

“No, not very. My brother Mark thought he would be funny and see how far he could push Carl, and my father decided to let him. They pushed him awfully far. He just left and came back.” The voices were sounding like they were getting closer. I thought about looking around for them, but decided not to. I looked at the bottle instead.

“He said something like that. I told him he should have decked your brother.”

“I kept on him to behave. I should have let him deck him, too. The last time this sort of thing happened, he broke his own brother’s jaw.” The voices were getting closer. “Oh, shit. We need to get him to bed.”

“Why do you think I was hanging out down here? I wanted to keep an eye on him until he passed out.” Before I could make a response, somebody took the bottle away from me, and then hands grabbed my arms and pulled me upright. “Jesus Christ! Put this asshole on a diet, will you?” complained Marty.

The room started to swirl around me, and then things seemed to go very dark.

Chapter 38: Aftermath

I woke up on top of my bed the next morning, with the sunlight making achingly bright patterns on my eyeballs. My head was pounding and my stomach was churning and I felt like I was about to pee my pants. I was still dressed. I stumbled downstairs and made it to the bathroom, where I got my pants down in time to sit down and piss out a river. There are actually two toilets parked next to each other in the main bath, which was a good thing, since my stomach kept churning and I was able to simply bend over from where I was sitting and puke into the other toilet until I had nothing left but dry heaves.

I didn’t think I had ever felt this crappy on my first go-around! This was even worse than the bout of dysentery I once had. To prove it, my guts cut loose and I had the runs. I sat there until that stopped and I prayed to die. God must have really had a wild sense of humor that day, since he let me live. I eventually was pissed, puked, and shit dry and empty. I got up slowly, my head throbbing, and looked in the mirror. I looked even worse than I felt. I stumbled over to the shower and turned the water on, and then stuck my head underneath it. I was still dressed, and my shirt ended up soaked, but I didn’t care. Now, semi-clean, I wandered back to the third floor.

I wasn’t sure how I had gotten there. I must have left the bottle downstairs last night. I felt too crappy to want another drink, so I dug out my bottle of Tylenol and dry gulped a handful. Oh, how I missed Advil! That wouldn’t be legal for another ten years! I stripped off my wet shirt and thought about going back to bed, but I wasn’t sleepy enough at the moment. Besides, my room and my bed stunk of stale sweat and booze. Despite the chill, I opened a window to air out the joint. At first it was bracing and refreshing, but then it just was cold. I grabbed some clean clothes and my toilet kit and headed down to the bathroom again.

It was about half an hour later, after a very long and hot shower, and another round of shitting, puking, and pissing, that I was alive and dressed and back upstairs. I did some more Tylenol; it might kill my liver, but after last night it was probably dying anyway. I closed the window to the room and grabbed my dirty laundry and headed downstairs. There, in the living room, as I turned the corner to head to the basement, I found Marilyn. I stopped dead in my tracks. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

She was sitting on the couch playing solitaire and watching Marty, Swayzack, and Ghormley play three handed poker. The three guys looked up and grumbled out various greetings, and Marilyn rolled her eyes. “I’ve been here since last night. How do you think you got up to your room?”

I gave her a very perplexed look at that. I looked towards the formal room, which was the last location I remembered clearly, and then back, to find Marty smirking at me. “You know, I have no idea. I was wondering about that. What happened?”

Marilyn flung the deck of cards at me, which didn’t hit me since they fluttered all over the room. “You asshole!” she yelled, which earned her a lot of laughs from the others. She got to her feet and came over to me, and wrapped her arms around me. “Sometimes you make me so mad I want to scream!” She grabbed my laundry and said, “Come on, let’s get the laundry going. Then we can clean up your pigsty.”

I followed along mutely. I didn’t know what to say, but I knew I wanted to say it alone with her. We went down to the basement and on towards the back where the washing machines were. Once we got there, I asked her, “So what happened after I left? I didn’t expect you here.”

“I left about an hour and a half after you did, maybe two hours. Just long enough for you to get drunk! You don’t remember me and Marty carrying you upstairs last night?”

I gave her a wry look. “Not really. I thought I heard you two talking, but I thought I was just hearing things.”

“The next time you get drunk like that, you’ll hear me kicking you in the balls! Asshole!”

The washing machine was making an uncommonly loud sound as it started to cycle, so I took her hand and led her back towards the front of the basement. There we sat down on an old couch. “I’m sorry about that. I had no idea you would come here. I would never do that with you around.”

That mollified her slightly, but only slightly, and I let her rag on me for a few minutes more. When I finally got a word in edgewise, I asked, “So why are you here? What happened after I left?”

She gave me one last “Asshole!” before settling down. She looked at me and shrugged. “It got crazy for a while. Most of the kids and Aunt Lynette took off, but Mom, Dad, Mark, and I went at it for over an hour. I don’t think anybody has ever stood up to my father like that before, and he didn’t know whether to respect you for it or banish you for life. He did try to ground me, and I told him I’d move out first. Mark did get grounded, and Dad even smacked him on the head, and I’ve never seen him do that before.”

Oh, shit, I had never seen him get physically angry with any of the kids either. This was really serious. “Oh, crap!” I muttered.

“Really!”

I looked at her. “So, what happens now? Are we still together, or have you dumped me, or what?”

“I’m here, aren’t I? Christ, you’re an asshole!” She gave me a few more minutes of grief. I sat there and ate it. I guess I deserved it. Better to have her yelling at me then ignoring me. She finished by yelling, “If I was going to leave you, I wouldn’t be here, would I!?”

I was saved by the bell, the washing machine bell, so I quickly went and threw my wet clothes in the dryer and started another load. When I came back she was pretty much over her stewing, so I sat back down next to her and tentatively lifted my arm up. She must have been over her mad, since she moved in next to me and snuggled against my side. “Just don’t do that again.”

“What? Get into it with Mark and your father, or leave?”

“Leave! If you had waited, I would have come back with you. You can kill Mark for all I care.”

“That never even crossed my mind. Listen, Marilyn, I’ve already fucked up my relationship with my own family. I know your family means a lot more to you than mine ever did to me. I won’t get mixed up with that. You should leave me if it’s me or them. I’m not worth it.”

“I hate it when you speak like that. You’re worth it and more.”

We snuggled together quietly until the bell rang again. We had to wait until the dryer was finished before putting the second load in the dryer. We took the first load back to my room, at which point Marilyn started ripping me again about the squalor that Joe and I were living in. “It smells in here! You need to change the bed immediately!” We had an old rickety ironing board behind the door, and that was set up and Marilyn started ironing the clean clothes. I was assigned to take a load of bedsheets down to the basement. I returned to receive orders to find some cleaning rags and a bucket of soapy water. I was about to wash the room down!

“You’re really getting into this ordering me around shit, aren’t you,” I commented.

Marilyn glared at me and waved the iron at me. “You earned it! Get to work!”

I snickered and turned away. “Yes, ma’am!” I looked back for a second. “I bet you like being on top, too!” That got me a screech of outrage and a face full of laundry.

I wasn’t all that hungry, and I kept downing aspirin and Tylenol the rest of the afternoon, while I cleaned and Marilyn supervised. She had me dusting the whole room, washing down everything, even dusting our textbooks. Meanwhile it was up and down the stairs to do loads of laundry. At one point Swayzack was passing through and I warned him away — Hurricane Marilyn was coming through!

By late afternoon I forced her to stop, saying we had already cleaned the room twice, and put away everything and went downstairs. “You hungry? You didn’t have any lunch,” I asked.

“Neither did you.”

“I don’t think that would have been very pretty. I think I could handle something now. Want an omelet?”

“What’s that?” asked Marilyn.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, since I don’t think I ever saw the Lefleurs cook a breakfast. “Fancy scrambled eggs. Want some?”

“Okay.” I led the way to the kitchen and pulled eggs, milk, and American cheese out of the giant wall fridge. I also spotted some leftover ham from the Sunday meal I had cooked a week ago. I yanked that out as well, along with the butter. These I placed on the counter, and then I started grabbing spices off the pantry shelf — red pepper, garlic powder, some dried onion, oregano and basil. Marilyn was watching curiously as I brought out a small frying pan and a mixing bowl. I put the frying pan on the stove with a low flame, and melted some butter in it, while in the mixing bowl I broke three eggs and added some milk. I also prepped a slice of cheese and cut up into small pieces some of the ham.

Marty wandered in as I was pouring the eggs into the frying pan. “What’s for dinner?” he asked.

“I told you they’d starve without me,” I commented to Marilyn. To Marty I said, “Three egg omelets. Want one? Marilyn’s first, but after that I’m taking orders.”

“Yeah, sure!” I already had a reputation for making omelets almost as good as Ricky’s, which was only appropriate, since I learned to make them from Ricky on the first trip through. “Can I let the others know?”

“Go take some orders.” I looked over at Marilyn and said, “If you want some toast, you should probably put some bread in the toaster.”

Marilyn looked around for the bread, and Marty pointed her towards it before heading over to Grogans’. A couple of minutes later he was back with Swayzack and Ghormley. I had already flipped Marilyn’s over, encasing the melted cheese and ham, and was busy mixing some more egg. Marty and Bill wanted ham and cheese omelets, but Mike only wanted cheese, and no peppers. I ran an assembly line for about fifteen minutes before I was able to start on my own.

Marilyn stayed and watched while she ate. “How was it? Like it?” I asked.

“It’s very good! I still can’t believe you can cook.”

“Want any more?”

“No.”

I poured my own egg into the pan. “It’s like I told you. I lived on my own for two years before I ever came here. I had to learn how to cook.”

“Yeah, you told me. You also told me you used to cook dinner for your girlfriends in order to seduce them. Don’t remind me.”

“Jealous? I suppose I should be flattered. Besides, that was long before I met you, and it was only one girl anyway,” I said with a laugh.

“Hmmm… Still sounds fishy to me.”

I grinned. “How’s that seduction thing working, anyway?”

Marilyn smiled back. “You’re wining and dining me with scrambled eggs?”

“Dining you, at least. I think I’m leaving off the wining for a few days.”

“We’ll see.”

With the five of us eating together, it was simpler to run the dishwasher for a few loads. The house had an industrial type dishwasher, and I showed Marilyn how it worked. By then I was actually starting to feel sort of human again, and after dinner we went upstairs. I put some Moody Blues on the stereo, Days of Future Passed, and lay down and stretched out on my bed. I turned towards her as she turned towards me, and we came together slowly and softly. We spent some time taking each other’s clothes off, and then we made very gentle love. After all that had happened, it felt really good to be with her, alone in that big house, without any cares or worries.

Afterwards, we made love a second and then a third time, and it was still just the evening. Sated, at least for the moment, I pulled some pants on, and Marilyn pulled my shirt on. “That looks better on you then on me,” I commented.

“That’s because it’s so short,” she said with a giggle.

“If you don’t like it, you can always take it off. I won’t mind. Really, I won’t!”

“You’re such a jerk!” she said, smiling.

“I never noticed earlier. What did you bring with you? Where’s your stuff?”

“I packed a quick bag and threw it in the back of my car. It’s out back. Can you get it?”

I nodded and headed out and downstairs. I was barefoot and bare-chested, and damn near froze as I grabbed her bag and brought it back up to the room. Marilyn was still wearing just my sport shirt, and curled up on a beanbag chair in the corner. She’s not tall, and not what you would call leggy, but they were all on view that night and looked very tempting. “Here you go! I hope you have something in there to keep us warm, because it’s absolutely freezing out there.”

“There’s nothing in here that will keep you warm.”

I laughed. “That’s your job.”

She took her bag and opened it, and then rooted around in it for her bathroom kit. “I need to borrow your robe.”

“Why?”

“I can’t go out like this!”

“Why not? There’s nobody else in the entire house!”

“Carl!”

“Hell, wear a pair of high heels and go naked. I’ll go along to protect you.”

“CARL!”

I relented and took my robe from the closet, and she pulled it on like I was about to take it back. I just laughed at her. I grabbed my own stuff and followed her down to the bathroom, and then made a production out of locking and bolting the door. We were the only ones in the house. Marilyn stuck her tongue out at me. We showered together, which is always fun, but didn’t get carried away otherwise, and then brushed our teeth and went about our other business. Then it was back upstairs.

Normally I sleep in my briefs and a tee shirt, although I usually skip the undershirt when I’m with Marilyn. Hell, with Marilyn I usually skip the briefs, too. I wouldn’t want anything to get in the way in case she started feeling frisky in the middle of the night. Tonight, with the temperature where it was, I grabbed some underwear and set it down by the bed. I turned towards Marilyn, who was kneeling on the floor going through her bag, and spotted something blue and lacy. I bent over and pulled it out before she could stop me. Marilyn grabbed for it but missed. I held it up to the light and discovered it was a light blue and lacy chemise. “That looks interesting,” I commented.

Marilyn blushed and took it away from me. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you to not go through other people’s things?”

“Yeah, but she never taught me about that sort of thing. Did your mother take you shopping?”

“Oh my God! No!” laughed Marilyn. “Tammy and I went out shopping.”

“In Utica? I figured that sort of thing was illegal in Utica.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Did you help her pick something out for her?” I quizzed.

“You are such a pig! I’m not telling you that!”

I had to laugh. “So is that for tonight?”

She tossed it back in the bag. “How about tomorrow night instead?”

I nodded and opened up my bed. I stripped off my pants and tossed them onto a chair and climbed inside the sheets, and then scooted over to the side. Marilyn stripped off my robe and climbed in with me. I snuggled up next to her and whispered, “Thank you for everything. I love you.” Then we made love one more time before we fell asleep.

I woke up the next morning to find Marilyn stroking my cock. “What a wonderful way to wake up,” I told her.

“I thought you might like it.”

I rolled onto my back and Marilyn climbed up on top of me. Save a horse, ride a cowboy! Considering I hadn’t gone to the bathroom yet, and a piss hardon is notoriously difficult to come with, Marilyn had a nice long ride. “I like waking up this way, too.” she sighed afterwards, stretched out and lazing on top of me.

“Babe, I need to get up!” I rolled her off me as gently as I could, and scrambled to my feet. I left her the robe and pulled my pants on quickly. I scampered off to the bathroom.

I was still sitting on the toilet when the door opened and Marilyn came in, her arms full. She was wearing my robe, and was carrying towels and our bath kits. She blushed when she saw me, and turned away, and said, “Ooops, sorry. I figured since you were already down here, we might as well get cleaned up.”

“Thank you. That way we can get dirty together all over again!”

She looked over at me and grinned. “You’re an awful person!”

“It’s my most endearing quality.” I wiped myself, and flushed and went to the shower, to turn on the water and get some hot water into the pipes.

“I wasn’t sure you had any.”

“Cold, lady, that’s cold!” Marilyn hung my robe on a hook and we washed each other under the shower. It’s a damn good thing nobody else was in the house, since Marilyn got kind of noisy, and we had a very good time using up all the hot water. Afterwards, as we were toweling dry, I said, “Well, that’s two so far today. Interested in going for a record?”

“Think you’re up for it?” Marilyn was staring at something in the mirror, though at what I had no idea. I think all women do that.

“Only one way to find out.”

“Breakfast first, breaking records later!” We went back upstairs and dressed.

Downstairs, we had a fine dining experience based on bagels and cream cheese, with an OJ chaser. As we nibbled our bagels in the living room, I asked her, “So, have you been going to the tanning salon?” I had asked her this several times in our letters, but had never gotten an answer.

“You’re serious about that? And about, you know, down there?” Marilyn turned red as she asked this. I had also told her, several times, that I was going to buy her a swimsuit when we got there that was so small she would need to shave everywhere.

“As serious as a heart attack, which is what you’re going to give men when they see you. Absolutely!”

“Well, Tammy and I went to this place together a couple of times, but I felt really weird. I went topless, but not bottomless.”

I slid over next to her and placed my hand on her leg. Marilyn was wearing jeans and a KGS shirt I had bought her last year, with nothing on underneath. I leaned over and whispered into her ear. “If you don’t tan all over, your butt and your pussy will have white lines all over them. Do you want me to trim you up now?”

Marilyn gasped at that. “Oh my God! You wouldn’t… no… really… I couldn’t…”

I laughed and stood up. I took her hand and pulled her to her feet. We stopped in the dishwashing room and dropped our plates off, and then I led her by the hand back up to my room. Once inside, I closed the door. “First things first. You need to get undressed completely.”

Marilyn looked at me nervously. I opened my toilet kit and dug out a pair of small blunt nosed scissors I had in there (for nose hairs, but I didn’t tell Marilyn that, way too gross!) Next I spread out a towel on my bed and had Marilyn sit on it and then lay back. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked down her body apprehensively. It wasn’t the best position in the world, but I lay down between her legs and clipped and trimmed her pussy hair as best I could with my little scissors. A mustache trimmer works great, but I didn’t have a mustache. Marilyn didn’t have a real heavy bush, more like a small dense triangle, and the little curls fell to the towel.

“That’s part one,” I said, and then climbed up off the bed.

“There’s more?”

“We’ve just started. Don’t move.” I headed downstairs and found a couple of empty 2 liter Coke bottles. I rinsed them out several times with hot water, and then filled them with warm water, and carried them back upstairs. Once back in my room, I set them down and closed the door, and pulled out my razor and the shaving cream.

“What in the world are you doing?” asked Marilyn, looking at the bottles of Coke.

“It’s just warm water. Don’t worry.” I scratched my head for a moment. “Get up. I can’t do this with you laying down like that.” My bed was actually a mattress on the floor, and I needed to be able to kneel down and work on her at eye level. I folded up a towel and placed it on my swivel chair. “Sit here.”

Marilyn climbed to her feet and sat down on my swivel chair. I knelt down in front of her and maneuvered her so that her legs were spread wide and her pussy was all the way forward. She was half slumped back in the chair. I poured some of the warm water in a washcloth and rubbed her pussy a few times to get it wet, and heard her whimper softly. I grinned to myself, and then squirted a thin line of shaving cream on her, which elicited a little squeal of surprise. I rubbed it into her remaining stubble, and then said, “Now, whatever you do, don’t move!”

I took a lot of care with that shave, since I really didn’t want to nick her. I used my old razor blade first, and then put in a new blade and redid the entire area. When I was done, Marilyn was completely smooth and soft and shiny. What really surprised her was when I had her turn around and kneel on the chair, and then repeated the process from behind. I used some more water to wipe everything clean.

Finished, Marilyn stood there and marveled at her new haircut. “Oh, God, I can’t believe it! How did you know how to do that?” She glanced at my grinning face and promptly said, “No! Don’t tell me! I don’t want to know!”

“That was just part two. We’re not finished yet.”

“There’s more?”

“Final moisturization! Sit down again, just like before.”

“Final moisturization?” Marilyn was very confused, but she sat down obediently and spread her legs wide.

What an amazing sight! She looked so smooth and sexy, her pussy gaped open slightly, and I could smell that she was terribly excited and turned on. “Final moisturization! Just let me know when you’ve moisturized enough,” I repeated, and then put my face between those soft thighs and started eating her out. Within seconds her hands were entwined in my hair, pulling my face deeper, as she slumped in the chair and keened a quiet tune of desperation. I slurped up the juices flowing freely from her pussy. I pulled her legs up so they were resting on my shoulders and concentrated on licking her slit and tonguing her clit.

Marilyn was definitely enjoying this third phase of the process, but what really drove her nuts was when I homed in on her clit. Marilyn has a small clit, very sensitive, that hides up underneath the hood. I used my fingertips to spread her pussy lips apart and then put my lips directly on it and began sucking it like a tiny prick. The effect was instantaneous. Marilyn let out with a shriek and then began urging me on with totally incoherent sounds. “Unh… unggghhh… unh unh unh…” or whatever that meant. What it really meant was don’t stop! I kept sucking until she sagged back and collapsed in the chair.

I sat back on my heels. She might have come, but I still needed to. That pussy looked awfully moist and ready to me. I pulled her over to lie back down on my bed, and then I got on top. Last night we had made love. This was pure animal fucking, crazy, dirty, raw monkey sex. Marilyn had her arms and legs wrapped around me and was humping her pussy up at me as hard as I was pumping down into her. It only was a few minutes more before I groaned and complained that I couldn’t stop. She was urging me to come with her, and her cunt was spasming around my twitching cock. I filled her as I pistoned madly into her.

Afterwards, we both lay there panting, with me on top of her, and then I rolled over onto the bed. Marilyn groaned slightly as she twisted around and threw a leg over me. “That was… amazing!” she murmured.

I took a deep breath. “Yeah!” I smiled and turned my head to see her. “So, how do you like your new look?”

Marilyn rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe we did that!”

“It feels okay?”

“It feels… different.”

“Well, you need to keep it shaved now, or else it might get stubbly and itchy. I’ll be happy to help, but at home you’ll have to take care of it yourself.”

“Jesus!” she said, half to herself. “I hope this is worth it. Just where are we going, anyway? You haven’t said anything. Back to Ocean City?”

I grinned at her. “Nope, and I’m not going to tell you. It’s a secret.”

“Well, that’s no fair! How am I supposed to know what to pack?” she protested.

I sat upright and grinned down at her. “All’s fair in love and war! It’s not like you need to pack much. Feel free to leave your bras and panties at home; you won’t be wearing them.”

“What!?”

“Trust me, it will be a lot warmer and sunnier than here! Nice beach, nice restaurants, nice hotel room, big, big bed. What more do you need to know?”

“Carling!” she protested. She continued to push, but I resisted, and would only let on that it was somewhere in the United States. Finally, she looked at me and gave me a wicked smile. “I bet I know a way to make you talk,” she said, and licked her lips.

I had to laugh at that. “The only thing I would end up saying is, ‘Don’t stop! Don’t stop!’ Not exactly a method designed to break me.”

“That’s the point. I would stop, unless you told me!”

We both laughed at that. “We’ll have to try that after lunch. Did you pack any skirts?”

“Just the one, that little denim one you like. Why?”

“Oh, it’s very important not to irritate the skin now. You can’t wear panties or pants. You’ll need to put the skirt on. No bra, either. Sometimes that can cause an effect as well.”

“You are so full of shit!” she replied, as she sat up on the bed as well. “I am not running around this place showing everything to everybody. Not going to happen!”

“Darling, I am distressed you feel this way. I only have your best interests at heart. Trust me, if you put on pants right now, by the time lunch is over, you’ll have an uncontrollable urge to scratch an itch. I’ll help you, though.” I said this in my must unctuous and helpful tone.

“Right. I’ll take my chances.”

“Let’s compromise. We’ll go out for dinner tonight, and when we do, just wear a blouse and your skirt. That way it will be easier for me to help you later on.”

Marilyn snorted and laughed. “You’re a real helpful son of a bitch, aren’t you?” I just put on an innocent look. Marilyn laughed and climbed to her feet. “Come on, I’m hungry.” She grabbed her bag and started pulling out some clothes. She settled on some jeans and a MVCC sweatshirt, and pulled them on commando fashion. I did the same with some pants and a frat shirt.

We must have missed the lunch rush, since we were the only ones in the house. I fried up the last of the leftover ham in some butter in a skillet, and we had that and some leftover veggies I warmed up. “Were you serious about going out for dinner?” she asked.

I nodded. “Nothing fancy though. There’s a decent Italian place down on Hoosick. Let’s go down there for pizza.”

Marilyn nodded, and we talked about her conversation with her parents before leaving and coming here. I still felt bad about what had happened. “I should never have lost it like that. I am really sorry.”

“Are you coming for Christmas?”

“Not in a million years!”

“Carl!”

“Forget about it. I can’t imagine it getting any better any time soon. Wait until your mother asks me when I’m going to see my family. What the hell do I tell them then? Huh?” I countered.

“You’ll have to tell them sometime.”

“I have to die sometime, too, and I’m still trying to figure out which would be better.”

“They’re going to find out someday.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t want to be there when they do. Here’s an idea. Why don’t you tell them? Just do it after we get back from our little vacation. That way you can have some fun before they lock you up in the nunnery. Do they still have nunneries?”

That earned me another exasperated, “CARL!” and a tongue being stuck out at me.

After lunch, we went back upstairs. Marilyn sat at my desk and played solitaire while reading my Playboy magazine, and I lounged in the beanbag chair studying my Information Theory textbook. I was reviewing my notes and doing some calculations on the relationship between information density and the size of corresponding symbol sets. We had finals in just a few weeks. After a bit, I put down my book and notes, and grabbed for my book on basic topology. I was interrupted by Marilyn, who climbed down off her chair and came over and sat in my lap on the beanbag. “What’s up?” I asked.

“I’ve got a problem, Carl?” she answered coquettishly.

I started to suspect what the problem was. “Well, I’d love to help you. What’s the matter?”

“Well, remember when you told me I might get an itch?”

“It’s a serious problem. Is that what’s the matter?”

“Uh, huh. What should I do?” she asked innocently. Her face wasn’t looking innocent at all. More like Cleopatra eyeing Julius Caesar for the first time, or Eve looking at Adam’s apples!

“We’ll need some hand lotion…” I started.

“I have a bottle of Jergen’s!”

“Perfect.” Marilyn popped up and pulled a large plastic tube of Jergen’s out of her bag and handed it to me. Then I pulled my frat shirt off, and started undoing my pants. “Now, you need to get undressed, so I can work the areas of irritation properly.”

Marilyn smiled and peeled off her sweatshirt. “So why are you getting undressed?”

“I don’t want my clothing to irritate your skin.” Marilyn snorted at that and stripped off her jeans. I sat back down on the beanbag chair. I wasn’t completely erect, but I wasn’t soft either. I had her sit down in front of me, and lean back against me. I picked up the tube of lotion and flicked open the top. I brought my hands around in front of her. “Now, make sure and tell me if what I’m doing is helping.”

Marilyn’s nipples were already stiff with anticipation, and I could detect a trace of musk as well. She gave me a weak, “Okay.” and settled back.

I squirted some lotion on Marilyn’s tits, and that earned me a giggle. “I think my itch is lower.”

I simply set the tube down again and began working the lotion into her breasts. “It’s necessary to start from the top down. Of course, this can cause that itch to actually increase, but it’s very important to do it this way.” Marilyn’s nipples were like little erasers under my fingers, hard and rubbery, and every time I touched them she would squirm and murmur happily. “Trust me, I’m a scientist.”

“Maybe a mad scientist!” she giggled.

I had to smile at that. I remembered when Maggie followed in my footsteps and became a chemist. She had sent me a tee shirt that said, ‘We’re not mad scientists! We’re just enthusiastic!’ “Merely an enthusiastic scientist.” I caressed her breasts some more. “Is that itch getting worse?”

“Yes…” she answered softly.

I took her hands and brought them up to her breasts. “You keep working here. I’ll go to the next phase.”

“Hurry!”

I squirted some more lotion into my left hand, and then brought my fingers down to her pussy. Marilyn gasped as I began working the lotion all over her puffy little pussy. “Is that helping?” I asked.

“Uh huh…” she whimpered. Her back was arching and she was squirming around on the beanbag in front of me. By now my cock was as hard as steel.

I took her hands from her breasts and moved them between her legs. She immediately started rubbing her greasy slit and her clit. “You need to do this treatment every night. Do you ever do this at home?” I teased.

“It’s better when you do it with me,” she gasped.

“You need to do it more than that.” I was rubbing her greasy tits while she fingerfucked herself madly. “Every night!” I ordered.

I couldn’t wait any longer. I grabbed her by the hips and lifted her rump up. Marilyn got the message and lifted up enough so that she could sit back down on me. She used her hands to guide my cock into her from behind and then slipped down on me reverse cowgirl fashion. It was like my dick had just been dumped into a hot and greasy soup. I moved her hands back between her legs and ordered her to get the both of us off. She was bouncing on my cock and keening out a lovely tune of orgasm.

“Oh, God!” I gasped, and then I pulled down on her hips, driving my cock into her as far as it could go. Her back arched as I spewed upwards into her, and I could feel her twitching and shuddering as she came also. I pumped a load into her, and kept pumping until I felt myself become too sensitive, and then I sagged back into the beanbag with my beloved laying on top of me.

“Oh, Carl!” she murmured dreamily.

That roused me enough to respond. “I told you I knew how to cure that itch.”

“I’m going to need a few more treatments later on.”

“Yeah!” I gasped. Like after my heart got restarted. The beanbag was going to need a good cleaning! We lounged there for a few minutes and then took a nap.

We slept for almost two hours, and when we woke I began to have serious doubts about my ability to set a new world’s record for screwing with Marilyn. It seemed much more likely I was going to end up dying with a smile on my face.

Marilyn came to life as I roused myself. Her long brown curls were a mess around her head, and she looked at me with one eye open and the other eye covered, like a new Veronica Lake. “I really needed that nap.”

“You’re wearing me out,” I replied.

“I told you this was better that running laps and exercising.”

I had to smile at that. I had skipped running the last few days and spent them with Marilyn. It didn’t do much for my muscles, but it was very aerobic. “I’ll recommend it to the army. You want to show them the proper technique?”

She screwed up that pretty nose and said, “Yuck!”

I stumbled upright and grabbed my pants. The smell of sex and sweat was prevalent in our small room. We were going to have to do another load of laundry before Joe ever came back from Jersey. “Do you want a shower before we go out?” I asked.

“Good idea.” Marilyn climbed to her feet and grabbed my robe. I was going to have to buy her a robe for here, but maybe not like my terry cloth. Maybe something in a very sheer and slinky satin. That would be a nice little Christmas present.

We were dressed and down the stairs inside of an hour. Marilyn wore that little denim skirt I loved and her heels and a tank top, and I really considered taking her back upstairs and screwing ourselves into starvation. Swayzack was down in the living room, and I informed him that he and the guys were going to have to fend for themselves tonight. He cast an appreciative eye over Marilyn and then simply smiled and nodded. I took her hand and we walked out to her car. She tossed me the keys and five minutes later we were inside the Italian place in the Price Chopper plaza.

I helped Marilyn off with her parka and she stretched lazily, an act that did amazing things with her tank top, since she was braless beneath it. In many ways she had no idea just how good she looked. “I’m hungry!” she told me.

I dragged my eyes from her cleavage and nodded. “Pizza or something different?”

“Pizza’s good.” She sat down after I pulled out her chair, and then I sat down at the table opposite her. A waitress came out to ask for our orders, and I ordered a pepperoni pizza and a couple of mugs of beer.

“You need to come to the house for Christmas,” she started.

“There are many things I need to do, and that ain’t on the list,” I replied.

“You can’t run away from this.”

“I can think of very few good things which will result from this, and many bad things. Let it alone.”

“What bad things?” she pressed.

I looked at her for a second. “They could ban you from seeing me. That would be a very bad thing.”

“Never going to happen.”

“You are far too trusting.” We were interrupted by the waitress returning with our beers, and it gave us a chance to think some more.

“Carling, you can’t run from this. You can’t go through the rest of your life hiding from my parents. You are the bravest person I know! How is it you are frightened by my parents?”

“Brave, there’s a joke. That worst case scares the hell out of me.”

“You have to do this, and you know it, and the sooner you do it the better. They won’t ban me from seeing you, but they damn well might ban me from seeing you until after they see you again!” she replied.

I hadn’t thought about that, and it was entirely possible. Hell, I would do it, why wouldn’t they? I rubbed my face wearily, and drank some of my beer. “Shit!” I muttered.

“You know I’m right!” This was one of Marilyn’s more annoying habits. No horse was so dead it couldn’t be beaten some more. She kept harping on me another minute or two.

I finally shut her up by waving her to silence. I gave it a little more thought as the waitress came back with our pizza. I took some time to put slices on our plates. Finally, after a bite of pizza and some more beer, I told her, “Okay, but it sure better not be like last time.”

She beamed at me and started promising me the sun and the moon. I waved her to silence again. “Listen, here’s the ground rules. I’ll talk to your parents. They can ask me any questions they want. Mark is not invited. If I ever hear another word out of your asshole brother again, I’ll rip his head off and shit down his neck and you can feel free to tell him and your folks exactly that.”

She had a worried look to her face at that comment. “Well, I can say…”

“As far as I’m concerned, you can use my exact wording. Your brother ever wants to start up with me again, I’ll break him six ways to Sunday. It’s bad enough I have to put up with shit from my own brother. I sure won’t put up with shit from yours!” She had a wry mouth at that, like she was sucking on a lemon. I pushed on. “Tell your parents not to be so insulting, either. I don’t call them red necked white trash; they don’t have to call me stupid for serving my country.”

“I’ll talk to them. We’re not white trash!” It was my turn to give her the wry look. I knew way more than I should about her family.

I agreed to visit Christmas Eve and stay one night, or two if it went well. Then I would come back to Kegs. Marilyn was coming to Kegs on Thursday, December 26 either way. We were flying out of Albany on Friday morning. I still hadn’t told her our plans, just that we would be flying and she couldn’t bring more than two suitcases. I steadfastly refused to tell her our destination, but just reiterated she wouldn’t need a passport, or much in the way of undies or pants. I even teased her about the swimsuit I was going to buy her. “You know, I know some places where there are nude beaches. Maybe I’m taking you there?”

Marilyn’s eyes bugged out and her lips flapped in panic. Finally she sputtered, “You wouldn’t dare!” I just gave her a smug smile and shrugged my shoulders. That got her to stick her tongue out at me. “I know you aren’t doing that, since then I wouldn’t be wearing a swimsuit!”

“You ever hear the story about the emperor’s new clothes?” She nodded in confusion. “I hired the tailor to do a swimsuit.”

Suddenly Marilyn was nervous. Then her face brightened. “You’d never do that, since you’d have to wear a matching suit, and they’d never let you walk around with your thingy sticking out like that.”

That was the God’s honest truth, and the best reason I would never do this with her, but I had to brazen it out. “It depends.”

“It depends on what?”

“It depends on how well you’re taking care of business keeping Little Carl tired out!” We traded raspberries over that.

Chapter 39: Sin City

After dinner, we went back to the frat house and watched some TV in the living room, and then went upstairs, made love, and went to sleep. We got a little more action the next morning, and then our holiday weekend was over. We got up, cleaned up, dressed, and did another load of sheets and towels while eating breakfast. A little before noon a call came in on the house phone. It was Joe Bradley down at the Albany bus station looking for a lift back.

Marilyn agreed it was time for her to take off, also. We kissed good-bye, and then she climbed into her Challenger and I got in the Galaxie. By the time I got to the bus station, I found Arnie standing there with Joe, so I loaded them both into my car and brought them home. On the drive back, Joe asked, “So, how’d the visit at Marilyn’s go?”

“Don’t ask,” I replied.

“That good, huh?”

“That bad.”

This was a subject Joe never really understood about me, my relationship with my own family. His family was fairly tight; even though he was living away from home, he often visited them, riding the bus down to the Port Authority and then taking a local bus off into the wilds of Bergen County. I met them once or twice when they would drive up at the beginning and end of the school year, but the only thing I remembered about them was that he had a sister still in high school so achingly gorgeous that most guys would drag their balls through broken glass just for the privilege of being spit on by her. “So what happened?”

I glanced in the rear view mirror but Arnie was already snoozing for the fifteen minute drive home. I shrugged my shoulders. “I got into it with her father and one of her brothers, and told them both where to head in. Then I left and came back here. Marilyn showed up an hour or two later and spent the rest of the week here. She left to go back right after you called.”

“They must have loved that.”

“I don’t know and I don’t ask. I just say thank you.”

Back at the house I helped Joe move his shit back upstairs. He immediately noticed the improvement in our hygienic standards. “Hurricane Marilyn came for a visit,” I commented.

“Maybe I can send her down to my sister’s room at our house,” he replied.

“Don’t be surprised if she gives you some shit the next time we’re all here. I had to put up with her on a rampage, and so should you!” He just laughed and waved aside the very notion.

The rest of the semester went quickly and quietly. In three weeks time we had finals, and as soon as they were finished, people started streaming out of the place. A few brothers would be coming back in a couple of weeks for another J-Term, but I was skipping J-Term to go on vacation with Marilyn. There was already a rumor going around that J-Term was being ended after this year, and that they would simply have the regular semester start a few weeks earlier in the future. I knew this to be true.

Christmas Eve was a Tuesday, so I drove out to Utica a little before lunch. I got there about two, and spent a quiet hour with Marilyn before we all bundled off to church. For the Lefleur family, everything was done Christmas Eve. After Mass, we would have a big dinner and then in the evening Santa would visit and they would do presents. Santa actually visited, too, since they had somebody come in every year. You were practically required to be there Christmas Eve, on pain of dismissal from the family, and the only year we got out of it involved an ice storm. Before long, the kids were getting married and bringing wives and fiancés and girlfriends, and eventually their own children. It was the loudest and most obnoxious gathering imaginable, with screaming kids everywhere. I often hid out in a side room and read a book, just to keep my sanity. No such luck now. I sat there on the couch next to Marilyn and just tried to let it all wash over me.

On the plus side, Mark must have had the riot act read to him. He never said a peep to me. There were several conversations with Big Bob and Harriet and Marilyn, although really they were between Big Bob and me. Marilyn and her mother just sat there on the sidelines and listened in. The first was on Christmas Eve, over dinner, when Big Bob semi-apologized for what he said about my going in the Army, to the extent that he said, “I just don’t understand. If you’re so bright, why are you going into the army?”

I rolled my eyes at that, and bit my tongue before replying, ‘You want stupid people defending you?’ No, I didn’t say that. “Well, as I explained, the army is paying for me to go to school, so this is how I pay them back.”

“You couldn’t get any scholarships?”

“I did, Mister Lefleur. I got an army scholarship.” He looked shocked at that. This was simply an argument we would never settle. The Lefleurs, none of them, not even Marilyn, simply didn’t understand the concept of public service. “Sir, let me explain. In my family, we were brought up to be good citizens. We vote, we pay our taxes, we sit on juries, we obey the law, and we defend the country. I’ve known my family served since I was their age,” I said, pointing at Ruth and Peter. “Why shouldn’t I let them pay for me to go to college? They paid for my father to go to an Ivy League college.”

“But it’s such a waste to go if you don’t have to.”

I glanced over at Marilyn. At heart she agreed with her father, but she loved me and wanted me to do well at what I was doing. I had to stop this. We would never agree on this, and I didn’t want to tell him what I thought of his family before I was married to her. “It’s a family tradition, Mister Lefleur. We serve our country. It’s my turn now.”

For Christmas I gave Marilyn an RPI sweatshirt, but inside it was a small box from a jewelry store, with a gold necklace in it. Marilyn oohed and aahhed while I put it around her neck, and then planted a big kiss on me in front of the parents. I happily settled for a very nice sweater, always useful in upstate New York. The summer, the only semi-warm weather in the entire state, was when I would be down south in training.

Christmas Day was a more difficult conversation. Marilyn had not discussed my home life with her parents, and quite innocently her mother raised the topic after breakfast. “Aren’t you planning on calling your family, Carl? Feel free to use the telephone,” she offered.

I looked across the kitchen island at Marilyn, but she just shrugged in response. Her parents noticed this and then looked back at me for an answer. I gave a small sigh. “Thank you. I will try and call my sister before the day is out.”

“What about your parents?”

“I don’t really have much to do with my family any more. I’m basically independent of them.”

“What does that mean?” demanded Big Bob.

I took a deep breath. “It means exactly that. I’ve been living on my own since I was sixteen. I have very little to do with my family.”

“Sixteen! What do you mean you’ve been living on your own? What about this past summer? I thought Marilyn visited you at your parents?”

Marilyn reached across the table and placed her hand on mine reassuringly. It calmed me quite a bit. “She did, sir. We stayed at my family’s house for a few days before going to the beach.” I glanced at her again, and then turned back. “Let me explain. I have told Marilyn everything about my family. I haven’t hidden anything from her. I wanted her to understand me.”

“That’s true!” she chimed in. “Carl and I have had long talks about his family.”

To what extent that mollified them, I don’t know. He came back with, “So, does that mean you ran away from home? Or did they throw you out?”

I shrugged and gave a half smile. “A little bit of both, I guess. By the time I was sixteen it was really obvious I couldn’t stay, so I told my father I was leaving, and he could either go along with it or I would simply run away. He helped me find an apartment and helped me pack up and move out. I lived on my own for the last two years of high school. The last time I saw my folks was this past summer, and the last time before that was after I graduated high school. It’s easier on all of us this way.”

They were both totally flummoxed by this. Family was the most important thing to the Lefleur family. “Your father moved you into an apartment when you were sixteen and paid for you to live somewhere else?”

That sort of startled me. “Oh, no sir, I paid. I’ve never seen a penny from my family since I was a little kid. I’m totally independent. I pay my own way.” That should at least make me look good in their eyes, I thought.

Or not. “You paid? Where did you get the money for that? What are you, rich?”

Oh, good Christ! This wasn’t looking very positive. The day was really swirling around the bowl now. Marilyn just patted my hand. I sighed and nodded to her. “I had some money of my own, and a job.”

“Money from what?”

I looked over at my girlfriend. “You know, I don’t think I ever told you this story. Remember how Tessa told you how I protected her that time in high school? This is sort of similar.” I turned back to Big Bob and Harriet. “Okay, here goes. Back when I was in junior high, when I was 13, I was attacked by three bullies. When it was all over with, they were arrested by the police, and I was able to sue them for assaulting me. I saved the money. Part of it bought my car, and part of it went to pay for my living expenses when I moved out.”

Big Bob looked at me with disgust. “You got beat up in school and sued the bullies?”

“Uh, it wasn’t like that, sir. I only got a black eye. They all ended up in the hospital. That’s where they were when the police arrested them.”

“You put three boys in the hospital?!” gasped Harriet.

“Ma’am, they attacked me, not the other way around, and besides, it wasn’t like they were smaller than me. They were all a year or two older.”

“Why did they attack you?” she asked.

“They wanted my lunch money.” I looked over at Marilyn sheepishly. “Kind of lame, huh?” I turned back to Harriet. “Mrs. Lefleur, I know how to handle myself. Marilyn is very safe when she’s around me. Nobody will ever hurt her when she’s with me,” I promised.

“Well, I never!” she huffed out, looking at her husband.

“You never explained why you had to move out of your house,” said Big Bob.

I just rubbed my face with my hands. “Sir, that would take a long, long time to explain. There’s a few basic reasons, though. For one thing, I have a brother who’s, well, he’s crazy. As in, he’s nuts.” I made a whirly sign around my head with an extended finger. “He’s not safe to be around. One of us would have killed the other one by now, and I am not exaggerating. Either he would have killed me, or I would have killed him defending myself. Marilyn knows, she’s met him. I never let him be alone with her and I made sure I locked him in his room at nights.” Marilyn simply nodded in agreement. Her parents stared at me in disbelief. “Secondly, my family is not like Ozzie and Harriet or Leave it to Beaver. My folks are good people, but lousy parents. It’s better not being there.”

“What? Like they beat you?” asked Big Bob sarcastically.

I was a touch slow answering this and he noticed this. “I made them stop when I got older. I got my father to stop, anyway. I just stayed away from Mom.”

Big Bob’s mouth slammed shut when he heard my answer, and he stared at his wife. “I don’t believe it. I don’t know what to say.”

Marilyn came over behind me and wrapped her arms around me. “It’s true, all true. The nice one, though, is his sister Suzie. She’s an absolute sweetheart.”

I nodded and smiled. “She is. You should invite her up here this summer, while I’m in training. She’d love it.”

“That’s a great idea!” she replied, beaming. “I’ll ask her the next time I write.” Looking at her parents, she explained, “We write back and forth all the time.”

“You know, we should give her a call now. You should call and ask for her. Hamilton doesn’t know your voice, and he won’t hang up on you or break the telephone.”

“Okay, good idea.”

We stood. As I passed her parents, I said, “Hamilton’s my brother. He usually intercepts all calls and hangs up on me. One time he even broke the phone when I called my father.” Big Bob and Harriet just stared at each other with open mouths. We went over to the kitchen phone and Marilyn called Suzie, and then handed me the phone. She confirmed my box with presents had arrived at Dad’s office, and she asked if their box had arrived. I said it had. I put Marilyn on with Suzie, and then took it back. I talked to my Dad for a couple of minutes, and then to my mother even more briefly. I hung up with a sense of considerable relief.

“What was that bit about the horse?” asked Marilyn.

I laughed at that. “That’s a long time family joke. Years ago, when she was little, Suzie decided she wanted a horse and asked for one for Christmas. Well, you’ve seen the house. No way could we have a horse! So my parents just mumbled that they would think about it and bought her a calendar for Christmas with horses on it. Well, she asked again for her birthday the next summer, and she got something else horse related. Cowgirl Barbie and a toy pony, I think. Anyway, ever since then, we’ve been getting her something horsey ever since. This year she got a key ring with a Mustang convertible on it, along with the words that it was the only kind of Mustang her parents would ever buy for her!”

We both laughed at that. “What about your parents?” she asked.

Marilyn’s parents were both watching us. All I could do was shrug. “Dad said he was sorry we were apart like this. Dad always says he’s sorry. Mom blamed me for destroying the family.”

“You! They drove you out!” exclaimed Marilyn.

I just grinned back at her. “Don’t sweat it. She also blames you for leading me astray.”

“What!”

I just started laughing. “After all these years, she finally got it right!” Marilyn started punching me at that, so I just wrapped my arms around her in self defense and kept laughing. Her parents weren’t as amused, but they didn’t say much. After a few minutes I said, “Your birthday’s in June, right?”

“The 11^th.”

“Suzie’s is the 14^th, Flag Day. Invite her up that week. Have a joint party or something. Dad can stick her on a plane and you can pick her up. Does Utica have an airport? Maybe fly her into Albany or Syracuse.”

“That would be so much fun! I’ll write her and ask.”

I looked over at her parents. “Suzie’s the normal one in the family. You’ll love her. She wants to become a nurse. That’s about as normal as you can get.” I looked at Marilyn and smiled. “With my family, she should probably become a psychiatric nurse!”

“She’d never run out of patients, that’s for sure.”

I kissed Marilyn on the cheek, and hugged her to me. Afterwards I said, “I think I need to be getting back to Kegs.” I turned to Big Bob and Harriet. “Probably the one thing I most envy about your daughter is her family. You have a really nice family, much nicer than mine. I envy her. I just wanted you to know that.” I wandered off to the library and packed my bags and grabbed my coat and hat. Marilyn promised to meet me at the frat house the next day. I kissed her thoroughly and left.

I spent a quiet night at the house, and Marilyn showed up a little after lunch the next day. I have no idea what line of bullshit she handed her parents to get them to sign off on her going somewhere with me. I just don’t think they wanted to know. Our flight out was at six in the morning from Albany, so we needed to get up by four or so. Marilyn had two gigantic suitcases, along with a carry-on bag. I had a hanging bag for some dress clothes and my B4. We moved a couple of nice dresses from her bags into my hanging bag, and then got out some clothes to travel in. I teased her that the travel time counted as vacation and she needed to wear a miniskirt and no panties, but Marilyn was having no part of that idea! She selected jeans, a cotton blouse, and sneakers.

The alarm clock was abysmally loud the next morning, and we would have probably destroyed it if it was within reach, but I had placed it on the desk across the room. We stumbled alive and cleaned up. I had her leave yesterday’s clothes on my bed, as opposed to taking them with us. Finally dressed, we packed our toilet kits and grabbed our bags and made our way down to the Galaxie. The weather was a bit crappy, but not bad enough to ground the plane, and the Galaxie was heavier than her car, so it would handle better on the wet and slushy roads.

This was in the good old days, when airplane travel was still sort of enjoyable and exciting. If you showed up only an hour ahead of time, that was perfectly fine, and nobody got strip searched and run through body scanners. You didn’t even need identification on domestic flights. They ran television ads about just grabbing your honey and taking her away for a quick flight to the Bahamas on a lark. Thirty years later you needed a passport and a public body cavity search to even get in the security checkpoint lineup. Nobody flew on a lark anymore.

The Albany airport is a real airport (as compared to some of the grass strips I’ve flown in and out of) but not a very big airport. Several of the majors flew in and out, but mostly feeding to hubs like New York or Chicago. At five in the morning there was a decent amount of room to park in the lot near the terminal. After getting out of the car, I peeled off my parka and pulled on a windbreaker. Marilyn stared, since it was freezing cold. “Where we’re going, we won’t need a parka,” I explained.

She nodded and peeled off her own winter coat and tossed it in the back with mine. “Where are we going, anyway?”

I still hadn’t told her. I grinned and said, “Somewhere we won’t need parkas!” She flipped me the bird at that and I laughed.

It was too damn chilly to stand there and chat. I grabbed my bags and both of hers, and then moving like a Sherpa, hustled through the parking lot and across the drive-through area and into the terminal. I looked around and found the Alleghany Airlines desk, and led the way. I wanted to keep Marilyn in suspense as long as possible, so I only handed over our tickets to New York. Marilyn missed the ID tags placed on our luggage. After getting our boarding passes I led her to the escalator up to the second floor, where we walked to our gate. Along the way we stopped at the only place in the airport open for food at that hour, a coffee and pastry stand, and got some Danishes.

“You have to tell me where we’re going! I know we’re not going to New York!”

“And how do you know that?” I asked.

“No beaches,” she said primly.

I just smiled. “And maybe I just lied to you. Maybe we’re going to the City and spending the week living on room service and going to Broadway shows.”

“I don’t believe you.” She looked daggers at me, but I just let it wash over me.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” After a bit, our plane, a 727, started boarding and first class passengers were called. “That’s us,” I announced, and stood up.

“First class?” she asked gawking.

“Don’t we deserve to be first class?”

“I mean the tickets, you jerk!”

“Check your boarding pass.” I grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet, and then grabbed her carryon bag. “Come on, get going.”

She shuffled along with me, not quite believing we were going in first class, but finally accepting it when we were seated in the second row. First class wasn’t all that spectacular on a 727, but I had the money.

Actually, I had a fair bit of money. My portfolio was now between a million-and-a-half and two million bucks. Just because the economy was sucky didn’t mean you couldn’t make some money. There is just as much money to be made on the down side as the up. By the winter of ’74-’75, the American economy was in turmoil. Nixon had resigned in disgrace and Ford, his replacement, was under a major cloud because he pardoned Nixon. The oil shock from last year had eased, but people were still getting used to gas prices they couldn’t afford, and unemployment and inflation were both rising. The rest of the decade, including Jimmy Carter’s none too glorious term, were not easy on most people. I was invested in a variety of inflation indexed and recession resistant stocks. My next big play wouldn’t be until after I graduated, but I was rich enough that I bought myself a Rolex Oyster Perpetual, in stainless steel, for my birthday. Fuck it, Happy Birthday to me! I was also thinking about replacing the rusty Galaxie.

First class sure beat the hell out of peasant class in the back. The seats were leather, extra wide and far enough apart you had legroom and the ability to recline, and they were only four across. Sardine class packed them in six across, and if you didn’t sit bolt upright you couldn’t move your legs.

First class is nice, and not just because you get to lord it over the lesser beings flying in the back. The seats alone are worth the extra expense, but in first class you got real food and real drinks — for free! By the time I recycled the flight attendants were issued cash registers and sold you everything from your food and drinks to pillows and blankets, and even the bathrooms were pay toilets. I swear that if the plane was falling out of the sky, they were instructed to make you pay to use the oxygen masks that fell from the overheads.

In 1974, first class passengers were promptly served a Danish and juice or coffee, and on a real plate and a real cup or glass. The flight was only an hour long, but as soon as we got up, a first class only flight attendant was serving us. Marilyn was impressed. “Ever flown before?” I asked her.

“Yes. A couple of years ago my class went to France on a school trip. We were gone for two weeks,” she answered.

“Really! We were lucky if they loaded us on a bus and took us to a museum. Did your brothers go when it was their turn?”

She shook her head. “They didn’t do that at Notre Dame, only UCA.”

I hadn’t been entirely clear on that before anyway, so I asked her to clarify. In Utica, at the time, there were several parochial elementary and junior high schools, but really only two high schools. The younger grades were coed, but the high schools weren’t. UCA was the girl’s school and Notre Dame was the boy’s school. Long before Ruth got to that age, UCA was shut down, and everything was combined at Notre Dame. All of Marilyn’s brothers and sisters went to Notre Dame. Apparently only UCA did the trip to France.

“Learn anything?” I asked.

She grinned at me. “I learned I didn’t want to go to any more museums or cathedrals in France!” Bless her sweet heart, but Marilyn is not the intellectual type. I’d have killed for the opportunity! “Have you ever flown?” she asked me.

I nodded “Back when I was ten, my father had to fly out to Pittsburgh, for his company, and they were taking this little propeller driven puddle jumper, and he asked if I wanted to fly with him. It was the summer, and I said, ‘Sure!’ Boy, did Hamilton throw a fit over that! Anyway, we never left sight of the ground, and that little sucker bounced all over the sky. On the trip back, there was some turbulence and the pilot announced we were going to fly a little lower, and I told him to land on the highway and taxi home!”

We both had a laugh over that, and by the time we were done talking about our flight experience, we were descending into JFK. We were right on time (another difference from the future) and I led the way through the airport to American Airlines. Back then you had to get your boarding pass at each airline; you couldn’t get them all at the same time up front. The computer technology just didn’t exist yet.

The cat was out of the bag as soon as I handed the ticket agent our tickets. I had done all this through a travel agent in Troy this fall, and had arranged the flights and the hotel room. The agent looked at my tickets and said, “That’ll be two first class tickets to Las Vegas, correct?”

Marilyn gasped. “Las Vegas!”

I grinned at her. “You bet!”

“Literally,” agreed the ticket agent.

“You said we were going to the beach,” she said accusingly.

“I said we were going somewhere you’d be able to wear a really small bikini. It’s not exactly the same thing.”

“Like where!?”

I smiled. “Well, Ellie Mae, you and the rest of the Clampetts will just have to make do out at the cement pond!”

“You’re not funny.” She stuck her tongue out at me, so I laughed and hugged her to my side, and we took our boarding passes and continued on. We had about an hour between flights, and had to change concourses, so we didn’t actually have a lot of time to waste. By the time we got to our gate, we only had fifteen minutes before they called for first class passengers to board.

“First class again?” she said as we went on board.

“Only the best for the woman I love!” I answered theatrically.

She eyed the large seats, and then looked back through the curtain to where the sardines were packed. “Well, maybe I’ll forgive you for lying to me.”

“Not lying, misdirecting,” I clarified.

“Hmmpphhh.”

I just smiled at that. The flight was four hours long, and although I think flying generally sucks, it sucks a whole lot less when you’re sitting up front. We had a real lunch served to us on plates when the people in the back got a sandwich, and while everyone could get a drink, ours were free. As soon as we were aloft and the stewardess started with beverage service, I asked her, “I know it’s kind of early, but is there any chance we can get a couple of mimosas?”

The stewardess smiled when Marilyn asked what that was. “Champagne and orange juice.” Marilyn’s eyes popped out at that. “I think we can manage that.” She pulled out a split of champagne and made the drinks right there in the cart for us. “Honeymoon?”

I replied, “Practice run.” The flight attendant laughed and Marilyn squealed in outrage. I laughed and thanked the girl, and toasted Marilyn. “Here’s to lots and lots of practice.”

Marilyn laughed at that and we clinked glasses. “So, what are we going to Las Vegas for? I didn’t know you gambled.”

“I almost never gamble. Remember those classes on probability and statistics?” She nodded and I said, “I actually paid attention.”

“Well, why then?”

“Marilyn, there is a lot more to do in Vegas than gamble. Hell, it’s known as Sin City! If you can’t do it in Vegas, you probably don’t want to do it.”

“Really?”

“Babe, when Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed, the survivors sold the franchise rights to Las Vegas.”

“Well, what will we do if we’re not gambling?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe take in some shows, go swimming, see the sights, watch the suckers lose their shirts, and practice,” I answered.

Marilyn blushed at that. “Carling!”

I lowered my voice as I leaned in. “I intend to use you for my sexual gratification, all day and all night long, over and over and over again.”

Marilyn reddened again, but it was more of a flush than a blush, and I could tell her breathing picked up. “I think you’re full of talk,” she challenged me.

“And I think you aren’t going to be able to walk by the time we get back on the plane.”

“You’ll have to explain that one to my parents,” she replied with a grin.

I just shrugged. “And you’ll have to explain to my mother why I died with a silly grin on my face.” It was still a few years before Nelson Rockefeller would actually die riding tall in the saddle, but that was a whole different story.

We were served lunch over Tennessee, and I ordered us another pair of mimosas. After lunch we napped until we were descending into McCarran. Marilyn slept through the movie, and I ignored it. I had seen it before and didn’t like it then, either.

Marilyn was nothing but slack jawed and awed when we landed. The first thing she saw when we got off the plane and into the concourse was a fellow betting at a slot machine. “Look at that! There’s slot machines in the airport!” she exclaimed.

Several of our fellow passengers laughed at her, and I just said, “Dorothy, you’re not in Kansas anymore!”

“I guess not!” She stared at the various sights. Despite the travel time, we had also jumped back a few time zones, and it was still the late morning local time, bright and sunny and a beautiful day. At the baggage claim were a number of chauffeurs holding up signs, and Marilyn noticed that one of the signs said, ‘Buckman.’ “Hey, there’s somebody looking for somebody with your name. Maybe you’ve got a relative visiting!”

I loved her, but she was very naïve at times. I led the way over. “I’m the Buckman, honey. He’s waiting for us.” I showed the driver some identification. He was only there to carry us over to the hotel. After that we were on our own. “It’s actually not that much more than a cab, babe, and a hell of a lot easier with the luggage.” We waited for the luggage to come off the carousel, happily discovered it was all there, and then the driver and I carried it out to his car. It was a limo, but nothing crazy, just a black Caddy with a big trunk.

Vegas is unique in that the airport is practically in the city. It’s only four miles to Caesars Palace, and it can’t be more than five or six miles to the downtown. You can walk it in well under two hours, but it was way too warm for that and we had all that luggage. Caesars was actually one of the first of the big casino resorts on the western end of The Strip, as Las Vegas Boulevard is known. All the old time casinos from the Fifties and Sixties were located downtown, and were now getting kind of seedy. That was where I had done my card counting that summer, on our cross country road trip. Caesars, on the other hand, was brand new, and glitzy.

It was worth it all just to watch Marilyn stare at everything as we drove in, her eyes wide and her mouth open. It was like taking a four year old on a trip to a candy store, or a Kegger on a trip to a brewery.

When the limo dropped us at Caesars, the driver handed our luggage to a bellman at the door. I tipped him and he gave me a card. “You want to go anywhere, just call our number. If I’m not available, somebody else will be. We can also do tours, you know, out to the desert or down to Hoover Dam, that sort of thing.”

I stuffed the card in my pocket. “Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.” I shook his hand and took Marilyn by the hand. We went inside, with the bellman following us with a cart of luggage. He followed us to the front desk, and then stood back while we checked in. I had to laugh when Marilyn noted that our path to the elevators went through the casino. “Everything they do here is designed to run you past a place to lose your dough,” I told her. “They’d put a slot machine next to your bed if they thought they could get away with it.”

Soon enough we were in our room, a small suite consisting of a bedroom and a sitting room. After tipping the bellman, I grabbed our bags and took them into the bedroom, only to find myself alone. Marilyn was standing at the picture window in the sitting room, staring out at the sights below us. I walked up behind her.

“I can’t believe we’re in Las Vegas!” she repeated to me. She kept looking out at the city below.

“Like I said earlier, when Sodom and Gomorrah went under, the refugees landed here. Do you have any particular sins you’d like to commit this week, or do you just want to go for the beginner’s introductory package?”

“I bet you’d like that!” she said with a giggle.

“Babe, I ran through the introductory kit when I was a baby! I’ve already graduated from the intermediate school, and am now taking advanced classes. Debauchery and Depravity 101.”

Marilyn laughed at that. “You are so full of shit!”

I moved closer to her, trapping her face forward against the window. “I think you are out of uniform, soldier!” I brought my hands around her from behind and started working on the buttons on her shirt.

“Oh, really! Just what did you have in mind?” Marilyn was practically purring as I unbuttoned her shirt from behind, and as my fingers slipped underneath the cotton to caress her skin. I kept moving my hands down, and then began to work on her pants. She whimpered when I slid my fingers down into her panties from behind. At that point, she pushed me back and twisted around so that we were facing each other. “You’re overdressed, too, mister.”

Marilyn started unbuttoning my shirt, although she had to stop briefly when I pushed her shirt off and reached around to flick open the clasp on her bra. Her tits looked slightly flushed, her nipples already stiffly erect. I flicked my fingers across them and Marilyn giggled and started working on my pants. As soon as my zipper was down, she pushed my slacks down off my hips. “Hey, you’re out of uniform, too!” she said when she saw my briefs.

“Oh my God! Where did they come from! Marilyn, you need to do something about this right away!” I cried out.

Marilyn laughed at that and pushed them down, too. Now we were both standing there, our pants down around our thighs, and it was just incredibly awkward. I grabbed her hand and together we shuffled over to the couch and sat down. As soon as we were seated, we stripped each other naked and lay down. I was on top of her a few seconds later and then she had her arms and legs wrapped around me as I power fucked her into the cushions.

“Fuck me… fuck me… fuck me…” she repeated as I slammed my cock in and out of her. The only other sounds were my hoarse breathing and the wet SLAP… SLAP… SLAP as our bellies smacked together. “I’m coming, I’m coming!” she cried out, and I could feel her body convulsing underneath me. That was my signal to groan loudly and unload into her pussy.

We lay there on the couch for a couple of minutes, catching our breath and slowly untangling our limbs. Marilyn spoke first. “Is that what you had in mind for your first lesson?”

I snorted in laughter. “That was more in the way of morning recess. Trust me, when I start teaching the lesson, you’ll know it!” I sat up and looked down on her as she lazed there naked on the couch. While Marilyn would always be fair skinned, I could see she had been getting some color from a tanning booth. Certainly her bra strap marks were quite faint, although you could see tanlines around her hips. I suspected she had been tanning topless, but not naked. I could also see that she had kept up with the shaving.

I touched her mons with a finger, causing her to give a little squeal and a jump. “I see you’ve been keeping things nice and clean.” I slid a finger inside her scummy little slit and flicked it across her clit. That got me another happy little squeal, and Marilyn squirmed on the couch. I could feel myself getting hard again. “Have you been moisturizing yourself at night, too?”

“It’s not like when you do it,” she said in a low moan. “Mmmmm…”

“You need to do it every night!” I replied. I began to fingerfuck her come filled pussy, and as Marilyn moved around you could hear the squishiness. I continued to tease her until I figured I was stiff enough for an encore, and then crawled back into place. Our second screw wasn’t quite as animated as our first, but it lasted longer, and Marilyn came at least twice before I did.

“Welcome to Las Vegas,” I said crawling off her a second time.

“I think I’m going to like it here.” Marilyn smiled and sat upright.

“For some reason, I’m hungry.”

“I can’t imagine why!” Marilyn stood and picked up her clothing and went into the bedroom. I did the same.

I saw the bags still sitting on the bed where I had dropped them. I pulled my pants back on and then tossed my bags on the dresser. I unpacked and put everything in a dresser or the closet, then closed my empty bags and stuck them in the back of the closet. Meanwhile Marilyn went into the shower and cleaned up. I put her suitcases on the bed. She came out in a hotel bathrobe and I had her do the same while I cleaned up. When I returned, she had her bags unpacked, so I stuffed them into the closet also. Then I grabbed a clean pair of slacks and a sport shirt. She watched as I slid the pants on commando fashion. “Don’t forget the uniform of the day.”

That got me a laugh. “You and your uniforms! You just want to be able to get into my pants without my pants being in the way!”

“I think it’s important that I be able to reinforce any lessons you learn. Not just teach the lesson, but to do the lab work necessary, as soon as possible.”

Marilyn pulled a knee length white sundress from the closet and slipped it over her head, and then slipped into some dressy sandals. “Is this what you had in mind?”

I don’t think she realized just how light the dress was on her, but boy did it look good! I swallowed and nodded. “Just fine!” Oh my God, but we weren’t ever going to make it out of the room! We’d be spending a week on room service at this rate!

Marilyn was oblivious to me. She grabbed her makeup kit and headed back into the bathroom, coming out ten minutes later looking even more desirable. Now she had on some lipstick, a trace of perfume, and the necklace I had given her for Christmas. When she moved it was obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra, and you couldn’t see any panty lines either. “You look good enough to eat!” I said, and licked my lips lewdly.

“Hold that thought for later!”

“Okay!”

In another life, Marilyn and I had gotten to Vegas on a trip we earned when our office sold the most homes, back before the Great Recession. By then we were well into our forties, almost fifty, and we were both thoroughly jaded. We both enjoyed it, quite a bit, but we had already perfected our favorite sins by then, and there was little left that could shock or awe us. Now, doing it with a nineteen year old novice at my side, it was like taking a little kid to Disney World for the first time. An adult Disney World. I definitely would have some fun with Marilyn this week!

First stop was through the casino and into a large lunch shop where we had oversized sandwiches and some beers. Regardless of what you think about Vegas, you can’t say they don’t feed you! I figured while we were here, I’d make sure we sampled a few of the buffets, which are quite literally world renowned. One thing you have to be careful of is that these new casino resorts, like Caesars or the MGM Grand, or some of the others under construction, offer everything. You never have to even leave the property. I wanted to get out some.

After lunch we went all around, through the casino and outside to the swimming pool and over to the auditorium where the big name shows were held, and we stopped at a couple of the bars and clubs for drinks. There were also a number of little shops and boutiques, although they hadn’t built the gigantic shopping center they called the Forum yet. That was probably (or would be — strange thing with these verb tenses) one of the most expensive shopping districts on the planet. I teased Marilyn that I would take her into some of the boutiques to pick out a swimsuit for her. Several of the suits they were showing were shockingly small, and I simply told her we wanted something smaller.

By late afternoon, we headed back up to our room. We both used the bathroom, and then I dragged her off to the bedroom. “Remember what I said about looking good enough to eat?” Marilyn laughed and I pulled her dress up and over her head, leaving her in her sandals and jewelry. We tumbled down onto the bed and I rolled onto my back while Marilyn undid my clothing. As soon as my pants were down far enough, I pulled her into a sitting position over my face, and we had a very enjoyable round of 69. It was so enjoyable, in fact, we celebrated it with a second round. Afterwards, we napped.

In some ways, our Vegas vacation was a lot like our Ocean City vacation, as in we goofed off and had a lot of sex. In between we worked on our tans, did some shopping, and did some nightlife. On the other hand, Las Vegas is one hell of a lot larger and more sophisticated city than Ocean City! There are some very nice restaurants, many nightclubs, some of which are rather risqué. Marilyn had never seen topless showgirls before! I took advantage of our being there to take her to see Wayne Newton one night and Frank Sinatra, back out of retirement, another night. I hadn’t appreciated him on my first go; now I had the chance to rectify my ignorance.

That was one of the things I wanted to change this time around. I enjoyed music as much as the next guy. I wanted to see some concerts that I had never seen before. I had already taken Marilyn to see Seals and Croft at the RPI Field House freshman year, like we had before. Just like then, we made out under the mirror ball during the encore. Okay, it’s corny, but so what!

Now I had a whole list of others I wanted to see — Pink Floyd doing The Wall live, The Grateful Dead before Jerry passed away, the Dixie Chicks before they self-destructed. Certainly Frank ranked in the lists of the greats!

I could also skip some really bad concerts! I remember paying good money to see America at the Field House. They came out an hour late, so stoned they could barely pick up their instruments, played a lame-ass 45 minute set, and then bugged out saying they had to go to the airport.

It was still too soon for the really decadent lifestyle to hit Vegas openly. The town was about to try rebranding itself as family friendly as it put up giant new resorts and closed down the older casinos. By the mid-90s it became apparent that this wasn’t what people really wanted, so the city went back to its roots with the slogan, ‘What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas!’ By the 2000s, you started seeing resorts with secluded ‘European style’ pools, where you could be topless or nude, and Caesars had a nightclub with backlit translucent walls, where nude women would dance on the opposite side and all you could see was their nude shadows.

I spent a few dollars on Marilyn, buying her a couple of very nice dresses, and several pairs of thigh high stockings. She found them silly, but she sure liked what they got me in the mood for. I bought her this gorgeous calf length halter-topped wrap dress in a light blue silk, and some very sheer and long stockings for the night we went to see the Chairman of the Board, and I dressed in a nice charcoal suit. We looked like young jetsetters out for a night on the town. At the end of the night, I slipped the dress off of her and luxuriated in the feel of the nylons caressing my thighs and hips as she rode me back in our room.

Needless to say, I took her into the boutiques and bought her a couple of swimsuits, one a side tie string bikini, and the other a crocheted one piece suit that wasn’t much larger. Marilyn was very nervous wearing them down to the pool, especially the bikini, but got a number of wolf whistles when she took off her cover-up. I whispered all sorts of naughty things to her when I put suntan lotion on her back.

One of the most amusing afternoons was when we took a cab to an address in the downtown area. I had found it in the handouts and flyers in our room. It was an adult store. Everywhere else in the country, these places are behind walls and in drab industrial areas. In Vegas they have plate glass windows with everything on display! If Marilyn thought the head shop in Ocean City was crazy, she could barely speak when I pulled her into this place! “Alice, this is the other side of the looking glass!” I told her as I led her inside. She just stared in disbelief at some of the stuff. I did notice, however, that her nipples crinkled slightly when she found the bondage items. She had a very dark and secret interest in being tied up, I would discover, but we rarely did that since it’s just not one of my kinks.

I did buy her a vibrator, which caused her to turn beet red, along with a couple of very naughty nighties. Later that afternoon, back at Caesars, I loaded the batteries in the vibrator and showed her how it worked. Marilyn became a very eager convert! Vibrators became a part of our sex play in the future. After we got married, and we would leave the kids to go out on date night, one or two often went into her purse for the drive home in the dark.

We even did some gambling. One day we walked through the casino and I explained how some of the games worked. Roulette was pretty straightforward, but it took a while longer to explain craps. Then we wandered over to the blackjack tables. Marilyn turned her nose up at the table games, preferring slot machines. On the other hand, she’s a very cheap gambler. In those days they still had a few penny slots, so I bought her a couple of rolls of pennies and turned her loose. I headed off to the blackjack tables. I explained that if I was going to lose my money, I at least wanted to do it with a pretty girl.

I sat there and gambled for a couple of hours before Marilyn ran out of pennies and came searching for me. I heard her gasp behind me, but I held up my hand to quiet her. It didn’t work; she kept talking. “Oh my God! What are you doing?!” I waved her into silence and kept my eyes focused on the cards and the count.

I beat the dealer and he slid $300 in chips across to me. I slipped a $50 chip back to him. “For you. I’m cashing out.”

“Cashing out!” he called, and then picked up my chips and slipped them into a holder. He handed that to me, and then motioned a security guard to follow me. I led a dumbfounded Marilyn over to the cashier. The total was about $5,000, which would cover quite a bit of our vacation.

She was silent, but once we got into a lounge and settled down in a corner booth, she asked, “Since when did you start gambling?”

“Hmm? That? That wasn’t gambling, that was skill.” Just at that moment a pretty waitress in a mini-toga came over and took our orders, a gin and tonic, and a daiquiri.

“Carling, I saw you making bets! Don’t tell me it wasn’t gambling!”

I smiled. “It bothers you that much?”

“Yes!” she replied, looking at me in a state of high dudgeon! (Is there a state of low dudgeon?)

I shrugged and said, “Okay, so I won’t make any more bets. How’d you do at the slot machines?”

“That’s not the point!”

I laughed loudly at her “That would mean you lost!”

“No!”

“So you won? How much?”

“That’s not the point!”

I just started laughing at her. I was still laughing when our drinks arrived. Marilyn stuck her tongue out at me when I quizzed her on how much she had won playing penny slots, and where were her winnings. It turned out that she had indeed won a jackpot, but they had all gone back into the penny slots. I just laughed even more at that.

On the other hand, I promised her I would stay away from the tables for the rest of the trip, and I would spend my winnings on her. That confused her, until I mentioned buying her a dress and some lingerie, which made her blush, especially when I told her what I had in mind. We ended up having a second drink before heading up to our room to talk it over some more. Horizontally!

Eventually our week was over, and we got a limo back to the airport and flew home again. Marilyn insisted that I had to keep her vibrator at the frat house, so I tucked it in the back of one of my dresser drawers. She didn’t seem as worried about her mother finding her new dresses or lingerie. I have no idea how she kept that sort of thing a secret!

I didn’t even try. I had a number of Polaroids of her in the blue dress and her new swimsuits, which I tacked to my wall over my desk. I had asked her to bring her camera with her, and I made sure to get some shots of her. I also tried to get a few of her in her nighties and in the buff, but that got her very upset, so I tossed the idea aside and promised I wouldn’t do that. She was even nervous about the swimsuit shots, but I got her to model them around the pool and she quickly warmed up when she realized I wasn’t doing anything untoward. It wasn’t like I was doing anything X rated, or even R. Nothing got beyond PG-13!

Hell of a vacation!

Chapter 40: Time Flies By

Back at RPI, things began to move in a blur. I spent huge amounts of time down at Amos Eat-Me studying and working with Professor Rhineburg. Since a lot of what I was doing involved the computer system, I spent more than a few nights down there as well, after hours, when the system was at the lowest utilitization levels.

I continued working about one Sunday in four as a cook at Kegs, trying to time them with the weekends when Marilyn visited. I kept trying out upsized favorite recipes of mine and trying them as new recipes for the guys. Mostly they went over well (beef tips with mushrooms proved popular) but not always (pork roast with a curry glaze was sent back — airborne!)

It was sad in some ways, watching friends and brothers who weren’t going to make it academically, as their college life went swirling around the bowl. Andy Kowalchuk and the Cisco Kid were the worst, but forget about telling them shit, they knew better. I laid way off the dope this time around, not out of any great moral issue, but because I just didn’t have the time or inclination.

I did introduce Marilyn to it one weekend. She was very nervous, but we were sitting around in Kowalchuk’s and Gravy Train’s room playing bridge and listening to the Monty Python and the Holy Grail soundtrack, and they started passing around a bong. I took a hit and then showed her how to do it. It was hilarious to watch her reactions. After a bit she lost her nervousness, her eyes got a little glazed, and then suddenly she got very… amorous. I had once told her it tended to make people horny, but she had just laughed it off. She eventually dragged me upstairs and ripped my clothes off of me, and then rode me hard and put me away wet! An amazing night, and I teased her about it mercilessly the next day. “Someday you’ll have children, and what will you tell them when they ask, ‘Why can’t I smoke pot? Did you ever smoke pot?’”

It happened, too. Alison was never a problem with drugs, since she was handicapped to begin with, and Parker never got into it, although he did like his beer. It was Maggie who was the wild one, and she bugged us about dating as soon as she hit puberty, and we know she smoked pot and drank. On the other hand, she didn’t do anything stupid and never got into trouble. The most hilarious moment was when she and Jackson moved into a fixer-upper apartment and she showed us a dresser she had stripped and stained. I promptly opened the top drawer to look at the construction and she screamed since I had found her stash. I just buried my head in my hands to try and stop laughing, while Marilyn huffed and puffed.

Near the beginning of April, a new brother joined the fraternity. A small mutt wandered into the back yard and took up residence. At first he hid in the corner, but then, as the day wore on, he got a little more adventurous and came out of hiding. By late afternoon he had wandered up to the back door, where we still had the airlock set up, and when the door opened, he scurried in before anybody could stop him. He sniffed the cooking in the kitchen and trotted on back, and promptly sat down and whined piteously. Mrs. Clarity ordered him out, but he kept whining, and when a couple of the guys tracked him down, they took pity on him and fed him some of yesterday’s leftovers.

That was how we adopted Jefferson, or how he adopted us. He was of an indeterminate breed, what my parents called a Heinz, as in Heinz 57 varieties. He was short haired, a brown and white mix that had elements of a small hound and something larger. He was young, and mostly housebroken. Our initial thought was that he was a runaway or lost, and that we would find some flyers up or hear something or see it in the paper. At least that was what we told ourselves, which became a big, big problem. ‘We’ll take care of him for a week and try to find his owners.’ Nobody tried to find them. Jefferson, named that by Ricky Holloway (a Texan and the only other southerner in the house besides me) for both Jefferson Starship, the band, and Jefferson Davis, the President of the Confederacy, was a very nice little dog, and we quickly fell in love with the little mutt.

Unfortunately, he was not universally beloved. Jerry Modanowicz in particular took exception to dog crap in the back yard. By the end of the week, Jerry took Jefferson down to the pound, basing his decision to do this on the statement that we were only going to keep him for a week until we found his owners. No owners, the week was up, and so was Jefferson’s time with us. Jerry never told anybody about this either. By the time we figured all this out, enough days had passed that the pup was put to sleep.

Maybe not everybody wanted a dog, but nobody wanted him killed, and Jerry was thrown out. It was not considered a grave loss. He had proved a real pain in the tail, lived in a single on the first floor of the main house (the Underground Railroad room), and thought his fecal matter was not possessed of an aroma.

That was all on the first time through. Now I could do something about it. That Friday afternoon, when I noticed Jefferson was missing, I looked around for him. Nobody had seen him all day, and Ricky got worried and stared asking around also. “Where in the world did he get to?” he asked.

“Where’s Modanowicz?” I asked.

“Why?”

Marty had joined us by now, along with Leo, and listened in as I said, “Wasn’t he complaining about Jefferson, and how we should get rid of him at the end of the week? Do you think he might have done something?”

“You’re kidding me! No way!” said Leo.

Marty was silent, but Ricky asked, “Like what?”

I shrugged. “The pound?”

Ricky’s eyes widened at the thought, and he went into the hallway to the house pay phone and leafed through it until he found the phone number for the dog pound. He fished out a quarter, and as we watched, he called and asked if a small brown and white male dog had been brought in. His eyes lit up when the answer was positive, and he asked them to hold onto him until we got there.

“I can’t believe that son of a bitch did this!” he exclaimed. “I swear, I’m going to kill him!”

“Hold your horses,” cautioned Marty. “We don’t know he did it, not for sure. What do you want to do?” Marty was a senior like Ricky, and highly respected among the brothers.

“I want to go rescue him, that’s what!” said Ricky. I nodded in agreement.

“That means you are adopting him into the house? What if the house doesn’t vote to let him in?”

I looked over at Leo, not figuring that answer. “I vote yes,” said Leo.

“Me, too,” I added.

“Listen, I’m a senior. We don’t have time to take a formal vote. If the house has a problem, I’ll take him when I leave,” answered Ricky.

Marty nodded. “Okay, listen, you two go grab Jefferson. I’m going to figure this out and talk to Bill and figure out what we’re doing. Get going!” Marty grabbed Leo and told him to start asking around over in Grogans’, while he did the same in the main house.

Ricky and I got into the Galaxie and headed into town. Curiously, Ricky had grabbed the fraternity portrait off the wall of the formal room. Once we got down to the pound, we went inside and told them we had called about the brown and white dog. We were taken back to a line of kennels, which was a truly piteous sight, and there we found Jefferson. He immediately went crazy when he saw us, jumping up and trying to lick us through the chain link kennel side. I went to open the kennel, but I was stopped. “Hold on there, we have to do some paperwork first!”

We told Jefferson we would be back for him, and went back out front. First we had to buy a dog license, and then we had to have him neutered. Bitches got spayed. He needed rabies shots and other vet stuff done. And we had to cough up some cash to pay for all of this. Fortunately, they had a vet on tap to handle all these things, so if we wanted, they would arrange everything, but we wouldn’t be able to take Jefferson home for another couple of days. Ricky agreed and I grabbed my wallet.

Then Ricky went outside and came back in with the fraternity portrait, and asked if Jerry had been the one to bring in Jefferson. The fellow squinted, but said he thought so. Ricky and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes. Jerry had really fucked up this time. We went back and said goodbye to Jefferson, promising to come back at the beginning of the week.

We got back to the house just before dinner, and Marty latched onto us in the kitchen. “Was he there?”

“We got there in time. He was there.”

“And was it Modanowicz?”

I looked at Ricky and then nodded, saying, “It wouldn’t be good enough to take to court, but the guy was pretty sure it was Jerry. We showed him the pictures from the formal room, and the only one that seemed familiar was Modanowicz’.”

“Shit!” swore Marty quietly.

“Is he here?” asked Ricky. “Let’s ask him!”

Marty shook his head. “He’s visiting some girl over at Union. Won’t be back until Sunday.”

I shrugged. “What was the consensus around the house?”

“I think they’d all rather have the dog than Jerry.”

“We’ll announce it at dinner,” agreed Ricky.

It was the main topic of dinner that night, with about half the guys talking about the dog and the other half in disbelief over what Modanowicz had done. Ricky and I shared a table with Marty and Leo, and a few other guys, and at the end, Ricky motioned for me to stand up with him, and called for attention.

“Okay, here’s what we figured out. We found Jefferson down at the pound. Buckman and I went down there and laid claim to him, and registered him in the name of Kappa Gamma Sigma. We’ll do a formal vote at the next meeting. If there’s a problem, I’ll take him when I leave.”

“How’d he get down there?” asked Joe Bradley, from a table on the other side of the room.

I took this one. “He didn’t run away, if that’s the question. The dog warden didn’t pick him up. He was brought in by somebody, a college kid, a guy, at least according to the guy at the desk down there.”

“Was it Modanowicz?” asked somebody in the back.

I shrugged. “Absolutely positively? Can’t say. I will say that the guy picked his face off the portraits in the formal room, and nobody else’s face. We’ll have to ask him when he gets back.”

That caused quite an uproar. Ricky motioned for silence and then said, “In order to rescue Jefferson, we had to get him a dog license, and he has to get his shots and get neutered.”

“Just like you, Leo!” I commented. Leo flipped me off as everybody else laughed.

Ricky continued, “Which means we can’t pick him up until Monday afternoon at the earliest. I’ll go out and pick up some dog chow and stuff tomorrow.”

“Another thing,” I said, “First, Ricky and I are out a few bucks to do this.” I grabbed a ball cap from the hat rack in the corner and passed it around. “We need a buck or two from everybody.” There was some grousing about that, but most guys coughed up something, and the ones that didn’t said they would bring it by after dinner. “Another thing. Jefferson is just a puppy. We can’t have anybody giving him booze or dope. Is that clear? That stuff will just kill him. It’d be nicer just to let the pound keep him. So nobody gives him any beer or booze, and nobody feeds him any magic brownies or acid. Is that understood?” There was a huge uproar over this, with everybody claiming they would never do this, but I knew my brothers, and somebody was dumb enough to try. Boris and the Cisco Kid came to mind.

We had a routine house meeting on Sunday night, and a formal vote was taken. Notably absent was Jerry Modanowicz. He also had cleared out his room, and I never saw him again. I mean never — not even on campus! I think he dropped out or transferred. There was never a vote to kick him out, since it takes a unanimous blackball vote to kick somebody out, and that was impossible. I don’t think Hitler could have gotten a 100 % blackball.

There was one other piece of grim news. The pool was in dire need of repair. We were filling it constantly, and the Pool Manager, who reported to the House Manager, had gotten a couple of guys in from a local pool company to take a look at it. The news wasn’t good.

Kegs was the only house on campus with a swimming pool, which was a major source of pride and pledges, and most importantly, chicks! It was an in-ground pool, but unbeknownst to almost any of us, the pool didn’t have a real concrete casting. It actually was some sort of hole in stabilized dirt with a heavy plastic liner. We kept it filled year round. Now the liner was worn out and it was leaking badly. A new liner was going to cost $10,000! No way did we have that kind of cash! Spread out over roughly 40 guys, that was almost $250 a person that very, very few of us had. The only alternative was to drain the pool and fill in the hole, at a cost of about $1,000.

Previously, we had reluctantly voted to fill in the hole. As an economic matter, a new liner would last many years more, and you could argue it was amortized over the life of the investment, but nobody had ten grand to invest. Well, almost nobody. I liked the pool as much as the next guy, and as an official polar bear, I had a certain say in the matter. The vote went as before, to fill in the pool over the summer.

Monday morning I went down to the bank and arranged to withdraw $10,000 in cash. I wouldn’t be able to pick it up for a couple of days. Wednesday afternoon I took the cash and went down to the post office in Albany. I had a box in the Troy office and I didn’t want any chance that somebody might recognize me. In Albany I bought ten grand worth of mail order checks. I had already used a typewriter down in the math department to type a letter and an envelope, and I stuffed it all together and mailed it to the frat.

The letter came in the mail on Saturday, and the response was one of utter disbelief. First off, nobody had ever seen a postal money order before, and they had to wait until Monday to find out if it was real. Then, that night, around the dinner table a new vote was held and the previous vote was thrown out; the pool would be fixed. I should have known, however, that it wouldn’t be unanimous. There was a small group that wanted to have a party and spend the money on other stuff. There was a lot of discussion over where the money came from. Nobody knew I had money, and since the Galaxie was starting to burn oil, nobody imagined I had any cash. I started looking through the want ads for a new car.

The work would be done over the summer, when school was out and I was mostly away. Right now the plan was that I would spend some time up in the Adirondacks with Marilyn to start. We picked the week of her birthday. Suzie wasn’t able to come up until the end of the month, by which time I would be elsewhere. Marilyn’s family had a camp up on Sacandaga Lake, a big double wide that was only used on weekends. We could go up there and have some fun during the week. We wouldn’t do much swimming, though, since icebergs float across the lake well into August. Later in the summer we would head back down to Baltimore and meet up with Tusker and Tessa for a few days, and then go back to Ocean City.

But first I had to go camping.

Chapter 41: Summer Camp

This summer I was to spend some time at the Fayetteville School for Unwed Fathers, otherwise known as Fort Bragg. The standard ROTC plan was that you spent a portion of your last two summers in some sort of training. Then, after you graduated and were commissioned, they would send you to your advanced training. Infantry officers go to Benning, artillery officers go to Fort Sill in Oklahoma, armor officers go to Fort Knox, Kentucky, and so forth. By the end of June, I would be at Bragg for six weeks

The day I was to fly south I had Marty Adrianopolis drive us over to the Albany airport. I was packing light, with just a few changes of underwear and clothing and my toilet kit in an army surplus B4 bag. We had a checklist of things to carry and you took those things and those things only. We would get gear issued when we got there. ‘There’ was Fort Bragg, North Carolina, and it was Joe, Bruno, and me going. I think the Navy cadets went off to Newport and the Air Force went to some base down in Texas.

Nobody actually goes to Fayetteville, which is where Fort Bragg is, even though they have an airport. Instead they flew us to Raleigh and told us to report to a military liaison at the baggage claim. At that point we would belong to the Army, and they would do whatever they wanted to us for the next six weeks. As the saying goes, ‘Give your soul to Jesus. Uncle Sam gets all the rest!’ The flight was the cheapest and longest trip imaginable, with stops in Philly and Richmond along the way. Nothing too good for our troops!

The real fun started once we got to Raleigh. The military liaison turned out to be a collection of sergeants and corporals, the most junior of which was holding a sign up on a stick saying ‘ROTC HERE’. We collected our bags and wandered over to the noncoms and got in line. Outside it was raining and I could see a line of school buses painted in green camouflage. (Really? Like we were sending school buses into combat? I’ve been around military people my entire life and I just don’t understand it at times. Like the time when the Navy issued Parker blue camouflage uniforms — If you want a sailor to hide on a ship, give him a gray uniform and make him look like an electric cable!) When we got to the front of the line I showed the sergeant my orders and he sent me outside to a school bus. That was the last I saw of my frat brothers. They were directed to different buses.

That was where the fun started. The fellow in front of me, on showing his orders and being directed to climb on board the bus, said, ‘Yes, sir.’ The sergeant replied, as most sergeants are wont to do, ‘Don’t call me sir! I work for a living!’ I’d heard this any number of times before, if not by sergeants, than by foremen and other workers.

And I smiled.

“WHAT ARE YOU SMILING AT, PISSANT!? DID I GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO SMILE? DO YOU FIND SOMETHING FUNNY IN WHAT I JUST SAID?” The sergeant had whipped around to face me and just about crawled up my body. He was screaming at me at the top of his lungs, his face so close to mine I was being sprayed by his spittle.

Oh, shit! The secret to surviving any kind of training is to become invisible. When hammering nails, the tallest nail gets hammered first. When you’re in a foxhole (what we learned was actually an ‘improvised field entrenchment’), the guy who sticks his head up is the one who gets blown away. I had just violated Rule 1 of surviving the summer.

I came to attention and barked, “NO, SERGEANT!” I locked it up and kept my eyes facing forward. The sergeant went on in this fashion for another couple of minutes, much to the astonished horror of my fellow boots, as the rain came down on us and we slowly got soaked.

Eventually, the tirade ended up pretty much like I expected it to. “DROP AND GIVE ME TWENTY!”

“YES, SERGEANT!” I immediately set my bag on the sidewalk and dropped to the ground. I assumed the position, with my face in a puddle, and dropped down and then pushed back up. “ONE!” I kept up the process as the sergeant processed the rest of my busload onto the bus, with them stepping around me, and in one case stepping on me. Once done, I pushed up and locked my elbows. “PERMISSION TO RECOVER?”

“DID I SAY YOU COULD SPEAK, PISSANT? PERMISSION DENIED! GIVE ME ANOTHER TWENTY!”

I guess we needed to load some more onto the bus. I gave the sergeant another twenty, and then locked my elbows and stayed in position. Eventually I was ordered to recover and stood up. My arms were killing me, but I kept my mouth shut and a blank expression on my face. Out of the corners of my eyes I could see one or two boots at each bus doing pushups, so I guess I was just the lucky guy on my bus. I retrieved my B4 and got on the bus when ordered to. I squished when I sat down. The fellow next to me was wet, too, but I was soaked to the skin. Thank God it was a warm day.

We were ordered to keep our mouths shut on the drive to Bragg. It was an hour and a half or more, and needless to say, some asshole hadn’t learned from my example. He did pushups in the aisle for thirty miles. That was the procedure for the day. I went through the entire incoming process in soggy clothes. I didn’t know whether it was funny or miserable.

I am not going to describe all the fun of boot camp. If you’ve ever seen a John Wayne war movie, you already know all about it, except ours was a lot louder, smellier, dirtier, and messier than what he did. Reveille was officially at 0600, but by then we were already wide awake. The weather was either blistering hot and sunny, or drenching downpours, with the occasional tornado scare thrown in for good measure. On the other hand, we were assured it didn’t snow much in North Carolina. Every day we did PT — physical training — also known as calisthenics. We ran, for miles and miles. We ran through obstacle courses. And then we did it all over again, while carrying backpacks full of rocks. Meanwhile, we would suffer daily abuse from drill instructors who must have had lungs and throats made from leather, since every one of them had the dial set at 11.

I just kept telling myself it was only for six weeks, and then five weeks, and then four weeks, and so forth. Every few days we would have just enough time to scribble out a note to somebody and I would write Marilyn, telling her I loved her, and how the thought of seeing her in a bikini at the beach was the only thing keeping me from going crazy. Every few days she would write back, and I would find a Polaroid enclosed. Most of them were pretty tame, but several of them were in a swimsuit or a short skirt; she said she had been up at summer camp on her own and Tammy had taken the shots.

Thankfully, I was in pretty decent shape going into basic training, what with my running and workouts. Theoretically, taking ROTC gets you out of gym class, because you are spending an equivalent amount of time doing pushups with the army. However, college ROTC programs vary tremendously across the country. You are supposed to come out already in decent shape, knowing how to march and salute, and ready to chew nails and spit tacks. Some schools are so good you come out ready to go into battle. Some you come out not even knowing how to wear the uniform. Rensselaer’s is somewhere in the middle, on the mediocre side. I can honestly say that if I hadn’t been already in good shape, I would have been one hurting pup!

There were a few odd moments along the way. By the end of the second week we were introduced to unarmed combat. During the spring semester I had managed to find an aikido instructor and start up again. He was a lot tougher, at least personally, than Lance Miyagi’s father, and ran me up one side and down the other about how my appallingly limited skills had been allowed to fade away. He even threatened to take away my black belt. Under his strict tutelage I was able to blow the rust off and get back into fighting shape by the end of the spring.

There were probably about a thousand ROTC students at Bragg that summer, in a gigantic oversized training battalion, and maybe a couple of hundred in any individual training company. My company was split up into smaller groups, each of which had a drill instructor of some sort to teach unarmed combat basics. That was when my ‘low profile’ plan failed. Our drill instructor, Corporal Jones decided to teach us hands on and he needed a volunteer. He got that volunteer the Army way — he selected one.

Me.

Everybody was looking at me, and I just blinked and asked, “Me?”

“You, pissant.” He crooked a finger at me and summoned me forward. I walked out into the sand circle in front of our group. “Your next of kin registered?” he asked, a common enough question.

“YES, CORPORAL!” I barked out. You never talk; you say it loud and proud!

“Assume a defensive position, or what you think is a defensive position,” he said with a laugh. He then proceeded to tell us what was going to happen. The instructors worked on the ‘tell them three times’ principle, which is a common teaching method (remember, I had once taught college back in the day.) You tell them what you are about to tell them, you tell them for real, and then you tell them what you just told them. In this case he told them how he would kill me, then kill me, and then tell them how he killed me. This felt like it was going south quickly.

In for a penny, in for a pound. I stepped into the ring and took up a kamae defensive position, as bait. In aikido you always let the attacker come to you, even to the extent of feinting to draw an attack towards you. Then you react defensively to thwart the attack and position yourself for any further attacks.

The corporal stopped and eyed me curiously. He began to move cautiously, trying to circle me. I stayed facing him as he tried to circle me, and I kept watching him closely. I noticed he wasn’t getting any closer. Suddenly he stepped back. Keeping an eye on me, he yelled back over his shoulder, “Sergeant Jenkins!”

Sergeant Jenkins was the senior drill instructor, a staff sergeant, and our company commander. He came over after a couple of minutes to find the corporal and me still standing facing each other in sand ring. “Corporal Jones?”

“I think we’ve got us a karateman here! I just thought you might want to watch,” said Corporal Jones.

“There’s always one,” replied Jenkins with a light laugh. “He’s all yours.”

Oh shit! Jones laughed and came back towards me.

The move he had told us he was going to make was a grab and a throw, allowing me to land hard on the ground, stunning and immobilizing me, and allowing him to kill me at his leisure. That was the theory, anyway. I’m sorry, but it was just a force of habit. I had spent too many hours in the dojo and I just fell back on rote memory. He grabbed me and I countered, and twisted him up and over and dropped him on his ass. I quickly stepped back and assumed a defensive position.

There was dead silence. Jenkins entered the sand ring, and walked up to Jones, who was now sitting upright and brushing sand out of his hair with a rueful grin on his face. He looked up at Jenkins and said, “Yeah, there’s always one. I’m going to remember you said that.”

Jenkins helped Jones to his feet. “I never said he wouldn’t kick your ass.” Then the sergeant turned to face me. “Feeling lucky, are we?”

“I’m not all that sure, sergeant.” Now it was really too late to back down!

Jenkins motioned Jones out of the ring, and this time he bowed to me, which really made me think I had fucked up. I had nothing else to do but return the bow. This time we circled each other warily, and he didn’t charge in at me. I actually had to fake a backwards motion to get him to commit, and he struck at me with a fist punch, which didn’t leave him off balance. I still managed to twist him around and toss him, but he had barely landed on the sand before he rolled to his feet and came back at me. This time I was off balance and I took two solid blows to my ribs as I fell on my ass. I was up quickly though, rolling out from under his kick, and managed to take a second kick in stride and drop him in the sand a second time. That just got me a smack to the head. I was moving back into position when he stopped the fight.

I was breathing hard, and rubbing my sore ribs, and I was pleased to note that the sergeant was rubbing a hand along his rear. “So, what degree are you, and in what?” he asked.

“First dan, aikido. Uh, that’d be a first degree black belt, sergeant,” I answered.

“I know what it means, soldier,” he answered me, but not angrily. “You’re very good, but your timing is off.”

I nodded. He was right, I wasn’t moving properly. “I know, sergeant. I should have been more fluid, and quicker.”

“It’s the uniform, and the boots. I bet you’ve only practiced in a gi and barefoot, right?”

It was like a light went off in my head! No wonder I was moving like molasses! “That’s it, I think! I’ve never worn boots during practice! Can we do another fall?”

He just snorted a small laugh. “Not now. Just get your ass back in ranks.” Corporal Jones and Sergeant Jenkins supervised the day’s unarmed combat training, and I made sure to do as I was told. At the end of the period, however, I was called over. Both Jones and Jenkins were standing there.

“You could have made him look like a real horse’s ass. Why didn’t you?” asked the sergeant.

“That would have been disrespectful, sergeant.”

Jones spoke up. “You would give a break to an enemy?”

“Are you my enemy or my teacher, corporal?” I asked.

The two noncoms looked at me curiously. I was then sent on my way, although I was also given extra duty. Three nights a week I was to make my way to the training hall, and Sergeant Jenkins would give me an extra special workout along with Corporal Jones. The sergeant was a black belt in karate. When the corporal made a pro forma protest about this, the sergeant replied that he shouldn’t have let me put his dick in the dirt. That got an easy laugh from the corporal. At least I wasn’t in any trouble.

When we started weapons training with the M-16, Sergeant Jenkins asked me if I was as good with rifles as with aikido. “I don’t know, sergeant. I’ve never even held a gun before,” I told him. That got him to laughing, but it earned me five minutes of running around holding my M-16 with one hand and grabbing my crotch with the other, singing, ‘This is my rifle! This is my gun! This is for shooting! This is for fun!’ That kind of sucked.

It turned out that I did well with weapons, probably because I didn’t have any bad habits to unlearn, or at least that’s what the instructors said. The guys who bragged that they were sent out in the morning with a rifle and a single bullet, and weren’t allowed to eat if they didn’t bring back dinner, weren’t all that good with an M-16. I figured they were full of shit, anyhow. My father, growing up on a farm during the Depression, had told us that story too, but with him I believed it. I managed to qualify as Expert in both rifle and pistol. That was with the Colt.45, Model 1911A1. The army wouldn’t change over to the Berretta 9 mm until the mid-Eighties, and I thought before, and think now, that was the stupidest thing they could have possibly done. God knows it’s loud, and if you aren’t prepared it kicks like a mule, but it wasn’t that hard for a guy my size to hold and fire, and the target goes down permanently.

Some of what we did was what I told Marilyn we would do, which was to go hiking and camping in the woods. Well, that’s not precisely what we did. We practiced patrolling and setting up defenses and ambushes and stuff like that. This was just an introduction. The guys who ended up in the infantry would take advanced classes in crawling through the woods. The end results tended to be comical.

At one point, towards the end of training, the battalion was split in two and we had to play a giant war game, with the equivalent of two big companies on each side. We had a headquarters and two opposing lines of defense, and we had to patrol ‘No Man’s Land’ and bring back intelligence. It was sort of like playing Capture the Flag while taking steroids and LSD. That was when the fun started. I was assigned to the Blue Army, along with the guy in the bunk beneath me, Harlan J. Buckminster (this was all done alphabetically), and we were assigned to be part of the patrols probing the Orange Army’s defenses.

So, off we went. We left our simulated headquarters, following behind our simulated sergeant, while our simulated lieutenant showed us our simulated front line. We were to sneak across a very large and very scrubby field and find out what the Orange Army was simulating, and then sneak back and let the simulated good guys know what the simulated bad guys were up to. This was a whole lot more fun when I was 10 and I could sneak home for some non-simulated milk and cookies.

Harlan and I slathered on the grease paint and grabbed our M-16s. We only had blanks, but you don’t fuck around with guns. As our simulated leaders looked on, we slipped down to the edge of the field and dropped to our bellies. It was a nice and sunny day, and even the dirt was relatively dry. It took us over an hour of slow crawling to make our way across the field and around the scrubby brush. Then, maybe twenty meters (yards to normal people, but the Army had gone NATO and we all used metric) away from the edge of the forest somebody other than Harlan and me yelled out, “HALT! WHO GOES THERE?”

Harlan looked at me with wide eyes, which was the only thing you could see of his face, since he was as black as the ace of spades to begin with, and now he was covered with grease paint. I just looked back and shook my head. I didn’t know what to do, either!

Just then the voice yelled out, “JULIUS!”

I looked over at Harlan and shrugged my shoulders. Julius must have been a password, but since we didn’t know the countersign, we were fucked. He shrugged, too.

“JULIUS!” was repeated.

We were so fucked. No way would we get a third chance. We were already dead men. It was so stupid, I just had to take the chance. “CAESAR!” Harlan just looked at me and rolled on his back, and tried to keep from laughing.

Just as suddenly, a helmeted head prairie-dogged up from about fifty feet away. “Hi, guys! What’s up?”

Harlan and I stared at each other. I couldn’t believe that these guys had picked the stupidest set of passwords in the history of warfare. Harlan whispered, “I can’t believe this shit!”

“It’s better to be lucky than smart!” I returned. I rolled to my knees and stuck my head above the scrub and looked around. The Orange Army sentry was standing there, holding his rifle to the side.

“Well, don’t just stand there! Come on in!” he said eagerly. His fellow sentry emerged from behind a stump a few meters away and stood up, too.

Well, we were well and truly fucked now! I could only see two ways out of this. Either we would be recognized as members of the hated Blue Army, and captured, tortured, and gruesomely killed, or we were going to have to return the favor to these guys. I looked over at Harlan and said, “Give me your rifle.” I tore off the blue Velcro patch on my left arm that signified who I was. Harlan had a blue one of his own, and the two sentries wore orange Velcro.

“What?” asked Harlan.

“Come on. This is our only chance. Give me your rifle and hold your hands behind you. You’re my prisoner!” I replied.

Harlan’s eyes widened at this, but he just grinned and passed over his M-16. I stood up and manhandled him vertical, and he held his hands behind his back. We walked towards the enemy lines, and he started grumbling, so I gave him an easy shot to the kidneys and told him to shut up. He hammed it up and almost fell to his knees.

The two sentries bought it, though. They came towards us, and the first one said, “Wow! You got a prisoner!?”

Harlan protested and I punched him again. At this point the second sentry came up and asked, “Where’s your armband?” referring to my Velcro.

I looked down at my arm in surprise. “I must have lost it when I captured him.”

That seemed to satisfy both of these guys. No doubt about it, Harlan and I must have stumbled across the stupidest members of the entire Orange Army. Thank God! The second sentry promptly sat down on a log and propped his rifle up against a tree, and the first sentry turned his back on us to lead us in. As soon as this happened, I handed Harlan his rifle and grabbed the sentry from behind. By the time I had my guy on the ground, Harlan had wrapped his arms around his guy and pulled him to the ground… My guy was struggling, so I gave him a stiff shot to the kidneys and growled at him to knock it off, and then I got Harlan to sit on the pair of them while I trussed them up.

We also stole their orange armbands, which prompted an outraged, “That’s wearing an enemy uniform! You’ll be hung as spies when you get caught!”

“Well, when they put the simulated rope around my simulated neck, I’ll just say that I’m sorry I only had one simulated life to give to my simulated country!” I yanked their socks socks off and shoved them in their mouths. I then showed them my combat knife. “Now shut up and behave!”

We trussed those two up good, and tossed a shelter half over them. We searched and found a map with their position and the nearby sentry positions marked, and pocketed it. It was time to go home.

Just as we started to leave, a rustling in the brush behind us prompted us to turn and bring our weapons to bear. A grinning simulated Orange Army lieutenant stepped out. “How’s it going, men!”

Harlan looked at me. “This just keeps getting better and better!” He turned his rifle aside and said, “We caught some prisoners, sir!”

The lieutenant came bounding up, only to find himself grabbed and trussed up with the others. He had a better map on him, which we also took possession of. I looked at Harlan. “Now can we go?”

Before he could answer, things went from bad to worse. The distinctive sound of a Jeep could be heard approaching us up a path from the woods. “You have got to be shitting me!” replied Harlan.

“What, did we stumble on the Grand Central Station of Fayetteville?” I responded. Our prisoners were struggling under the tarp, so we gave them a couple of kicks and told them to shut up.

Only real soldiers could drive a Jeep, and our newest visitor was a real lieutenant, not just a cadet wannabe lieutenant. Still, he was wearing an orange armband, so we captured him, too. He was nowhere near as happy about this as you would expect. At that point, we had four prisoners, loads of info, and no way to get home. If we tried to sneak back across the field, we would get caught for sure, probably by these very assholes. Somebody was bound to show up and let them loose.

Harlan solved the problem. “Can you drive a Jeep?” he asked me.

I looked at him blankly, and then looked at the Jeep, and then looked back at Harlan. “I don’t know. Why?”

“Because we can drive back to HQ then.”

The idea was so ludicrous that I wanted to laugh, but I didn’t. I looked at the Jeep again, then back at Harlan, then back at the Jeep. “Can you drive a Jeep?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “I never learned how to drive a stick shift.”

Well, it had been many, many years, but I knew how to drive a standard transmission. I looked in the Jeep, and it was rudimentary, but it had a stick. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“No, I’m not. Look here.” He grabbed the real lieutenant’s map and laid it out on the hood of the Jeep. “We head back down the path 300 meters and then turn right. We hit this crossroad and head back this way.” His finger traced a path and had us sneaking around the backside of everybody and back to our HQ.

“You know, if we get caught, we really will be shot, and probably by everybody, including our side.”

He grinned. “Think of all the simulated medals we’ll get.”

“Simulated posthumous medals.” I hooked a thumb over at our friends. “What about these assholes?”

He grinned even more. “Prisoners!”

“Oh, shit!” Well, it’s better to be hung for a goat as a sheep, or something of the sort. We tossed our new friends in the back of the Jeep, on the floor, on top of each other, with the real lieutenant on the bottom, and then covered them up with the shelter halves. Then we climbed in and I started up the Jeep. I was very rusty, and ground the gears a couple of times, and stalled it out to boot before I got the hang of it. “Well, it was nice knowing you, Harlan,” I said.

“Drive!”

And we drove. Harlan’s cockamamie scheme actually worked. Fifteen minutes later we pulled up to headquarters (we had already switched back to our blue armbands) and turned our intelligence, prisoners, and captured enemy equipment (the Jeep) over. The response was interesting, to say the least. The maps we grabbed were used to launch a simulated attack. The simulated Orange prisoners were carted off for a simulated debriefing. The real lieutenant was thoroughly outraged and demanded Harlan’s and my immediate flogging, castration, and court martial, in no uncertain terms and in no particular order! I got the definite impression that he would have considered the final scene from Braveheart lenient! We were warned away from being around any of the Orange Army companies and from wherever the lieutenant was normally stationed. We were not awarded any simulated medals, but we weren’t court martialed (either real or simulated) either.

The warrior elite had triumphed!

Chapter 42: Junior Year

And so ended my summer at the Fayetteville Camp For Incorrigible Boys. Most of us graduated, but not everybody did. You have to meet various minimum standards to be considered as graduated. For some of us it was physical fitness, being able to run a distance in a maximum time, or pushups or swimming or something like that. (I recall Joe Bradley saying he had problems with the swimming; he could swim fine, but almost flunked the floating test!) You also needed to meet minimum qualifications with the weapons. Marksman is the minimum allowed for the M-16., then you move up to Sharpshooter, and then Expert. I initially qualified as Expert with the Colt.45 but only Sharpshooter with the M-16. Later I was able to requalify as Expert with the M-16.

If you fail, you have to come back next year and do it all over again. Fail a second time and you are history. Theoretically you have to pay the Army back for the cost of the scholarship, but I know that can change. Harry Mikulski was two years ahead of me and morbidly obese. He couldn’t even fit into a uniform. He got a waiver on both summers of boot camp, and just before graduation the Army tossed him out as unfit. He never had to pay back a cent, and never even got a bad type of discharge. He got a totally free RPI education. Of course, he probably had a heart attack by the time he was thirty, but think of all the money he saved!

During our last week at basic we were given lessons in how to behave as an officer and a gentleman. It was like the army, after spending thousands of dollars and five weeks turning us into bloodthirsty killers, had suddenly decided that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to turn us loose on the general public again. We were taken down to the officer’s club and shown around (during off hours, of course!) and given other instruction as well. Much of this was done by the lieutenant Harlan and I had captured, so he and I slipped to the back for those lessons, and hunkered down out of sight. I don’t know whether this stuff was the lieutenant’s regular job, or penance for being caught.

When it was finally time to go, it was with both a profound sense of relief, and also the sense I was going to miss a new friend. Harlan was heading back to Memphis on a different flight. We said that we would keep an eye out for each other in the service, and you never knew but we would run across each other. It couldn’t be any crazier than our fun in the bushes with the Orange Army!

Here’s the scary part — these were the same kids that 16 years later, by now commanding battalions, went through the fourth largest army in the world like so much shit through a goose! I guess they learned a little more!

We had another long bus ride back to Raleigh, but this time nobody was doing pushups. At the airport I hooked up with Joe and Bruno again, the first chance I’d had to see them all summer. The flight back to Albany was just as long, but I slept through the entire thing, including the takeoffs, landings, and terminal waits. I was short on about four weeks worth of sleep. When we got into Albany we got a cab to take us over to Kegs. My car was parked in back, and looked to be in good shape. I didn’t know if Marty had driven it anywhere, but I really didn’t care, either. It just felt good to be back among civilians.

Once I was back, I called Marilyn and she drove over to see me. We spent a very enjoyable afternoon and evening at Kegs before she went home the next morning. The plan was that Friday she would come back, packed and ready to travel, and we would spend a couple of days staying with Tusker and Tessa before heading off to Ocean City again. I definitely wanted to see her in that bikini and crocheted one piece I had bought her before.

Marilyn was still a little nervous about hanging out at the biker bar Tusker and Tessa worked at, but since we had survived the first time, she wasn’t as nervous as the last time. I was feeling young and dumb and full of come like a good soldier should be, so it didn’t bother me at all. We got into town about eight in the evening, since we had started late and stopped for dinner before arriving. We parked out back and walked around, getting several hard stares, but nobody stopped us from going in. I didn’t yell out any smart-ass remarks this time, and we just bellied up to the bar.

It was smoky, not well lit, a bit dirty, and Steppenwolf’s Born To Be Wild was blaring from the speakers. If the brothers at Kegs wanted to scare the pants off the pledges, make them come in here for an autograph! This place was a hell of a lot scarier than the Hot Spot! What a great dive!

Tessa was working the beer tap, filling a pitcher, when she noticed us. She gave us a big smile and yelled, “Tusker, guess who finally showed!” Tusker came around the bar from the other end and grabbed me in a bear hug, which I returned.

“You made it!” he yelled over the racket.

“Wouldn’t miss this place for the world! Say hello to Marilyn! You met her last year, remember?”

Tusker gave Marilyn a big hug as well, and then went around the bar and set us up with a couple of beers. Marilyn and I sat at the bar for a few hours gabbing with both Tusker and Tessa as they became free, drinking our beers and eating peanuts off the bowl on the bar. We were a bit young for the crowd, but not by much, and we got more notice from my short hair and khakis than anything else. I don’t want to say we looked preppy, but we sure wouldn’t pass for bikers. A couple of guys looked like they wanted to start something, but Tusker warned them off, saying that we were friends from school, and nobody wanted to mess with Tusker. I was never worried in any case.

The bar closed eventually, and we followed Tusker and Tessa home. They had a nice little one bedroom apartment in Towson off of Joppa Road, with a convertible couch in the living room. It was well after midnight, so we simply sacked out and slept until late morning.

The next day, Saturday, we all just hung out in the apartment and talked about what we had been doing in the last year. This was the first time that my friends had really had a chance to sit and talk with Marilyn. Needless to say they decided to embarrass me by pulling out our high school yearbook. I returned the favor and found the pictures of Tusker and Tessa, and managed to get a few laughs out of that. The nice thing about the yearbook is that it actually comes out a couple of weeks before graduation, so nothing was in there about me as valedictorian, other than a listing of proposed speakers somewhere in the back. No pictures, no copies of speeches, no reminders of the idiot speech I made way back when. What a presumptuous asshole I had been! In fact, there were very few pictures of me at all, since I spent so much time over at Towson State. There were a lot more pictures of Tusker, since he was far more flamboyant than either Tessa or me, especially considering his long red hair and large build.

I asked Tessa if she was figuring to graduate from college in two years, and she said yes. “Tusker’s going to take a little longer, but he got started late, and only goes part time.”

I looked over at my old friend in surprise. “You’re going to college?!”

“Don’t look so surprised! You’re the one who said I should.”

I nodded in agreement. That was true. A year ago we had been talking and I had urged him to at least go part time to community college. “And you listened to me? Nobody listens to me!”

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t want to hear it. I’m taking a couple of classes every semester over at Essex, in business.”

I blinked at that. “No shit!? Good for you! What’s with business? What are you planning on doing?”

He glanced over at Tessa, and then turned back. “Remember how I told you about starting a business of our own. We still want to.”

“I remember you saying that!” agreed Marilyn. “Did you want a bar of your own?”

Tusker sort of shrugged and Tessa gave a frown. “Actually, I would really love to have a Harley dealership, but that’s just crazy. I’ll never have the money to start something like that.”

I leaned back and thought about that for a minute. “Why not?”

“I don’t have that kind of cash! Do you have any idea how much money gets tied up in a place like that? Thousands — no, millions! Where would we ever find that kind of money?”

“Tusker, nobody has that kind of cash. You borrow it from a bank,” I told him.

“Who the hell is going to loan me that kind of money? Christ, I’m just a bartender at a biker bar!”

“And that’s all you’ll ever be with that kind of attitude!”

“Fuck you, Buckman!”

I laughed and leaned back on the couch. “Do you really want that dealership? I mean really, really, bust-your-ass-hard-work-want that dealership?”

He stared at me for a moment and then looked over at Tessa. “Are you serious?”

“No, are you serious?”

“Okay, yeah, I want it.”

“Then I know how to help you,” I told him.

“How?”

“Go get a piece of paper and a marker,” I ordered him.

“What for?”

“Do you want it or not?”

“Shit!” Tusker shook his head and stood up. He rummaged around in the kitchen for a couple of minutes, while Tessa and Marilyn eyed me curiously and asked each other what I was up to. Eventually Tusker returned with some lined paper and a black Magic Marker. “Yeah?”

“Now write down on a piece of paper ‘Harley Davidson dealership 1980’.” Tusker wrote it out in his block lettering and then looked up at me. I took the page and tore it off the tablet. “Now, go get some tape and tape it to the mirror in your bathroom.”

“What?! What for?”

“Tusker, if you want to do this, then do it, otherwise just get us some beers and forget about it, but I am dead serious. If you want that dealership, go put it on the bathroom mirror. Right the fuck now!”

He looked over at Tessa, but she just nodded. He got up and scrounged up some tape, and went into the bathroom, then returned a minute later. “Now what the fuck was that all about?”

“Now you have a goal. Before you just had a dream, but now you have a goal!”

“Huh?”

“Every day when you get up and shave and shower and brush your teeth, the first thing you’re going to see is that goal. The last thing you are going to see before you go to bed is that goal. When the sign wears out, put up a new one. Stick one on your bedroom wall. Paste one behind the bar. Write it on your books over at Essex. Everything you do now is aimed at that goal. It means you’re serious!” I told him.

“That’s going to get me a Harley dealership?” he asked incredulously.

“No, that’s going to keep you pushing yourself so that you’re not fucking off! When you want that extra beer, you’re going to see that sign and decide to finish your homework first. When you see that sign, you’re going to decide to save an extra dollar or two so you can get the cash for that dealership. When you see that sign, you’re going to remember to work for it and not fuck off that night or that weekend.”

“Bullshit! That’s crazy!”

I noticed Tessa was not arguing with me. I turned to Marilyn. “Do me a favor and run downstairs to your car and get me my briefcase. Please?”

Marilyn looked mystified, but she hopped up and got her keys, and then went down the stairs, with Tessa following. “What’s he up to?” I heard Tessa ask. I never caught Marilyn’s answer, but I’m sure it was, ‘I have no idea!’

“Buckman, I have to say, you have a real line of shit going! What are you up to?” asked my friend.

“You’ll see.”

After another couple of minutes the two girls returned, with Marilyn lugging my battered leather briefcase. “Here you go!” she said.

“Hold onto it for a second. Open it up and pull out my note pad,” I asked. I kept my eyes on Tusker and smiled.

“This one?”

I glanced at her and nodded. “Now, read what it says in block lettering on the front.”

Marilyn’s eyes widened. “Doctor Buckman!”

I took the notebook and handed it to my friend, and he stared at the cover. When he opened it up, it was written on the inside cover as well. “I am already about three quarters of the way to my doctorate. I already have enough credits for my bachelors and my masters. In two years time I will finish my doctorate.”

“All by writing it down in a book?”

“No, by doing the work. Writing it down simply means that I am always reminding myself to do the work. It’s not just a dream. It’s a goal.”

He looked back at the bathroom and asked, “And the 1980?”

“That’s when you’re going to do it.”

He stared at me slack jawed. “No way!”

“Henry Ford once said that if a man thinks he can do something or thinks he can’t do something, he’s probably right. I think I CAN get my PhD. You think you CAN’T get a dealership.”

“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“It is entirely in your hands. One of these days I am going to take my kids over to see Uncle Tusker and Aunt Tessa where they work. Am I taking them to a bar or to a Harley dealership?”

“Shit!” He looked at Tessa in disbelief and then back at me. “Shit!” He just sort of shook his head. “This is some heavy shit, man! I got to think about this.” He stood up. “I’m going for a walk.”

I suddenly felt very guilty for putting my friend on the spot about this, but Tessa didn’t look all that concerned. As soon as he had left, she said, “Thank you! He needs a good kick in the pants every once in a while. I love him dearly, but he needs a little more ambition.”

“You don’t think I was too hard on him?”

“Hell no! I’ve told him the same thing. He listens to you! I’m just his girlfriend,” she laughed.

Twenty minutes later Tusker returned and the first thing he did was get us another round of beers from the fridge. “So how do I do this?” he asked.

I smiled. “I don’t know shit about dealerships or motorcycles, but I know a shitload about planning. That I can help you with.”

It was all standard management stuff I gave him, things he would run across in any number of standard sales books on goal setting and sales management. God knows I had seen enough of this crap the first time around. It works, but by the 50^th time through, it gets real damn old. John and Gabriel believed in this crap big time and were constantly buying new books and tapes and CDs and DVDs on these kinds of programs. I made sure Tusker wrote his notes down himself, and by the time they had to go to the bar for the evening shift, he had a crude timetable for his plans. I also got him to promise to write me once a month and tell me about how he was progressing on his timetable and what his future plans were. Tessa promised to make him write, and I promised to hold his feet to the fire.

We’d just have to see how it worked out.

Saturday night Marilyn and I went out to dinner with my parents and Suzie, with Hamilton staying home. It was only somewhat awkward. Suzie peppered me with questions about the army, and I told her to join up and find out herself. That got a lot of laughs from her and Marilyn, not as many from Dad, and outrage from my mother. Mom did say she appreciated my pictures and had put them on the Wall of Heroes. Suzie commented that Hamilton hissed every time he went by them, which she and I found funny and our parents found distressing. I noticed that only Mom disputed this story, which meant that Dad had witnessed it as well. After dinner, we went to a movie, and then went over to the bar until closing.

Sunday we went to the beach. It was pretty much a repeat of last year, in that we spent the week goofing off, catching some rays, and screwing our brains out. I made sure I packed the Kama Sutra and the vibrator, and Marilyn packed her lingerie. We kept working our way through the book, and by now were well into the intermediate difficulty pages. I kept promising to teach her some of the advanced classes, but Marilyn would just laugh me off.

I bought her a little Pocket Rocket type of vibrator, and used that to introduce her to some back door pleasure. Just the concept of enjoying something back there was alien to her, but I knew from experience that while she wasn’t wild about anal sex, she did like having her asshole rubbed and toyed with, especially during doggy style or reverse cowgirl. I started out just running it around the area, then moved up to deliberately stimulating her butt, and finished with lubing it up and inserting the tip while she rode me backwards. Marilyn damn near went into orbit when that happened!

After our vacation was up, we headed back up to Kegs. Work Week was starting in another couple of weeks, and Marilyn went back to Utica. It was the start of my junior and her sophomore year.

The Galaxie was burning oil like I owned a well, and making a racket as well. I hooked up with Joe Santos, a fellow student who hung out with a lot of the guys in Grogans. Joe bought and sold cars like I changed my socks. He knew everything about fixing them, and was always working on one, fixing it up, and peddling it off. It was how he paid for school. I told him my problem and he came back to me a week later with somebody who wanted to sell a car. It was a three year old Impala with almost no mileage and in mint condition, owned by the proverbial little old lady from Pasadena, who had moved into a heavenly parking garage, and now her son wanted to unload it for cash. In a three-way deal, I paid for the car and gave Joe my Galaxie as a finder’s fee. I have no definite proof, but I figured Joe also made a deal with the guy who had the Impala; if so, it wasn’t my business and I felt no animosity towards Joe. He was a fine guy, and a year later he was voted in as an honorary Kegger.

Junior year was a lot like sophomore year, in that I had an overload of classes and spent a lot of time with Professor Rhineburg down at Amos Eat-Me. I still cooked about once a month on Sundays, still splitting the duties with Marilyn when I could get away with it. We had some new guys moving in and some old guys who didn’t come back. Jefferson was back too, along with Ricky, who was living in the house until Christmas. He didn’t report to the Army until then, and it was pretty obvious that Jefferson was moving along with him.

I didn’t run for any offices, but acted as chief bartender for the Social Committee. What I didn’t know from before I learned from Marty Adrianopolis over the last couple of years. I did make a name for myself when I handled the advertising for our first fall party. I got the idea from the ad I had run last spring, for the spring picnic up at Saratoga Park, which was an ad we had run once before, on my first trip:

Wanted: Virgins for Sacred Sacrificial Rite

followed by our frat name and phone number. The idea was that we would be up around the hot springs and needed to sacrifice some virgins to the geyser gods. I have no idea if any virgins came, but the phone rang off the hook for a couple of days, and quite a few girls showed up. We ran the ad in the Polytechnic, the RPI newsletter, and had some girls post it on the bulletin boards over at Samaritan and Saint Rose.

My new ad was a little more ambitious, and we paid to put it in the papers at RPI, Saint Rose, and Samaritan:

Virginity Reduction Clinic

Bothered by the burden of excessive virginity?

Meet with our trained counselors for one-on-one help, or participate in a group session.

Anesthetics provided free of charge!

All you’ll feel is a prick!

again followed by our name and number. The response was even better than with the sacrificial virgins ad. Marilyn was not amused, and neither were some of the other house girlfriends, but us Keggers toughed it out. We started planning future ads, which was a good thing, because those two had tapped my creative abilities to the max.

Over Christmas break, Marilyn and I flew to Miami, and I bought her another couple of swimsuits. She still refused to even think about topless or nude beaches, which got me laughing at her more than once. However, just because she wouldn’t go for an all over suntan, it didn’t mean she wouldn’t go for an all over moontan. We managed to rent a car and made a few late night drives over to the Everglades. I made sure to treat her special, and she returned the favor!

Also during Christmas break, Harriet had child number 12! Sarah was born while we were away, so Marilyn didn’t learn until she got home. It’s a hell of a thing to come back from a weekend with my girl and let my frat brothers know that Mom was still in production! Very weird.

Towards the end of the year, I got additional orders for my training during the summer between junior and senior years. I already knew I had to go back to Fort Bragg for more training, but after that I was heading to Fort Benning in Georgia for paratrooper training.

I let Joe Bradley in on the news, which was a bit surprising to him. I would travel down with him and Bruno, but not back. We had agreed to room together for another year. We meshed together quite well, since I wasn’t smoking pot anywhere near as much as I did before. I was an asshole then; I had learned. Room roulette was looking especially chaotic this year, however, as the saying goes, in chaos there is opportunity!

“You thought any about what room we’re going to be in next year?” I asked Joe one day.

He gave me a funny look. “You mean other than here? You got something else in mind?”

“Let’s get a room down on the landing.”

“We’ll never get a room down there. Why?”

“Well, for one thing the rooms are bigger, and they have windows and porches.” Okay, not really, but they all had windows that opened out onto the roof of the wraparound porch. You could carry a chair out there and sit comfortably in the sunshine and breeze. “Besides, we are shoo-ins, or at least you’re a shoo-in. Me, not so much.”

“How do you figure that?”

“You’re still Number Three in our class for ritual order, and crones don’t count. That makes you number three in the entire house,” I replied.

It was like a light went off in his head. “I never thought of that.”

“It’s better than that. Bruno is number one, and he’s staying put in the triple, which he inherits from Lynchburg. No way is he giving up the triple to bunk over here. Agreed?”

“I’ll buy that. What about Barry?” he pointed towards the wall, on the other side of which Barry bunked.

“It doesn’t matter. There are two rooms opening up downstairs. Pigpen and Schlitz are both graduating this year.” Pigpen had inherited the room on the landing from his sophomore year roommate, and invited Schlitz in with him. “So are Harry and Ralph in the front room.” Two seniors were going, too.

“So even if Barry wants to move, we’re a lock either way,” finished Joe.

“That’s the way it looks to me.”

“What’s it worth to you?” he asked wickedly.

“Well, I won’t tell anybody about the stash of queer porn you’ve been hiding, and how you like to bugger sophomores in the middle of the night.”

“Fuck you, Buckman!” he said with a laugh.

“Sounds like we’re moving.”

As expected, Barry put in for one of the rooms with one of the incoming sophomores, and took the front room overlooking Burdette. Joe and I got the second room, on the side of the house overlooking the pool and across from the Black Light Room.

Chapter 43: The Summer Of Our Discontent

Marilyn didn’t like that I wasn’t going to see her for over two months, but she understood. We spent a wild weekend together before I left, and I promised her an even crazier one once I was back.

Summer training was similar to the first time we went through it. Once again, I got separated from Bruno and Joe and never saw them again. I did see my friend from last year, Harlan, but he was assigned to a different training company. We only saw each other intermittently, but we had a pretty good friendship going.

A lot of what we did was similar, although compressed. We requalified with weapons, brushed up on our various skills and drills, and ran and marched some more. This time we didn’t have to play war games in the dirt. We did, however, get introduced to the various branches of the army. Now we actually could see some artillery and tanks, paratroopers jumping from planes, and so forth. The idea was to give us enough info so that when we graduated we could make an intelligent choice about the branch of the service we ended up in.

Personally, I thought this was a stretch. From what I knew of my fellow cadets, 90 % would have been happy getting a demonstration of a typewriter in a clean and dry office. The secretarial branch was their preferred branch of service!

I had been at Bragg for about a couple of weeks or so, when I was suddenly called out of class and summoned down to Lieutenant Colonel Brownell’s office. The colonel was in charge of our class and that section of the school. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out what was I had done wrong, but I went to his office and reported in. His orderly, a corporal, checked on the intercom and then ushered me inside. “SIR, OFFICER CANDIDATE BUCKMAN REPORTING AS ORDERED!”

“At ease, Buckman,” replied the colonel. There’s at ease, and at ease. I wasn’t an officer yet, so I snapped to parade rest instead. Colonel Brownell, surprised me by then ordering, “At ease, Cadet.”

I lost my rigidity and looked at the colonel, and noticed that there was a telephone off the hook and laying on his desk. “Yes, sir?”

“There’s been a phone call for you, Mr. Buckman,” he said, nodding towards the phone. “I’m going to step out of my office for a few minutes. Just open the door when you are done.”

“Sir?” Who the hell would call me by tracking down my commanding officer!? Marilyn would write, and so would Suzie. Nobody else would call me.

The colonel stood up. “I’m stepping out. See me when you’re done, Mister Buckman.”

“Yes, sir.”

The colonel moved around from his desk and went out the door, closing it behind him. I was tempted to sit down at his desk, but lightning bolts would probably descend and fry my ass out of sheer effrontery! I picked up the telephone and held it to my ear. “Officer Candidate Buckman.”

“Carling, it’s your father.”

“Yes, sir. What’s going on?”

“We need you to come home, Carl. It’s your mother and your brother. There’s been a problem,” he said.

“Sir?” What happened? I could care less about Hamilton, but if something had happened to Mom, I needed to know. Had they been in an accident?

Dad told me. It was a sordid tale indeed. Hamilton, in his desire to separate himself from me, had gone to college down south, at Georgia Tech in Atlanta. That hadn’t worked out so well. Unlike most colleges, they worked on a trimester system. Way back when, on my first trip through, his first trimester his grades were as good as anything I had ever seen. His second trimester they dropped to my level. His third trimester they dropped through the floor and my father yanked him out of school. When that happened Dad tracked me down and told me to take a Friday off and we drove down for the weekend and packed him up and dragged him home.

Before, during that third trimester, he had disappeared for a week, completely dropping out of sight. Nobody could find him, not even the college or campus security, and then he surfaced and denied he had ever been missing. We never did find out where he was, if he was on a binge or if he was stoned somewhere or in the slammer or wherever, and he just denied being out of contact.

This time around it was far, far worse. He disappeared for almost two weeks, and when he resurfaced, was dragged down to the campus security office and questioned before they called Dad. Hamilton still wouldn’t say where he had been, simply denying he had been missing, despite what the college was telling my father. Basic Hamilton behavior — lie and deny. Dad went down to drag him out. Much like before, Hamilton was sent to a shrink because of his bizarre behavior. Much like before, Mom was absolutely destroyed, crying her eyes out at the failure of her favorite son. Unlike before, Mom’s depression was much more severe, probably because I wasn’t around to take it out on, and she had a nervous breakdown.

This had been an ungodly disaster the first time around. Mom denied any hint of a problem, even denying he was seeing a psychiatrist, when we all knew he was visiting one. Dad and I had a long talk one day, when he asked me why I had gone to college. He had been heartbroken when I told him, quite bluntly, “Because you told me I was going to college!” When he asked if that was the only reason, I turned it back on him and asked if I had had any kind of choice. For the first time I think he actually gave thought to his non-existent parenting skills.

It was worse now. Both Hamilton and Mom were spending time in the nut ward. I was tempted to ask Dad if they had adjoining rooms, but that would have been really pushing my luck. He wanted me to come home.

I just stared at the phone for a bit. “Dad, I’m in the Army. You know what that’s like. I can’t just drop everything and come home. I’m on duty!”

“It would be good for your mother and your brother. You should talk to their doctor,” he replied.

“Excuse me? They’re in the nut house and you think I need to see the shrink? Whose idea is that? The doctor’s or Mom’s?” This was beyond ludicrous.

“Your mother seems to think it would help you understand your brother and better help him.” I think even he thought this was a stretch, and it was all I could do not to laugh.

“No, Dad, that’s not going to happen. I am not coming home so Mom can blame me some more because my brother is a raving lunatic. You know it and I know it. It’s only Mom that refuses to admit it.”

“Carling, it’s really not like that…” he tried to say.

“Dad, it’s exactly like that. Do you have a diagnosis yet? On Hamilton, not Mom, I mean,” I asked. Dad tried to hedge and I continued to push. “Dad, I’ve earned it. What’s his problem!?”

He sighed. “It’s schizophrenia or something.” I could practically hear him crying on the phone. This was a truly horrible thing to him. Mental illness had a very severe societal penalty then; it was not something you would tell people. Mom wouldn’t even admit it to herself, either then or later.

“Dad, I’ve earned this. He drove me from the family. I need to see a copy of the doctor’s report, the full clinical results.” You never know but how that might be useful someday to me, if simply to prove that when he finally drove me crazy, there was a reason for it!

Dad tried to back away hastily, but I kept pushing until he agreed to send something to me. I also repeated that I wouldn’t be coming home, and that the next time I saw my brother would be much too soon. My parents had sowed the wind, and now they were reaping the whirlwind. I was sorry for Mom, but I had moved on.

I hung up on my father and sat there for a moment, until I realized just where I was. I jumped up and scooted over to the door. “Sir, I’m sorry. I should never have tied up your office like that!” I blurted out.

Lieutenant Colonel Brownell was about 45, in a semi-retirement posting after seeing action in Viet Nam and getting a little burned out. He just smiled and came back into his office, and closed the door behind him, with me still inside his office. “Mister Buckman, is everything all right?”

I hesitated before answering, and then deflected the question. “How did you end up getting called by my father, sir? If I may ask.”

He nodded. “I spoke to him briefly. It seems that he wasn’t even aware you were training here this summer.” He looked at me curiously at that.

I just nodded. “My family and I parted ways many years ago, sir. I’m sorry you had to get involved. I apologize for that. It won’t happen again.” Dad probably called the house, and somebody must have given him Marilyn’s number. She was the only one who had any kind of detailed itinerary for me, along with the address to send me letters.

He waved it off. “There are provisions for emergency family leave, at least for a few days. We can have you home in a couple of days, I’m sure.”

“No, sir, that won’t be necessary.”

“Really, your class record is in fine shape. I would see no difficulty in giving you a three day emergency pass. I mean, I didn’t really ask, but your father indicated that your mother and brother are in the hospital. You don’t want to go home?” He seemed somewhat incredulous at that.

I had turned and was staring out his window towards one of the parade grounds. It was all such a waste. I turned back to face him. “That won’t help, sir. It’s not really my place to speak, but my going back won’t help anybody. I’m sorry if I seem cold about it, but there’s very little left for me back there.”

He shrugged. “I can’t say as I understand, but it’s not my business. If you change your mind, my door is always open.”

I snapped back to attention. It was obvious I was being released back to duty. “Thank you, Colonel. I apologize for intruding. It won’t happen again.” I saluted, received a return salute, and I turned smartly and headed out. I had been gone almost an hour, about fifty-nine minutes more than my brother deserved.

In my next letter from Marilyn, she did indeed confirm that my dad had called her and gotten my location. I wrote back and told her what was going on. I felt bad for my father, but he had really gotten himself into this mess, and I had no idea how he was going to dig himself out. He had been letting Mom go on for years about how poor Hamilton wasn’t understood and how it was all my fault and the school’s fault and everybody else’s fault. Anybody but his fault. Okay, I’ll grant that being a certified nut job like a schizophrenic is more than just a character flaw, but I had had enough. If it wasn’t for Suzie I would have washed my hands of the entire bunch of them.

A week later I wanted that emergency leave, but not to go home. Marilyn dumped me. It was all my fault. I have a big mouth. When I was writing her, I let my mouth write my letters. She took exception to something I wrote and told me which way to head in and just how far. She also mailed me back the jewelry I had bought her.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but it was the first time on this trip. She had dumped me between junior year and senior year before, just like now, and for a similar reason, my big fat fucking mouth. She had written me that one of her little brothers, Peter I think, had managed to fall in the fireplace. I wrote back that it wasn’t a problem. She had so many brothers and sisters by that point that she had spares. Big mistake! I was promptly informed that family was much more important to her than I was, and she returned my fraternity pin.

Giving a girl your frat pin was sort of like a pre-engagement. Huge numbers of guys gave their girl their frat pin with the intention of getting in her pants. What the hell, it worked for me back then! We also had a tradition of the Sophomore Curse, which basically stated that any sophomore that gave a girl his pin would end up breaking up with her. Looked at logically, that was inevitable, since how many 19 year old kids know who they’re getting married to. Okay, so I made up with Marilyn, but the curse had done its work by then. This time I didn’t tempt the curse, and I didn’t give her my pin.

Yes, I made up with her then, but it took me the better part of six months. No girl can dump Carl Buckman! I ‘played the field’, messing around with a few girls I had been dating at the same time as I was seeing Marilyn. I was a real pig. Eventually, in January, I get really loaded, lost my pride, broke my resolve, and wrote her a letter begging forgiveness. We met up and got back together again.

Okay, so I fucked up. No, I didn’t say a damn thing about her family. I knew better than that. Now I knew how important family was to her. No, I really screwed the pooch this time. I called her stupid.

No, not really. It was more of an implication. She had finished with her two years at MVCC and had transferred to Plattsburgh State. She would be rooming with her Aunt Lynette, and for some reason had commented that her college degree was the equivalent of mine. Yes, I should have stopped and dropped it, Yes, I knew from living with her for almost fifty years that she was an egalitarian while I was an elitist. Yes, I should have known better because we had argued about this more than once over the years. No, I’m smarter than that.

I replied that, first, Plattsburgh State had just made Playboy’s Top 20 Party Schools, so maybe she shouldn’t brag about the quality education she was getting. Then I really buried myself when I commented that it was taking her five years to go through three colleges to get one degree, while I was taking four years to go through one college to get three degrees! Okay, so I conveniently forgot about Towson State, but I thought it had a certain poetic symmetry.

Strangely, Marilyn didn’t agree with my style of prose. In fact, she actually took offense at my thoughts. Considerable offense. Enough offense to inform me that she didn’t particularly want to hear from me again. Ever. In this lifetime or any other lifetime. Ever.

Ever, ever, ever!

Okay, so I knew how to handle this from the last time I fucked up. I would write her a letter and commit written hari kiri. I did this just about immediately, and enclosed all the jewelry, and promised to never misbehave again and stated my undying love repeatedly to her. It had worked before. I was smart enough to know how to fix this problem.

My letter came back from her house marked Return To Sender. That was somewhat disturbing, so I wrote a really heartfelt letter, not only disemboweling myself, but also jumping off a bridge and hanging myself, and this one I mailed Return Receipt Required.

She refused to sign for it.

I tried calling her house that weekend, after waiting in line at the payphone with a roll of quarters for half an hour. I ended up talking to Harriet, who sounded a touch sympathetic, but couldn’t get Marilyn to the phone and told me to wait and try again later. In a month or two. Or maybe longer.

I was going to have to do this in person, but that wasn’t possible, either. At the end of training, I wasn’t going back to Troy, I was going to Columbus, Georgia, to become a paratrooper. That was three weeks long, and unless a pilot got lost and dumped me in Utica, I wasn’t going to see her for the better part of a month!

After graduation, a few dozen of my fellow graduates and I were loaded on buses, along with our gear, and driven to Columbus. There is no slower form of transportation than an Army bus. I wasn’t sure if we would arrive before the winter came through. After that, welcome to Fort Benning!

Wow, what an incredibly stupid idea!

Think about it — I was going to let the United States Army take me up in aeroplanes and throw my ass out the back end! Ever since then I have wondered at my own mental stability at this, but at the time it seemed like a marvelous idea. Since I had already done basic, jump school was available. A limited number of slots are held open during the summer for officer candidates, and I qualified and was selected for the end of July. A lot of officers end up taking jump training, maybe even most officers, even those who don’t end up in the airborne. It’s considered a useful box to check off on your things-to-do list.

It isn’t all that difficult to learn how to jump out of an airplane. They tie a parachute on your ass and toss you out. Gravity takes care of the rest. As they say in the airborne, ‘We’ve never left anybody up there yet!’ They have lots of sayings like that in the airborne. Another is, ‘If your chute fails, bring it back after you land and we’ll give you a brand new one!’ They’re just chock full of uplifting tales and sayings in the airborne. They even have their own song, ‘Blood Upon The Risers.’, which starts out:

all sung to the tune of the Battle Hymn of the Republic.

The song continues through an endless series of verses with what happens to this hapless young trooper. It isn’t pretty. His static line fails, his chute fails, his reserve chute fails, the risers (the ropes he’s hanging from) strangle him, he breaks every bone in his body, blood gushes everywhere — “And he ain’t gonna jump no more!” You learn this song very early in jump training. It is a harbinger of things to come.

Jump school is deceptively easy, but before you can earn the coveted jump wings and get to die for God and country, you have to make it through. It’s only three weeks long, and for all the students who figure they just made it through eight weeks of basic and another eleven of advanced training, so what the hell is the problem with another three, they have another think coming. Jumping out of an airplane is a brutally Darwinian process. Jump school is very, very tough.

Your first week is all about physical fitness. You run and work out and do pushups and pull ups and take all sorts of physical tests. If you don’t pass by the end of the week, you are history. They don’t hold you back until you get it right. They send you home, and you have to apply a second time.

The second week they teach you how to actually jump out of an airplane and how to put on a parachute. It’s Tower Week and there are all sorts of interesting ways to bust your ass while wearing a rig to simulate jumping. They actually have a bunch of jump towers they bought from the ’39 World’s Fair and transported to the ass end of Georgia to train guys before World War II.

The third week is when you actually jump out of airplanes. The requirement is to do four daylight jumps and one nighttime jump. The first two jumps are what they call ‘Hollywood’ jumps, where you jump with nothing but your two chutes. The next two jumps are combat jumps, loaded with everything the well armed killing machine needs to inflict mayhem and destruction on others. The final jump we do in the middle of the night, and it’s a combat jump as well.

You flunk any single part of this and you are history. You break an ankle on the fourth jump, they send you home and you have to do it all over again someday, from the start. There are stories of guys who do their final jumps with sprained joints and broken bones, just to get through. I guess that’s a good idea. If I had to do this for real, with real bad guys at the other end of the jump, maybe I’d want to be surrounded by guys that crazy!

This was why I had been working out so hard all year. I had to pass the various tests. It takes a phenomenal amount of strength, both upper body and leg, to do this. You’re wearing a set of chutes that weighs maybe 50 pounds, and you’ve probably got a combat load of another 75 pounds, or more. It is not unheard of for troopers to jump carrying their own weight in gear. Doing this and not killing yourself in the process takes strength!

Going through as an officer candidate gets you no special treatment. Real officers have their own quarters; officer candidates bunk with the enlisted guys in the barracks. It was just like being back in basic, with drill instructors telling you to “DROP AND GIVE ME TWENTY!” at the drop of a hat. I understand that officers are ‘counseled’ ahead of time to keep their mouths shut when a sergeant starts giving them orders. The sergeants know who the officers are, of course, and they make their orders polite — “IS THE CAPTAIN AWARE THAT HE MOVES LIKE A RUPTURED DUCK? PERHAPS HE WOULD UNDERSTAND BETTER IF HE WOULD DROP AND GIVE ME TWENTY!”

Looking like a ruptured duck, whatever the fuck that is, is a cardinal sin, and damn near got my ass kicked out. It would seem that I am singularly graceless in my movements out of the airplane, floating to earth, and landing safely. I was allowed to pass because I didn’t actually break anything or die. My night combat drop I sprained my right knee, but one of the guys in the barracks wrapped it tight and I just gritted my teeth and moved through it. There were a lot of us looking battered and bruised by the end of the class. We all smelled like we worked at a Bengay factory.

We had a final parade on the last day, and you could get pictures of yourself looking heroic with your new jump wings. You actually get your jump wings the night before, during the ‘Punch’ ceremony. The wings are held to your uniform by a pair of pins. During the punch ceremony, they take the caps off the pins and ‘punch’ them into your chest. Ouch! I ordered two sets of pictures, one for my mother and one for me. Now I simply had to go visit Marilyn and get my life back.

I called Harriet again and discovered Marilyn had already moved out. She had gone to Plattsburgh early, and moved into an apartment with her Aunt Lynette. I would have to track her down there. She gave me the address and wished me luck, telling me that Marilyn was miserable. I apologized and promised to make things right.

I flew back to Albany, by way of Chicago, and then picked up my car. I wasn’t even in civvies, but had flown back wearing my dress uniform. I didn’t bother heading over to Kegs to dump my crap off, but got on the Northway and headed north.

Lynette lived in a one bedroom apartment that was the second floor of a Cape Cod home. Marilyn used a hide-a-bed in the living room. Lynette was actually Big Bob’s baby sister, and was only about ten years older than Marilyn. They were known to go out together on Saint Patrick’s Day and close out the bars, just one of the reasons I had disputed her rating of Plattsburgh’s academic standards. I climbed the stairs and knocked on the door.

The door opened and Lynette looked out at me. “Is she here?” I asked. I was prepared to go back downstairs and sleep in the car until she came home.

Lynette smiled at me. “Come on in.” She stepped back and as I entered the apartment, she turned and called out, “Look, Marilyn, you have a guest.”

Marilyn came out of the kitchen and turned white as a ghost. She looked like she had lost a few pounds. She came to a dead stop and stared at me.

I came closer. It was time for the big dramatic gesture. I was going to need one. She had been ducking me for over a month already. Previously I had to wait six whole fucking months for her to get over her mad at me. No way was I going to wait that long. What if she never got over her mad? I got the overall impression she was a lot more pissed at me now than before.

I dropped to my knees in front of her. “I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I’m sorry.”

Marilyn simply stared at me. My original plan had been that she would drop to her knees in front of me, instantly proclaim how sorry she was for overreacting, and we would embrace and kiss and hug and make wild monkey love on the floor of the apartment. Marilyn didn’t drop to her knees however. She stared some more and then asked, “What are you doing?”

Wasn’t it obvious? No, I didn’t say that. I thought it, but I didn’t say it. I was already in enough trouble. “I am begging forgiveness. Please, I’m sorry.”

“Well, get up, for God’s sake! You look ridiculous down there!”

Oh, shit, but this wasn’t working out. If she had a secret plan to make me look like an idiot, it was working to perfection. At least she hadn’t thrown me out. I got to my feet and glanced over at Lynette to see if she had any hints for me. She had a smile on her face, but was covering it with a hand. I looked back at Marilyn. “Uh, can we talk?”

“You’re such an asshole!” she yelled at me.

I nodded. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m here.”

She just muttered, “You asshole!” She threw up her hands and tossed the dishtowel she was holding back in the kitchen. Then she went to the closet and reached in to grab her jacket. “Come on, asshole, let’s take a walk.” She stormed out of the apartment, and I quickly jumped after her.

I wasn’t sure how this was working out, not at all. The last time we did this, she had already forgiven me in a letter before I came up. Lynette quickly took off to spend the weekend across the lake in Burlington, and Marilyn and I spent the weekend in bed together. Now she had gotten me out of the apartment, and I didn’t see Lynette packing for an impromptu weekend away. I caught up to Marilyn and walked beside her down towards the nearest elementary school. She sat down on a bench, so I sat down next to her. “Can we talk?”

“You asshole!” Marilyn punched me in the arm. It didn’t really hurt. She hit like a girl. Still time to keep my mouth shut.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,” I told her.

“Asshole!” she hit me again. She repeated this a couple more times, and I just sat there until she seemed to run out of steam. I waited a minute more and then apologized again, and she hit me again. This was definitely not how I had envisioned our reunion.

Finally she stopped and we sat there besides each other. She leaned against me at that point and called me an asshole again, and I put my arm around her shoulders. I just whispered how sorry I was to her, and she cried against my shoulder, calling me an asshole every few minutes. Eventually she stopped crying and sat upright again, still close enough that I had an arm around her shoulders. “You never said if I was forgiven or not,” I said, which simply earned me another punch.

“Asshole!” Marilyn stood up and took my hand. She led the way back to the apartment, and left me standing at the bottom of the stairs. “Stay here. I’ll be down if a couple of minutes.” It was closer to fifteen minutes, but she couldn’t tell time even if she was standing next to Big Ben. She was carrying a suitcase. She tossed that in the back seat of the rental car next to my bags. “Where are you staying?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Nowhere, yet. I came here directly from the airport.”

“The Holiday Inn is on Route 3.” She got into the car and I stood there in disbelief for a second before running around to the driver’s side and jumped in. Marilyn needed to give me directions. Five minutes later I pulled up to the front of the Holiday Inn. Marilyn stayed in the car while I went in and registered, and then came out and drove around to the nearest door. We were in a room on the back side on the second floor. I grabbed my bags, and by the time I reached over to get Marilyn’s, she already had hers in hand. Marilyn never carried her own bags!

I let us into the room and set my bags down. Marilyn set hers down as well, and then looked over at me and gave me a small smile. She took off her jacket, and didn’t stop. She started undoing her blouse. I gave her a smile as well and tossed my hat on the table, and then unbuttoned my blouse, which is army talk for my jacket. We kept this up until we were both naked, and then climbed onto the bed.

“Uh, not to be rude, but are you still on the Pill?” I asked.

Marilyn punched me again, called me an asshole again, and then said, “Yes, damn it.”

I breathed a sigh of relief and rolled towards her and took her in my arms. Marilyn moaned and reached between us and grabbed my cock. I returned the favor by lowering my face to her tits while I started fingering her clit. As soon as she was wet, I pushed her onto her back and climbed on top. Marilyn guided me inside and we made hurried love as she moaned and gasped and shuddered under me. I was moaning and gasping and shuddering as well, and it didn’t seem like it took all that long before I was pumping a load into her.

I calmed down at that point, and as I lay on top of her, I asked, “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

That got me another “Asshole!” and a punch in the side. Then she began kissing me, and we started another round. Maybe I was forgiven after all.

Chapter 44: Diagnoses, Fraternal and Personal

Marilyn and I spent Friday evening and Saturday morning living on room service and screwing our brains out, with me apologizing and her punching me in between. By lunchtime Saturday she had gotten the mad out, and we went from makeup sex to regular hot monkey love sex. There was a massive change in attitude, though. We were much more serious about each other, and it was something I had noticed the first time as well. It was like we were no longer kids and girlfriend/boyfriend. Now we were adults, and we were committed to each other, even if we were only 20 or 21 at the time. Saturday we got dressed and I took her down to the mall and we went into a jewelry store and looked at engagement rings. I hadn’t even asked her formally, but she looked at several and got sized for the ring, and I made a 50 % deposit. I would return in a month, finish payment, and she would be my fiancé. We would make the formal announcement at Christmas, when I would visit the family and ask her father’s permission.

At that point I drove back to Troy. Once I got back in the house, I ran across Bruno.

“Sorry, Bruno, your reign is over.” I told him.

“Well, hail to the chief and all that,” he replied.

I had done one radical thing that spring which I had never even contemplated before, certainly not on my first go-around. I ran for Chancellor. Chancellor, the equal to the President of a frat, is an odd position. You have to chair the various meetings and ride herd on a fractious bunch of college guys, and some guys simply aren’t cut out for it. There are also some routine ornamental things, like reports to the national organization and to the college, and monthly meetings with the Inter-Fraternity Council. Some guys are good at it and some aren’t. In order to win the job, it takes a certain degree of respect from the brothers. As a dope smoking asshole on the first ride through, it hadn’t even been an option. Now I had a certain degree of respect, what with doing the doctorate and cooking and the military thing. We were no longer a military frat; since the Viet Nam War was over and the draft ended, ROTC was plummeting, and my class was the last in the frat to have anybody in ROTC. Still, I had a degree of respect because of it.

I wanted to run because of what I saw developing around the house. We needed leadership. The house was splitting into three separate groups, and had been for a year now. The first group was the Dregs, short for Dregs of Humanity. These guys were mostly older brothers, a year or two ahead of my class, with a heavy proportion of ROTC and a propensity for heavy drinking, and they lived in Grogans’. Their enemies were the Heads, short for Potheads, the pot-smoking bunch around the house, mostly in the Main House. The third group was everybody else, growing sick and tired of the nonsense.

Originally I had been one of the Heads. This was a large group, but by our senior year the numbers were down significantly. Ricky Holloway had graduated and moved out, and despite being a Head, had been enormously respected by everyone, even the Dregs. Both Pabst and Schlitz had graduated and left, and Homer Simpson was going to be gone by Christmas. I was not a Head this time, although it was known that I still smoked an occasional joint.

I had tried to defuse what I saw as a growing situation during my sophomore year by blackballing a guy named Kevin Farnsworth. He was a very nice and funny kid a year behind us, who had gotten into the frat on my first run. Once in he proved incredibly divisive. He was a major doper, and after the end of his sophomore year had flunked out. Unlike the average guy who flunked out and moved back to East Asshole, Tennessee, Kevin was a local boy, from Albany. He could come over whenever he wanted. He became a major drug dealer, and supplied most of the Heads, and had no compunctions about giving the Dregs a ration of shit whenever he saw them. This time I blackballed him and he stopped coming around. It defused things, but only somewhat.

Another time, last spring, a couple of the Dregs, Bill Swayzack and Hank “the Hammer” Hotaling, decided that one of the sophomores needed to ‘ride the wild surf.’ They were drunk, and this kid came through, Matt Lincoln, who was kind of small and quiet and had been known to have a toke or two with the Heads. The way the Main House bathroom was set up, it had two toilets sitting next to each other without any kind of a barrier between them. To ride the wild surf, two guys grabbed the victim and lifted him up off the floor, and then dangled his feet in the toilets. A third guy would stand next to the toilets, and on the signal, would flush them simultaneously. For extra insult, you made the victim give the signal — “Surf’s up!”

When Bill and the Hammer saw Matt, they started yakking about riding the surf. Matt didn’t know what they were up to, and he sat down in the living room to watch television. By the time he figured it out, they were already heading towards him. I moved in between them. “The surf is not up,” I told them.

“Fuck you, Buckman, the surf is up,” answered the Hammer.

“Nobody’s riding the surf today.”

“Maybe you’d like to ride the surf?” asked Bill.

I just smiled. “If you think you can make me, feel free to try.” I could see Matt trying to slip out to the side, and I shifted a little more. “Get lost,” I told him. He scooted out through the arch and went upstairs. He roomed diagonally across from Joe and me. Bill tried to move and intercept him, but I just stayed between them.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he demanded.

“The surf is out,” I repeated. At that point a few other guys came in the room and told us to knock it off. I just gave a gracious smile and went into the kitchen, and Bill and the Hammer grumbled and went over to Grogans’.

The Dregs were as numerous as ever, and without me or Kevin in the Heads, they outnumbered the Heads almost 2:1. Most of the Dregs were actually crones, grad students hanging around a fifth year, and a couple were actually guys who flunked out and stuck around anyway, rooming with us while their buddies finished school. The only Dreg in our class was Bruno, and he was running for Chancellor, too. Previously he had won the election and become Chancellor, but had been a weak leader.

Bruno got a fair number of votes, but with me running as an Independent, he didn’t get enough. My platform was simple. We had problems, the house needed a leader, and it needed a leader not in any particular group. That was me, not Bruno. Vote Buckman, for a chicken in every pot and a car in every garage! I won. I immediately threw my support behind Bruno for Minister, the Vice-Chancellor so to speak, and he was voted in unanimously.

His slogan as Minister was “Only a heartbeat away!”

In general, being Chancellor wasn’t that big a deal. You ran the house meetings, mediated squabbles, and prayed that the important positions had brothers who knew what the fuck they were doing and had some people to back them up. Nobody cared a whole lot if the Social Committee Chairman got drunk and passed out. If the House Manager was away for the weekend in January and the furnace died, everybody cared!

So far, it hadn’t been a problem. I just hoped we’d get through the year without the Heads and Dregs fucking things up. By next year they would all have graduated anyway.

Otherwise the year went along nicely. During Work Week we had the vote for Master Chef and I won. This was a purely honorary title, and was given to one of the designated Sunday cooks, usually a senior, but not always. Ricky Holloway had held it for the last two years. You got to kibbitz with the regular cook and the Steward, but otherwise it meant nothing. You were not allowed to nominate yourself, and weren’t present for the voting. Still, it was nice to be noticed.

My doctoral studies had moved along nicely, and I had a framework for the calculations which had meshed together neatly. With any luck at all, I would be writing the dissertation by the Christmas break and be able to graduate with my PhD on schedule. Marilyn and I continued seeing each other every few weeks, although we started a new technique; she would drive south and I would drive north and we would meet up in Lake George and spend the weekend there.

I found myself a shrink in the fall. Dad mailed me the report from Hamilton’s shrink. I got it when I made it back to Kegs. It was about a dozen pages long and made absolutely no sense to me. It only made sense to another shrink. I couldn’t even look it up on the Internet, since nobody had gotten around to inventing it yet. Eventually I just tucked it in my drawer and went about my business.

Midway through the semester I got to thinking about it again. RPI didn’t have any sort of medical or pre-medical program, so I couldn’t find a friendly teacher to quiz. Maybe Professor Rhineburg knew somebody I could ask, or at least know where to start. I hit him up one day in his office when he was alone.

“Excuse me, Professor, got a moment?”

“Sure, Carl, what’s up?”

I sat down across from him. “Do you know any psychiatrists?”

“Why? Finally starting to go crazy around here?” he joked.

“No, sir, it’s not about me.”

He sat upright at that and looked across his desk. “Wait, you’re serious? What in the world do you need a psychiatrist for?”

I shrugged and gave him some background. “It’s not me, sir, it’s my brother. He’s seeing a shrink, and my father sent me his preliminary report, and it might as well be written in Greek for all the good it’s doing me.” It was actually worse than that. Most mathematicians and physicists can actually read Greek, at least the alphabet, since we use it in math so much.

He nodded. “Yeah, that I know. Well, I don’t know any psychiatrists, but Janet is a psychologist. She might be able to help you.”

I looked surprised at that. “Your wife is a psychologist? I thought she taught over at Albany State?”

“She does. She teaches psychology.”

“Oh.” You learn something every day, I suppose. “Do you think she would see me?”

“Probably. I’ll ask her tonight. At the minimum, I’ll have her call you,” he offered.

“Thanks, thanks a lot!”

I talked to Janet Rhineburg that evening, and she agreed to meet me on Monday after her classes, in her office over at Albany State. I was to bring the psychiatrist’s report with me. I made sure I was there early. She brought me into her office, we chatted briefly, and then I gave her the report. She read it twice, once just skimming through, and then a second time, much more thoroughly.

Then she set it down and sighed. “I’m very sorry to hear this, Carl. What would you like to know?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, not really. I don’t even know exactly what it all means. There are words in there I swear aren’t in the dictionary!”

Janet laughed at that. “We’re doctors. We never use three syllables when four are available. Let’s take it from the top. Your brother suffers from a form of mental illness called schizophrenia. I assume you’ve heard of it before.”

“Sure. It’s like he doesn’t believe in reality or something, right.”

“No, that’s not really it. It’s more that the sufferer is detached from reality, and in his own individual reality. His thought patterns are confused and disordered, he can be delusional and hallucinate, maybe see and hear things that aren’t there, and exhibit signs of social dysfunction.”

“Huh. Well, I’ve never heard of Hamilton hallucinating, but he has delusions, at least about me, and he isn’t very social.”

She nodded and continued, “Your brother has a type of schizophrenia known as paranoid schizophrenia. Now, forget about everything you have ever seen on television. They toss that diagnosis around like candy. Almost nothing that they show is true.”

I gave her a wry smile at that. “I believe you!”

“In paranoid schizophrenia, many of the delusions and hallucinations are paranoid, or persecutory in nature. For instance, all of your brother’s problems are because of you, in this case. If you weren’t around, there wouldn’t be any problems, that sort of thing,” she said.

“You keep mentioning hallucinations. As far as I know, he has never seen or heard things.”

“That’s all right. Not every case is identical. There are plenty of other indicators in the report. Certainly the delusions about you are what brings the diagnosis into the specifics of paranoia. He has had strong feelings about you from an early age.”

I had to think about that. We had never been close, not even as little children, and it had gotten worse as we grew older. “Okay, I might buy that. We’ve never been close, and we used to fight all the time, at least until I got older.”

“Oh?”

“Well, by the time I hit my teens, it just was obvious to me that we would never get along, and I just began to ignore him. I stayed out of our room unless I was sleeping, and would leave when he was around. It was easier than putting up with him.”

“In a way, you were making it worse. By ignoring him, you were feeding his delusion that you hated him and were working against him. How much younger is he?”

“Two years,” I told her.

“So when you were in your early teens, he was 11 or 12. This is often when schizophrenic behavior becomes more marked,” Janet replied.

That made my eyes open. Hamilton’s behavior became decidedly worse as I grew older. “One thing I noticed was that the more successful I became, the more he began losing it. As I began advancing through school faster, he became more aggressive towards me.”

“You were feeding the delusion. By moving ahead of him, you must have been doing something to hold him back. I know, I know, you weren’t, but that is part of the delusional and disorganized thinking pattern typical of paranoid schizophrenia.”

“Huh.” I thought about it some more. “What about the other stuff mentioned? Anhedonism? Avoluntary? Something like that.”

Janet leafed through the report and found the proper page. “Anhedonia — that is a negative symptom.” She saw me looking at her in total bafflement. “There are both positive and negative symptoms of schizophrenia. A positive symptom is something the patient has — delusions, hallucinations, bizarre thinking patterns, that sort of thing.” I nodded slowly, and she went on. “A negative symptom is something the patient does not have, at least not compared to normal people. Anhedonia means the lack of pleasure — hedonia is the root of hedonism — and shows that the sufferer does not enjoy things that others enjoy. Asociality means your brother has an extremely limited number of friends or relationships, if any. Avolition means almost a total lack of drive and motivation. Your brother shows practically all the negative symptoms, even though he does not have the positive symptom of hallucinations.”

I sat there stunned for a few minutes. Hearing it explained to me made it all so clear. Previously, on the first trip around, Marilyn and I had constantly commented to each other about Hamilton’s behavior, and it was all the negative symptoms Janet Rhineburg was discussing. He had no friends that anybody knew of, never dated — ever! never drank, smoked, or did drugs. He spent over 30 years working as a clerk in the billing department of the phone company, 20 of them on the graveyard shift, where nobody could bother him. In fact, he threw a royal bloody fit when he got bumped to the day shift because of seniority. Everybody else begs to go to days, he was begging to stay on nights! He could never finish anything important, and we often talked about the bizarre, to us, lack of interest in much of anything other than history books and war games. He lived in the house with my parents his entire life, until they died, in the same room that he and I shared when we were teens.

After a bit I just slumped back in my chair. “This all makes so much sense when you explain it this way! I could talk for hours about what I’ve seen, but it fits.”

“Well, as I said, aside from the hallucinations, which aren’t mentioned here at all, he has all the classic signs. For what it’s worth, it’s not a terribly serious case, at least as these things go. Your brother seems to be functional and stable, at least as long as you aren’t in the picture.”

“And if I was?”

Janet gave me a perplexed look and held her hands up in the air. “Then all bets are off. Your brother’s delusions, in their totality, relate to you. If you are around, his hostility will increase and his disorganized thought processes will become more disorganized.”

“I moved out when I was 16, and by then I was sleeping in the family room and locking him in his room at nights. He was starting to get violent, at least towards my possessions.”

“If you had stayed, he might have gotten violent towards you.”

I just shook my head. I knew the answer to the next question, but I had to ask it anyway. “Is there any kind of cure?”

“No, not really. Again, for what it’s worth, your brother is relatively stable and functional. There are some antipsychotic drugs, but the effects are uneven. He may stabilize and improve as he gets older. The fact is we can diagnose it, but we don’t know what causes it, and we don’t have a cure. There’s a lot of research being done, though. Maybe we’ll know more in a few years.”

Or maybe not. By the time I rerouted back, they had some new drugs, but still no cause or cure.

I stood up. “Well, that explains a lot. I guess I’m never going home again.”

“John mentioned you had moved away from home years ago, and you said the same to me. I’m sorry to hear that, but is it that important anymore?” she asked.

“No. It just hurts, you know, knowing they prefer the crazy one instead of me. I guess that’s just the way it worked out, Doctor.” I shrugged. Nothing was going to get better about this, so I just needed to get on with my life.

“If you ever need to talk, not just about your brother, but about anything, you know how to reach me. I won’t tell John.”

“Thanks, Doc.” I took the report back and shook her hand, and then went back to Kegs. I needed a drink, but not to get drunk. I didn’t need that kind of problem. I’d end up as nutty as Hamilton!

Chapter 45: Hazing

Over Christmas I stayed with Marilyn in Utica. Christmas Day I got Big Bob alone in the kitchen and asked for Marilyn’s hand in marriage. She knew what I was going to do, and wanted to be with me, but I said it was a guy thing and asked him alone. I was just about as nervous as when I did it that first time. Big Bob said yes, although I knew he wasn’t thrilled with me. Marilyn squealed when I came back out and sent her upstairs to get the jewelry box with the ring in it. It was a one carat flawless and perfect cut solitaire on a simple white gold mounting. I made sure to have it insured, since she was bound to lose it sooner or later.

That winter we didn’t travel anywhere. Marilyn needed to stay and study, and I needed to work on my dissertation. We kept up with the trips to Lake George, though, all through the winter.

I knew things were going too smoothly to last. A couple of months later, at the end of March, I drove back down from Lake George on Sunday, just after lunch. I knew I had missed Sunday supper, so I simply went up the back stairs and down the hallway to our room off the landing. Joe was surprisingly quiet when I came in, and then he left. He returned a couple of minutes later bringing Buddy Ebbits and George Dukoski with him.

I was still unpacking when Buddy announced, “We had a problem while you were away.”

I looked over at them. “Oh?” Buddy was the Pledge Master, and George was scheduled to be the Hell Master. It had to be something with the Pledges.

Buddy and George looked at each other, as if to ask who was going to admit it. He just nodded. “I didn’t find out about it until it was over.”

George added, “I was over in Grogans’, so I never knew about it.” He looked very embarrassed at this.

“Knew about what?” I looked over at Joe, but he had spent the weekend away, too.

“The Dregs got loose. Friday night, while all the pledges were hanging out, the Dregs got drunk and made the pledges crawl around on the floor,” said Buddy.

“They did what?”

“I heard it was worse than that,” said my roommate. I looked at him for a second, and then turned back to Buddy and George.

Buddy dropped into the chair at my desk. “From what I’ve heard, Boris, the Hammer, and Ghormley got it into their peabrains that since pledges had never been laid, they needed to experience sex, so they made them get undressed, put their underwear on their heads, and crawl on their bellies up the stairs. Somehow this was to simulate working their way up through a cock. Don’t ask me to explain it. I don’t understand it.”

“When did this happen?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Friday night.”

“And you guys let these idiots do this? WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU!?” I exploded.

“Hey, I didn’t even know about it. I was over in Grogans’,” replied George.

“It was a quiet night. Most of us were down at Crows. They were having a party,” said Buddy lamely.

“Christ! How many of the pledges did they get to do this?”

“Uh, about eight or nine, I think.”

“You think? You don’t know? Jesus H. Fucking Christ! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW!?”

Buddy cringed at this, so George answered. “It looks like there were nine pledges in the house. Afterwards they all took off and left to go back to the dorms. They’ve all heard about it by now.”

“And?” I knew there had to be more to this.

“Six have dropped out of the pledge class.” He gave me the names. “Three who were here and three who missed it.”

I just stared for a second. Six out of an incoming class of fourteen. That was an almost 50 % drop. This was not good. The last two classes had been relatively small. We needed a big class to keep the numbers up.

Everybody pays ‘dues’ to live in the house. This is about 90 % room and board, with the balance for various social items and random requirements. It’s like any business, where you meet your requirements with a certain level of occupancy. Anything above that gives you additional funds. It’s also a battle between overcrowding and cash. Sophomore year we had 37 brothers living in and were crowded, but we had plenty of cash for parties and rush activities and decent meals. Since then the number of brothers had been dropping. Lots of guys had single rooms (excellent for getting laid) but cash was tight. We were down to about 30 brothers. If 6 guys dropped out, it would be down into the mid-20s, and that’s a problem. All of your money is going to room and board, you still need to raise dues, and you don’t have enough cash to recruit or rush. It becomes a vicious circle. Not enough brothers means not enough dues means there’s no money to recruit new brothers and the number just starts dropping for another round.

“Six? You have got to be shitting me! This just keeps getting better and better!”

By now, a few of the other guys in the house had stuck their heads in the door and weighed in on the problem. It sounded just about as bad as it could get. After a bit more, with everyone explaining that they weren’t around to do anything, I announced that there would be a formal house meeting that night, even though it wasn’t scheduled, and threw them all out to pass the word.

Then I went down to the basement. I was going to set the room up for the meeting, but I was doing it the way I wanted to. I also reviewed my copy of the KGS handbook for any guidance I could find. I was chowing down on a big shit sandwich.

The meeting was called for eight that evening. By about five minutes of, guys started trickling in. Usually there’s a lot of shit and trash talk going on, but tonight it was very subdued. Losing six pledges was a major damper on the night’s festivities. Normally the guys have to grab their own chairs and set them up in a circle, but I had already taken that upon myself. Likewise, normally there is a folding table set in the middle of the room, with five chairs at it, with one at the head and two at each side. Tonight I had the table set up perpendicular, and only had one chair set up, and it was towards the back. Everybody else’s chair was in a circle and set up facing towards the table, and I was already sitting at the table.

Bruno came down and looked at the table. Normally, as Minister, he would be seated at my right hand. He grabbed a chair from the circle and approached. I just pointed back at the circle. “No, I want everybody in the circle tonight.” Confused and hurt, he went back to the circle. Fuck him! I wasn’t worried about his feelings. The other members of the Council noted what was going on and just sat down in their chairs, although the Scrivener, a confused sophomore, wanted to know how he was going to take the minutes. I just looked at him and told him to figure it out.

Eventually the room filled up, with the Dregs coming in last. Since it had been a quiet weekend otherwise, attendance was damn near perfect. When I judged that everyone who was going to show was here, I rapped my gavel on the table. “I’m calling the meeting to order.”

Billy Hoskins, the confused sophomore, immediately piped up and started calling the roll. Before he got too far along I said, “Billy, don’t bother. We’re here.”

He looked confused. “But for the minutes…”

“Forget the minutes. We’re not reading the minutes. We’re not doing old business and new business. Take some notes and leave it at that.”

Billy looked confused at this, and started fumbling through his paperwork. I ignored him. I just slowly looked around the room, from one side to the other and back again. “I’m going to make this very simple. We have one topic and one topic only tonight, and that is the event that happened Friday night. Here’s how we’re going to handle it. I’m going to talk and everybody else is going to be quiet. How’s that for simplicity? Everybody got that?”

There was a loud murmur that went through the place, especially among the crones and the Dregs, mostly sitting over on my left. Swayzack spoke up and said, “You can’t do that!”

“We’ll get to that in a minute or two. In the meanwhile, give me a chance to talk. Alright?” I didn’t give him a chance to agree or disagree, but pushed forward. “Okay, that’s settled. I want to talk about Friday night. Let me see if I have this right.”

“Friday night, Brothers Goldstein, Ghormley, and Hotaling decided that our pledge class needed to learn about sex. Specifically, the following pledges who were in the house at the time…” I picked up my notes and read off their names. After I had set up the basement, I had returned to my room and typed up some notes and letters. Joe had read my mood and left me alone. “They were then ordered to undress down to their skin, put their underpants on their head, and crawl up the stairs and down the hall like sperm. This was, I am told, to give them an idea of what sex was like. Do I have that correct?”

The room was fairly quiet, although there was a lot of whispering back and forth, and even a few chuckles out of the Dregs. Screw them! “DO I HAVE THAT CORRECT?!” I yelled.

The Hammer said, “Fuck you, Buckman. What is this bullshit?”

I turned to face him. “Is that an admission or a denial?”

“Fuck you! So what if we did it. The little punks deserved it,” he answered.

I just nodded. “Thank you.” I turned back to the rest of the room. “Okay, since we have that out of the way, here’s what has happened since then. Six of the pledges have dropped out.” I rattled off their names. “I don’t know who they’ve told. You guys really fucked up this time!” I commented.

It was Ghormley’s turn to tell me, “Fuck you, Buckman! Who the fuck do you think you are, anyway?”

I smiled at him. “Ah, that would be the next point of the evening. I am the Chancellor. I was duly elected last spring. Does everybody remember that?”

“Fuck you.”

“Are you denying I’m the Chancellor? Or that I wasn’t elected? Do you want Billy to dig out his notes and read the attendance and the minutes of the meeting?” I looked around the room. “Anybody else doubt I’m the Chancellor?”

Bruno was on the side and sitting besides Joe Bradley. “Yeah, you’re the Chancellor. Why?”

I just smiled and held up the Kappa Gamma Sigma handbook. “Just checking. Everybody recognize this? It’s the Kegs handbook. I got mine back when I was a pledge. Remember that? We all had to memorize all sorts of stupid shit in here, and then we all forgot it the day after initiation. In the back of the handbook are our bylaws and governing rules. I bet nobody remembers them!” I even flipped the book open where I had already marked it and waved it around.

“Here we go, under Bylaw 20, Paragraph 6.” I tapped the book and then read the passage. “In the event the Chancellor declares an emergency, the Chancellor’s rulings shall apply, except when the Brotherhood votes a majority to declare the emergency over.” I looked around the room. “Everybody follow that?”

There was a lot of confusion in the room. “Okay, a brief history lesson. Our founders loved the British parliamentary system of governing. It’s where we get the silly names like Chancellor. In Parliament, the Prime Minister gets to run things. If the rest of Parliament disagrees, they get to vote him out in a vote of No Confidence, but if they don’t get enough votes, what the Prime Minister wants, he gets. Everybody follow me so far?”

I didn’t give anybody a chance to respond, but I looked around quickly and then said, “I hereby declare a state of emergency. That means I am going to tell you what we are going to do about this fine little mess we have, and then you are going to vote yes or no. If you vote yes, then you go along with what I say. If you vote no, you don’t. There will be no discussion. There will be no changes to what I decide. It’s yes or no. If enough of you vote no, then I will be out as Chancellor.”

“Then it’s NO, Buckman! Fuck you and the horse you rode in on!” yelled Boris. Several of the other Dregs grumbled an assent to this.

“Then let me explain what will happen if I am voted out as Chancellor. The first thing I will do is mail the following letter. Let me read it to you.”

“Dear Grand Director;

I hereby tender my resignation as Chancellor of the Beta Phi Chapter of Kappa Gamma Sigma at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. On March 18, 1977 there was an incident involving hazing and sexual harassment at our Chapter House, involving several of the brothers and most of the current pledge class. Following the incident an attempt was made to rectify the problem utilizing the procedures set forth in Bylaw 20, Paragraph 6. The brotherhood did not vote to agree to a resolution of the problem.

As a result I am forced to resign my position as Chancellor. I also resign my membership in Kappa Gamma Sigma, and I intend to move out of the Chapter House. I will certainly be gone by the time this letter reaches you. A copy of this letter has also been sent to the President of Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. I will cooperate fully with any fraternity or college investigations, as well as any civil or criminal investigations or court proceedings.

Thank you.

Carling Parker Buckman II”

I folded up my letter and stuffed it back into the envelope. There was a huge uproar around the circle at this. Most of the crones and Dregs were laughing, but everybody else was talking to each other, and the worry was palpable.

“This is fucking stupid,” said Ghormley. “There was no hazing and no sex involved. This is all bullshit!”

“You’re kidding me, right? No sexual harassment? You made them get buck naked, put their underwear on their heads, and crawl around like sperm! If that isn’t sexual harassment, I don’t know what is!” I replied.

“Fuck you.”

“What was that part about investigations?” asked Bradley.

“Well, what do you think is going to happen once National and RPI get their letters? The head of the frat was just thrown out on a hazing issue.” I looked over at Bruno. “Hey, Bruno, guess what? Remember that bit about only being a heartbeat away? Guess what happens the day after you become Chancellor? National and the President of the college get to crawl up your rectum and take up residence! Have fun!” Bruno looked horror stricken at the very concept. I turned back to the other brothers. “That’s going to be nothing! Wait until it comes out that you guys refused to address the issue. Wait until one of those kids tells Mommy and Daddy why they aren’t joining Kegs after all! Wait until Mommy and Daddy call their congressman and the district attorney and the states attorney and their own attorney! Wait until the Evening News shows up with a camera crew and parks their ass on the front lawn! I hope all you guys have good lawyers. I plan to cooperate fully in return for immunity. Have fun.”

Eyes were wide and jaws were slack by this point, and most everybody was silent, except for the three Dregs and even they were looking nervous.

“So what is the plan?” I heard from the center of the room, one of the juniors.

“Well, I’m glad you asked. Everybody understand what is going to happen if we don’t do anything? Everybody?” I didn’t wait for the answer. “Part One is simple. This ain’t ever going to happen again.”

I looked over at the three Dregs. “Brothers Goldstein and Hotaling. According to Bylaw 14, Paragraph 4,” I held up the handbook again, tapping the relevant section. “… Residence in the Chapter House is restricted to Brothers in good standing who are students at the Chapter’s college. Neither of you is a student in any college in the area, let alone RPI. You both dropped out years ago. You two are history. Pack your bags. You have 48 hours to get out, or we start throwing your shit into the dumpster.”

The Hammer had flunked out at the end of his sophomore year and had just been living in the house ever since, hanging out with his original pledge class. He worked at the UPS warehouse in Albany. Boris was even more pathetic. He had gotten into RPI on the basis of his junior year grades in high school, but in his senior year, he discovered drugs. He spent a year dropping acid every day, and nothing was left between his ears but cinders. He flunked Physics I seven different times at three different colleges in the area.

The room erupted into a clamor, with both the Hammer and Boris jumping in front of the table and yelling and pounding on the table. I just leaned back and let them yell. After about five minutes I started pounding my gavel, and most everybody quieted down, except for those two, and I motioned for a couple of the crones to grab these two and sit them back down.

“Listen, the first thing National is going to do when they show up — and they will show up, you know that — is to look at the residence records. If I don’t get rid of you, they will. Get over it. You have two days to move out.” Next I turned to Mike Ghormley. “Your turn. If it was up to me, I’d vote all three of you off the rolls and out of the brotherhood. I can’t do that. However, there have been a number of brothers over the years who’ve moved out and remained brothers. You just became one of them. You have 48 hours to get out.”

“Fuck you! Where the hell am I supposed to go?”

“Room with the other two assholes for all I care. You get two days, just like them. The clock is ticking. All three of you are excused. Get going.”

There was another uproar, and this time calls for my impeachment. I actually let the Dregs call a vote, and the only hands raised were about eight on the left, some crones and Dregs. The rest of the room was silent, and generally looking at their shoes in embarrassment. Boris, the Hammer, and Ghormley all stomped out of the basement. We heard the door slamming even down there.

Once they were gone, I started in on the remaining brothers. “I have seen some stupid shit in my time, but this really takes the cake! I was tempted to simply resign and let you all hang, but you voted me in and somebody has to clean up this mess. You should be ashamed to call yourselves Keggers.”

“Hey, nobody knew,” commented a sophomore who lived over in Grogans’.

“You want to tell me that three brothers could make nine pledges crawl naked on two floors of this house and nobody knew? The house was totally empty and nobody heard a single thing? That nobody looked at what was going on or stuck their head out the door? Try again.”

“What were we supposed to do?” asked somebody else.

“I don’t know… maybe show a little backbone? Maybe get up on your hind legs and say ‘STOP!’ Maybe get between these idiots and the pledges. Jesus Christ! You went and asked these kids to join you, to become your brothers, to stand with you and become something special. Is it so much to ask that you protect them from a bunch of drunks? Christ, I’m amazed that any of them wanted to stay in!”

Everybody went back to staring at their shoes. I decided to finish the meeting. “Here’s the last part. We need to fix this. Everybody is dismissed unless you are a big brother to one of these kids.” Everybody got up except the fourteen big brothers. “I want to meet all of these guys tomorrow. Why don’t we meet in the lounge of Crockett at eight? They should all be in their dorms by then. I want each of you to go down there, right now, find your pledge and tell him I will meet them in Crockett at eight tomorrow night.”

“Now?” somebody muttered.

“Right the fuck now, goddammit!” Billy was actually a big brother and was still sitting there taking notes. I turned to him and said, “That’s it, Billy. Pack up your shit. The meeting and the emergency is over.” I stood and went upstairs.

I kept my own counsel that night, and went to bed early, emotionally drained. The worst that had happened on the first go was that a couple of the Dregs got loaded one night and took a fire axe to the door of the Black Light Room before a couple of guys grabbed them. The next day, sober, they were made to go out and buy a new door and replace it while the House Manager watched.

The next day, at eight, I was in the lounge at Crocket, surrounded by the other fourteen big brothers and a dozen freshmen, some curious and some angry and sullen. Two of the kids had refused to come. My speech was simple. “Guys, I don’t have a whole lot to say to you except I’m sorry. What happened the other day should never have happened, and I apologize for what did happen. I was away until yesterday and didn’t find out until then. If I had known earlier, I would have apologized earlier. It will never happen again.”

“No shit!” commented Greg Morris, one of the kids who had quit.

“Yeah, no shit. We handled the in-house problem. Have any of you heard what happened last night?” Technically, the meeting was secret, but somebody must have said something to somebody else. There were both some shrugs and some nods around the room. “The three guys who did it, Boris, the Hammer, and Mike, are all gone. By tomorrow they’ll have moved out. The Hammer is already gone and Boris and Mike were packing as we came over here. That kind of behavior is simply unacceptable.”

There were a few shocked looks around the room, including on the face of Greg. I suspected some of these guys figured we would sweep it under the rug. “To you guys, I am simply saying we’re sorry, both as a fraternity and as individuals. We failed you. You trusted us and we failed in that trust. All I can do now is apologize and ask for your forgiveness. Some of you have said you don’t want to be part of us anymore. I understand that; I truly do. I am asking you to forgive us and join us. Make us better than we obviously are.”

Greg looked at me. “Why are you doing this? You weren’t even around, and you won’t be there next year anyway. Why do you care?”

I nodded. “That’s a fair question. No, I wasn’t here, and no, I won’t be coming back. I could duck this and say it wasn’t my fault and let sleeping dogs lie. On the other hand, I’m the Chancellor. I ran for this office and then I held my hand on a Bible and swore an oath to do the damn job and now I have to deal with this shit.” I looked around the room at all the kids. “In three years, one of you guys is going to be the Chancellor.” There were some murmurs at this, and I smiled. “Yeah, one of you guys is going to be the Chancellor. The rest of us are going to be long gone and history, and some asshole is going to dump something shitty in your lap. Just remember how you signed up for the job and don’t run away from it.”

I finished by saying, “That’s pretty much it. We’re sorry. We fucked up. Give us a second chance. Someday you’ll be recruiting new brothers. Learn from us and be better than us, and make us better by joining us now!” I stood up and went to each of the pledges and shook his hand and thanked him for coming and apologized personally. Then I grabbed the two big brothers whose pledges had refused to come, and we went and tracked them down over in Hall Hall. One talked to me in his room, the other refused to talk.

Ultimately, four of the six rejoined us, including Greg, the pledge who had quizzed me in the lounge. One in the lounge didn’t join us, and the guy who refused to see me didn’t come back. Eight new pledges would have been a problem. Twelve gave them a decent chance of staying alive. It still wasn’t over, however. Two weeks later the issue came alive again.

It was the last house meeting before Hell Week, and we needed to do the final vote to approve the twelve incoming pledges. This is generally a pro forma sort of affair. The Pledge Master says a name and the box gets passed around the circle. By now everybody knows these guys, and the box just gets sent along. Seniors and crones don’t even vote, especially if they aren’t coming back the following year. ‘You assholes can pick out your own assholes to live with!’ is the general motto. About the only guy who even votes, if anybody does, is their big brother, to throw a symbolic white ball.

This meeting was no different, and the first pledge’s name happened to be Greg Morris. His name was announced and the box started around the room, starting at the right hand side, where it was mostly sophomores sitting. It kept going, hand to hand, with nobody doing anything, almost up until the end, when Jim Easton ostentatiously took it, reached inside, and dropped a ball in. Most of us just stared at him, including his fellow crones. Jim was finishing up a five year engineering masters program and wouldn’t be back next year. He was going against all tradition in voting.

Buddy Ebbits, the Pledge Master took the box at the end of the line and looked inside, and then set it down on the table in front of me. Inside was a single black ball, and you could hear people around the council table gasping. I motioned them with my hands to stay silent. Buddy was ashen faced. This had never occurred in memory of anybody in the house, or even of any of the alumni who occasionally wandered through.

I slowly turned my head over to where Easton was sitting, smirking at me. “Do you really want to do this?” I asked.

“Fuck you, Buckman. Record the vote.”

“I’m guessing this is your vote for the rest of them, too?”

“Fuck you. Figure it out on your own.”

I nodded briefly and then looked over at Billy, the Scrivener. “Record the vote as Passed.” The vote could be either Passed or Not Passed.

There was an immediate uproar as Easton demanded, “How dare you!? You can’t do this! It’s against the rules!” A number of the other crones and Dregs protested as well.

I waited for the hubbub to die down, and then asked, “Why are you doing this, Jim?”

“I’m doing it for Boris and Mike and the Hammer. You shouldn’t have thrown them out! Fuck you, Buckman. Live with it!”

I just shook my head. “Jim, don’t do this. They were my friends, too. You and Boris brought me into this house, remember? And Mike and I became polar bears after dueling for my fiancé. Remember that? Don’t end it all like this.”

“I’ll end it the way I fucking want to! Fuck it!”

I just nodded. “So be it.” I dropped my gavel and said, “We’re going to change things. We’re voting these guys in as a group, all at once. I vote ‘Passed’. How about you, Mark?” I turned to the Exchequer, a junior.

He looked glum, but nodded and said, “Passed.”

I turned my head towards the Provost, also a junior, and he just nodded and said, “Passed.”

I turned to Billy, our Scrivener. “Billy?”

“Is this legal?” he asked me quietly.

“It’s as legal as we say it is. Now, who’s running this place, you and your brothers, or somebody who’d rather burn the house down around your head?”

Easton started yelling “Fuck you, Buckman!” from the corner, as hands held him in his chair.

Billy looked very nervous, but he said, “Passed,” loud enough for everyone to hear.

I turned to my right and looked at Bruno. He didn’t look happy, but on the other hand, he had skipped the vote, since he was moving out as well. “You going to make it unanimous, Bruno?”

“This isn’t right, Carl.”

“And this is?” I asked, hooking my thumb over my shoulder at Easton. More curses came my way.

Bruno looked over at Jim and some of the others. He and they all lived over in Grogans’, and there were some angry faces. “I don’t like it.”

“I’m not asking you to like it. I’m asking you to do the right thing. You know it’s the right thing. It’s just not the easy thing.”

“You’re a sanctimonious prick, Buckman, you know that?”

I sighed. “I am many things. I am certainly a prick. I’m not all that sanctimonious, but I am a prick. Passed or Not Passed?”

“Passed, damn you!”

There seemed to be a collective sigh of relief from around the room, along with some shouting from the crones and Dregs. “Mark them all down as Passed, Billy.”

Jim Easton stood up and stormed out of the room, vowing to have nothing to do with us the rest of the year. He didn’t either, eating leftovers after dinner and skipping out on Hell Week and initiation. I didn’t much care at that point. The rest of the crones stayed away from any future meetings as well, and I don’t think the incoming pledge class had any idea how close they had all come to being dropped at the last minute. At our last house meeting of the year, during elections for the coming year, when the new brothers attended their first meeting, I simply stood up and told them to run it better than we had. Hell, they couldn’t do any worse.

Chapter 46: Graduation

Thursday, May 26, 1977

I made sure I stayed visible whenever the pledges were around the house, and didn’t travel anymore on weekends. Marilyn seemed to understand, and she spent a few weekends driving down to see me. I really didn’t mind, since she would often come down and spend some time lounging around the pool in one of her little bikinis or the crocheted one piece. I watched one freshman as she sauntered up to the pool and undid the wrap around her hips and dropped it to the side; he was watching her instead of where he was going, and walked straight into the pool. Marilyn blushed when she saw what an effect she had. I liked that effect.

Finally, it was graduation week, the week after finals. For the first time in I don’t know how long — years! — I didn’t have something to do. I could goof off totally! My classes were over. My dissertation was done. I had passed my orals. All I had to do was hang around the mostly empty frat house for another week. On Friday those of us in ROTC would be commissioned as either 2^nd Lieutenants or Ensigns, and on Saturday everybody would graduate. Marilyn came down as soon as her classes and finals ended, and stayed with me for the entire week. After graduation, she would help me move to my advanced training school.

We had all gotten our orders a couple of weeks ago. A lot of the guys got deferred orders, like Joe. He would be commissioned along with me, but he was deferring his service until he got through grad school. Like before, he was heading to Wharton. All of the rest of us were heading out to our specialization training. Bruno was going to Fort Belvoir in Virginia since he was going into the engineers. I was heading to Fort Sill in Oklahoma for artillery school.

I had a week’s leave following graduation to get to Sill, which we should be able to do in two or three days. As soon as Marilyn showed up, I went out and rented a panel van and we went down to the storage locker I was renting and emptied it out. Then we went back to Kegs and loaded up all the stuff I wouldn’t need over the next week, like my textbooks. Since Joe was going to be around, Marilyn and I moved across the hall to a room abandoned for the summer and camped out there.

That’s where we were Thursday afternoon, taking a nap. We had been swimming in the pool after lunch, and I had offered to help Marilyn dry off — all over!

“You just want to take my swimsuit off of me,” she countered.

I tried to look shocked. “Marilyn, how can you say that!? You know the possible dangers of chafing! I’m just looking out for your best interests.”

“Why do I think you just want to get me naked and have sex all afternoon?”

“Marilyn, I am disturbed by this conversation. It’s not my fault if you can’t control your lusts when I’m around.”

“Bullshit!”

“Let’s go find out. I’ll dry you off and you try to control yourself.”

Marilyn giggled and took my hand and we scampered upstairs. I have to say, she tried to control herself, but ended up totally failing. First I slowly peeled off her bikini, and then gently patted her down all over, before letting her lay back on the bedcovers. Then I brought out some hand lotion and applied it to all the areas that had been covered by the swimsuit, to make sure they were properly moisturized. This did seem to have an effect on her libido, since she was moaning and writhing on the bed as I did this. Then I used some special moisturizer, the kind on my tongue, to reach deep inside and treat the deepest parts I could reach. That was when she simply lost her composure, and demanded that I have sex with her!

Well, I am a gentleman, and Congress was going to recognize that fact in another 24 hours. I helped her out in this time of need. She pulled me on top of her and used her hands to spread her pussylips and guide my cock inside her. We huffed and puffed our way through a very noisy fuck. Afterwards, still not satisfied, Marilyn played with my cock until I was stiff again, and then I rolled her onto her stomach and crawled on top of her, straddling that plump little ass while I fucked her pussy from behind.

So, there we were, starting to nap, with Marilyn face down on the covers and me face up, when we heard a commotion in the hallway outside our room, on the landing. Then I heard, quite clearly, Joe Bradley tell somebody, “He’s right across the hallway. Just go on in, he’s probably got his headphones on.”

I didn’t have a chance to do a damn thing about it. I was just trying to sit up and grab for my pants when the door burst open and Suzie barged in, followed by my mother and father. Suzie’s eyes opened wide and her jaw hit the floor. My mother just screamed and dragged my sister back out of the room. The door slammed shut, but I could hear Bradley laughing loudly across the hallway.

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, BRADLEY!” I yelled as I climbed to my feet and grabbed my pants. He just laughed louder.

Marilyn had actually fallen asleep, and was rolling over. “What’s going on?”

“My family just barged in and saw us lying here.”

Marilyn stared at me for a second as I pulled my pants on and pulled up the zipper. I damn near caught my dick in the zipper, which would have been a great way to culminate the afternoon. “You mean…”

“I mean, Suzie and my parents know all about that little mole in the small of your back,” I answered.

Marilyn just gabbled in panic at that, so I tossed her the sundress she had started out wearing this morning, and she scrambled to her feet and pulled it on. I grabbed a tee shirt and pulled it on. Out in the hallway, Dad was calming my mother down, and Joe was still laughing. “I am going to kill Joe,” I told Marilyn.

“I’ll help!”

We made ourselves as decent as possible in the little time we had, and I straightened out the bed clothes. Then I looked at Marilyn and shook my head in disbelief, and opened the door to the landing. My family was staring at me with different expressions on their faces. Suzie was giggling and laughing at us. My father had a resigned and embarrassed look. And my mother was red faced and furious.

I remember that when our first daughter Alison was born, the nurse looked at her and then said, ‘She looks just like you.’, referring to me. All three of us kids take after Mom, quite strongly. Instead, Marilyn and I looked at our daughter, red faced and crying and generally yelling up a storm, and then we grinned at each other, and I replied, ‘No, she looks just like my mother!’

“Carling! How dare you!” She glanced at Marilyn and decided to not say much more, since that would be taking our troubles out of the house.

I just shook my head. “Hey, Mom, you barged in on us, not the other way around. We ain’t apologizing for anything.”

She huffed, “Well, I never!” and glanced at my father, who was trying to study the ceiling.

I couldn’t help it. I said, “Well, you had three kids, so I suspect you actually did.” That set Suzie to outright laughter and both my parents turned beet red. Marilyn punched me from behind.

Change the topic. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s your graduation! Where else would we be?” she answered.

I just stared at them for a few seconds. Yes, it was graduation, and I had invited Suzie to come up. The plan was for her to fly up and I would pick her up. Then we would bring her back when we drove down, and drop her off in Lutherville. I was going to drive the panel van and Marilyn was going to drive my Impala. Then we would continue on to Lawton, Oklahoma. Afterwards, once I was settled in, I would put Marilyn back on a plane to Albany, where she could catch a cab over to Kegs and pick up her car and go back to Utica. I had this all worked out with Dad.

Neither of us counted on Mom, who decided to come up anyway. I hadn’t seen her or Dad in two years, not since the first summer I did basic and we went out to dinner that one night. Suzie had visited with Marilyn last summer, before our breakup, but I hadn’t seen her in a couple of years, either. I hadn’t seen Hamilton since I had busted his jaw three years ago. “We? Where’s Hamilton?” I asked.

“He couldn’t make it. He wasn’t feeling very good.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. I turned to Marilyn. “An old jaw injury, I bet.” Mom gasped, Suzie giggled, and Dad told me to settle down. I just rolled my eyes. “Where are you staying?” I asked. The original plan was to have Suzie stay in the frat house with us, in one of the empty rooms.

“We’re staying up in Glens Falls. It was the closest place with an empty room,” my father said.

I wasn’t surprised. There were at least two other graduations this weekend, and despite being the state capital and one of the largest cities in the state, Albany wouldn’t have enough hotel rooms available. At least 20,000 people had probably descended on the area. I just nodded. “Well, Suzie can stay here with us. That way you won’t all be crammed into one motel room.” Suzie looked relieved at that, although Mom was obviously worried about the influence a fraternity would have on her underage daughter. That was crazy, since Suzie was much better behaved than I ever was, now or then!

“What are your plans?” I asked.

Dad answered, “We were planning on having dinner with you. Know anyplace we can get into?”

“Good luck with that,” I replied. “Listen, I have reservations at a couple of places, for tomorrow and Saturday, but you’re going to have to scrounge for breakfast and lunch. I was planning on feeding Suzie here at the house. I can make us all omelets for dinner.”

Mom looked like she wanted to protest. She obviously had visions of the great matriarch of the family going out to dinner, but forget about a decent place tonight. Dad quickly agreed with this plan and said so.

“Great. You guys go downstairs and we’ll get cleaned up. We’ll meet you downstairs in half an hour.” Mom glanced through the door to the bed we had been frolicking on, and then turned red, and turned around and headed downstairs, Dad and Suzie in her wake.

Marilyn and I grabbed our toilet kits and towels, and I opened the door to my old room. Joe was grinning broadly at us, so I flipped him off, and we went down the hallway to the bathroom, while he laughed behind us. We locked ourselves in the bathroom and took quick showers, but there wasn’t any romance involved. We had neither time nor inclination. I had shaved that morning, so afterwards we just wrapped the towels around ourselves and ran back to the room, and then put on clean clothes.

My family was waiting in the formal room. Mom was sitting primly in an armchair, hoping not to touch anything that might contaminate her, while my father and Suzie were wandering around looking at the portraits on the wall. My father looked at one, and when he saw us enter, he asked, “You were your fraternity president?”

I nodded. “Chancellor, but it’s the same thing.”

“Huh,” he said, nodding to himself.

“You had a dog?” asked Suzie. Trust her to focus on the important stuff.

I glanced at the portraits. In a couple of them Jefferson had been prominently displayed. Hell, he was smarter than most of us. “That’s Jefferson. He moved out last year, but yeah, we had a dog.”

“What happened to him?”

“One of the brothers adopted him when he moved out.” I headed towards the kitchen. “Hungry?”

Along the way we passed a few of the other graduating seniors, and I had to introduce them to my family. A couple of the guys started immediately hitting on Suzie. Well, she had grown up, a lot, since I had last seen her. Now she was Mom’s height, about 5’9", a slim and leggy brunette who looked older than her not quite sixteen years.

“Hey, ever hear the phrase 15 will get you 20?” I asked. Dad chuckled, Suzie flirted, and Mom tried to shield her. The guys sloughed this off and followed us to the kitchen.

“What’s for dinner?” asked Bradley, coming in with them.

“Nothing for you!” responded Marilyn, shaking her fist at him.

“I’ll tell you later,” commented Joe to the other guys.

I just shook my head and smiled. “You guys hungry, too?” Everyone nodded and said they were hungry. “Okay, this is my last meal as the Master Chef. Tonight we’re doing omelets. Go set a couple of tables and tell everybody to get their butts in gear and put in their orders.” I shooed my brethren out, as my family looked on mystified. I looked over at them. “I’m also one of the house cooks on Sundays, one of the better ones, if I do say so myself, and one of the house specialties is the famous Three Egg Omelet. Marilyn helps me, sometimes.”

“You cook?” exclaimed Suzie.

“The way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach,” I misquoted.

“Is that what you were doing earlier? Cooking?” she giggled. Dad snorted and Mom stewed at that.

“Never you mind what we were doing!” Marilyn and I went into the pantry and dug out the eggs, milk, and some cheese and ham. By the time I had a couple of small pans on the stove and a small mixing bowl on the counter, Joe was back.

“I got orders for six omelets, and I couldn’t find everybody, so there might be more,” he told me.

“Great. In reward for that stunt earlier, you just got elected as the dishwasher. Congratulations!”

Joe just laughed at that. “So who’s the Master Chef next year going to be?” he asked.

“Not sure, but I suspect Smitty gets the title. You have to admit, he makes a burgundy and mushroom chicken to die for! I stole his recipe.”

Dad asked what we were talking about, and the guys explained the Master Chef vote. He looked at me and said, quietly, “Fraternity president and head cook? It’s like I don’t know you at all.” What was there to say to him? He was right; he didn’t know me at all anymore. I just shrugged.

Suzie helped Marilyn, while my folks stood back and watched. They were both excellent cooks — I learned from the best! — and watched their eldest son whip up a bunch of omelets. Hamilton was hopeless in the kitchen. The cooking gene must have been recessive in his case. It was probably hiding behind the normal gene, itself damn near invisible.

The first two omelets went to Suzie and Marilyn, and the next two went to my folks. After that I ran the rest of the brothers in succession, and ended up with another eight before I got to mine. By that time, Marilyn and my family were done, so they sat while I worked on mine. Suzie was asking Marilyn about the frat house, and about where she would stay. I had the answer for that. I swallowed the bite I was working on and said, “My old room from last year.”

“It’s empty?” asked Marilyn. When I nodded, she turned back to Suzie. “Carl and Joe stayed there for two years. The owners have gone home for the summer.”

“I don’t know as I like this, you staying in a fraternity house,” commented my mother.

“Mom, she’ll be fine. I won’t let her drink and nobody’s going to run in here and ravish her in the middle of the night.”

“What? What if I want to be ravished in the middle of the night?” asked Suzie.

That got Marilyn to laughing, me to groaning, and Mom to start sputtering at my father. He settled it by simply saying, “Shirley, they’ll be fine.”

“Did you bring your swimsuit? We can use the pool?” asked Marilyn.

Suzie frowned. “No, I didn’t know there was a pool here.”

“Only frat on campus with a swimming pool,” I said. I smiled at my father. “And there’s a nursing school just a block down the road, too.”

“Let me guess, there’s an open invitation to borrow the pool.”

I gave him a pious look. “It’s our neighborly duty!”

Marilyn gave me a shot to the arm at that. “Maybe you can borrow one of mine,” she told Suzie.

I snorted. “Good luck with that. You two aren’t anywhere close to the same size.” Marilyn was at least a cup size or two larger and several inches wider, although she wasn’t fat; Suzie was simply very slender, and about as flat-chested as her mother, an ‘A’ cup with delusions of grandeur. I gave my mother a wicked grin. “Maybe she can simply swim in her bra and panties. Not much difference to a swimsuit.”

That earned me howls of outrage from all three women, although my Dad chuckled at the thought.

Afterwards, we went out to their car and brought in Suzie’s suitcase and my sleeping bag. Along the way, I pointed out to my mother some of the many redeeming features of the house. “Over there, Mom, that’s where we would worship graven images by the light of the moon, and there, at the barbecue pit, that’s where we would sacrifice freshmen every spring, to appease the demons.” I looked over at Marilyn. “Don’t you remember that, honey, all the fun we had and their screams as they were taken up to the high altar?”

“You think you’re so funny!” she replied. As expected, Suzie and Dad laughed, and Mom huffed and puffed.

“Don’t you remember the good old days, Dad, when you would sit around and roast pledges over the open fire?”

“Don’t get me involved with this,” he laughed.

I commented to Suzie, “Dad’s just afraid I’ll tell you and Mom what really happens in frat houses. Did you know Dad was in Delta Upsilon back in the Dark Ages?”

“Really?”

“Ask him about it on the trip home.”

“You really are just full of piss and vinegar, aren’t you?” he commented.

“Charlie!” protested Mom.

“Get in the car, Shirley. Let’s get out of here and go find a drink!” Dad loaded Mom in the car and waved good-bye to the three of us.

We went swimming after dinner, but Suzie wore one of my frat shirts and a pair of her regular bikini underwear. The shirts are heavy enough that you aren’t running a wet tee shirt contest, and long enough they went down past her butt.

The next morning Bruno, Joe, and I loaded ourselves into the Impala and went down to the Armory, where our commissioning ceremony was being held. Leo and Harry were going down with their parents. Marilyn and Suzie were going to wait for my parents to pick them up and then they would all go down together. I hadn’t planned on the extra guests, but I was ready for it. Every student got four tickets to graduation, and I had the two spare still sitting around. The last time I did this, I had to get an extra ticket for Marilyn. Mom sort of held up her nose at that, thinking it was for family only, but even then I would have stuck with Marilyn over them in a heartbeat.

I wasn’t the honor graduate, but I didn’t really care. The honor graduate was a supergeek with Coke bottle lenses on his glasses who was going off to some lab at Fort Meade with a perfect 4.0 GPA. I had good marks, but it wasn’t perfect. I didn’t mind. That guy was about as much of a soldier as Hamilton. I just smiled at him and rubbed my jump wings and crossed cannons in his face. I did rank high enough that I was going into the army as a Regular Army officer, not just as a Reserve Officer on Active Duty. It’s an important distinction. We listened to a speech or two and swore to defend the Constitution from all enemies foreign and domestic. Considering what would become of the Congress over the next two generations, I wondered if it might not be a good idea to start there.

Afterwards, I found my parents in the bleachers coming down to greet me. For the first time I was in a real officer’s uniform, in that instead of my collar insignia reading O.C. for officer candidate, now they had my gold bars, one to each shoulder, and my collar insignia had the crossed cannons of artillery. When my father came down, I snapped to attention and threw him a salute. He started for a second at this, and then returned the salute to me. He had been a Lieutenant Junior Grade, the Navy equivalent of an Army 1^st Lieutenant, during the war, and outranked me.

I had learned a lot about the military and what was expected of an officer from him, even if he had never said much about his service. I knew that ‘the buck stops here’ wasn’t just a catchphrase, but it really meant something, and I knew the standard he held an officer to. He was totally disgusted over the Pueblo incident, when the North Koreans captured an American spy ship during the cold war. I had to write a paper on it for school at the time (1968) and the ship was poorly officered, poorly crewed, and poorly outfitted. As far as he was concerned, it didn’t matter; the captain, Lloyd Bucher, should have tried to ram something and gone down with his ship!

My mother, on the other hand, had a somewhat distressed look on her face. I kissed her on the cheek, and then wrapped Marilyn in a big bear hug, picking her up and twirling her around. She was wearing a lovely knee length halter top sundress, cute and cool. My dress uniform was already getting warm and I peeled off my jacket as soon as we got outside. Suzie unintentionally pointed out today’s problem when she gushed, “I love the ring! When did you get it?” She was holding up Marilyn’s left hand and looking at her engagement ring.

Mom’s face hardened at that. Marilyn hadn’t been wearing any jewelry yesterday, because she always took it off when swimming. Marilyn responded, “At Christmas. We had already talked about it and Carl bought me the ring earlier than that, but we didn’t ask my folks until Christmas.”

My mother’s voice was a little icy as she asked me, “Carling, when were you going to tell your family?”

I turned to face her, making sure I had a blank look on my face. “Well, I suppose now’s a good a time as any.”

“When is the wedding? Is this some sort of an emergency?” Did I knock Marilyn up?

I controlled myself, although Marilyn looked horrified, and even my father was upset by the question. “No, mother, no emergency. Marilyn has another year of college, so it will be sometime next summer. I’ll need to report in and talk to my commanding officer about it before I can say for sure. I’ll be saving up all my leave for this in any case.”

“And are you inviting your family?”

I stared at her briefly. “I don’t know yet, mother. We haven’t decided yet. I know Marilyn asked me if Suzie wanted to be a bridesmaid. I can tell you flat out, Hamilton is not invited.”

Suzie squealed in delight. “A bridesmaid!?” She was practically jumping with joy, and Marilyn grinned at her and nodded.

Mom looked like I had just slapped her. “Hamilton is your brother!”

“Hamilton is a delusional psychotic. Hamilton is not welcome.” I glanced over at Marilyn, who was simply shaking her head at me. She didn’t want him around either.

“That’s quite unfair of you, Carling. Your brother is simply misunderstood by you,” she protested.

I took a deep breath. “Let me be very clear on this, Mother. I have zero interest in seeing my brother again this side of the grave. Marilyn has even less interest. We have talked about this, and her interests are the only ones I care about in this regard. If Hamilton shows up at the church, he will be asked to leave. If he refuses to leave, the ceremony will be delayed while the police are summoned to take him away. Anybody he attended with, and that includes you and Dad, will also be evicted at that time. I don’t much care if my side of the church is empty, Mom. You may do as you wish.”

Mom looked like I had just pissed on the carpet, and Dad said, “That’s enough, Carl. Hamilton won’t be there. Now, where is dinner today?”

I just nodded and took a second to calm down. We already had clinical proof my brother was a paranoid schizophrenic, with a delusional fixation on me. I wondered if my mother had similar problems, or simply just heard what she wanted to hear. “I made reservations at L’Auberge. They were for three, but I imagine we can cram two more in. Why don’t we all go in your car? We can leave mine here and not need to worry about parking it in Albany.”

“That’s good.” He took Mom’s elbow and steered her towards the parking lot. Suzie gave me a shrug and a look that said, ‘What did you expect?’, and Marilyn simply held my hand tightly and gave me a look of pure relief.

As I expected, two extra places could be crammed in, at least with the help of a couple of twenties in the palm of the maitre de. It was a trifle cold at dinner, with Mom sulking about my latest snub to my brother. He didn’t have problems, after all. It was me who had a problem with him. Sort of like John Dillinger being seriously misunderstood by all those bankers.

Saturday was much the same way, with the exception that it was held in the Field House, which was about halfway between Kegs and the campus. It was close enough, in fact, that I decided to walk. It was a warm and sunny spring morning. I simply pulled on some shorts and a tee shirt, and some sneakers, and carried my robes and mortarboard along the way. My parents would pick up Suzie and Marilyn and take them over.

I had been through any number of graduations since that first one. The most important thing to do is be comfortable. There’s an awful lot of hurry up and wait involved. (It’s sort of like the army.)We had almost a thousand graduates, when you combine undergrads and grad students, and we were all lined up outside the building in the hot sunlight while all our guests were finding seats in the air conditioned building. Pity the poor student who had to wear a suit underneath his robes! Nobody could see through them, so why not be comfortable.

We actually had to practice all this ahead of time. Grad students actually are at the end of the line; we would march through after the undergrads, who would file in and fill up the seats on the floor from the back moving forward. Our main speaker was Jacques Cousteau, the famous French marine biologist and explorer, who made all the television specials. In honor of Cousteau, the School of Architecture, which every year did something ridiculous, marched all their graduating students in with snorkels, facemasks, flippers, and letters painted in white on their mortarboards ‘J — A — C —’ and so forth, one letter for each student so that when they were all sitting in a line it spelled his name. They must have taken ten tries for each of those TV specials, since Cousteau had the worst accent imaginable, and could barely be understood!

We were not marched up and across the stage to receive diplomas. Instead they simply called our names and we stood up, one discipline at a time. Since I had earned three degrees, I stood up three different times, sort of unusual. Joe Bradley did it twice, once with the math department which he marched in with, and later with the economics department. I was with the doctoral students, and we had special robes and sashes, and special mortarboards as well. Afterwards we all got to escape.

I posed for pictures with my family. Mom was suitably scandalized by my attire under my robes. Nobody else cared, except my father, wearing a suit, who looked like he would have preferred shorts and a tee shirt, too. Since one of my mother’s most favorite catchphrases was, “Charlie, you’re not wearing that, are you?” you can guess who picked out his wardrobe.

(One of the few humorous aspects when Dad got Alzheimer’s was when a visiting nurse did an evaluation of him and remarked in her report that Mr. Buckman was not as independent as Mrs. Buckman reported, since she picked out his clothing. When we three kids read that, we all damn near fell to the floor laughing!)

We all went back to the frat, and then I put on a suit and took the family to a place over on Wolf Road. The wait was longer here, since we had five and not three, but we survived. Afterwards, we packed Suzie up and sent her back to Lutherville with my folks. Marilyn and I spent a final exhausted night at Kegs, and then we took off in the morning.

As we left the parking lot it finally hit me, I was really heading into the unknown. Up until now, I had been doing a repeat of my life, through junior high, high school, and college. That was over now. I had no idea what I was getting into!