www.morgypoo.com

Tale of college humor

Call me stupid, call me desperate, or even a pest, but over Christmas break I tried to get a hold of Sheila. And as I should have expected, I never did reach her. She was history. I figured I had two choices: let go, or become a stalker. I was never one to butt in where I wasn’t wanted, so I chose to let the ordeal end. But if giving up came easily, healing surely didn't. I didn't know how to let go. Any time a song came on the radio reminding me of that woman, I let my heart run free with memories, clinging tightly to the sweet pain and hurting all over again. Sweet, sweet pain, my sole companion. The hurt wasn't going away.

After a month long break, it was nice to get back to school, back to the land of Women In Underwear. Most of us didn't have any homework during that first week, so we partied intensely to celebrate being back together again. But when homework came along, we continued partying, but with added guilt. And the two crowds began to separate some more: my daytime pals who planned on graduating, and my nighttime pals who planned on being hung over.

I was minus one dear friend this semester: MacKenzie had graduated in December and entered the ranks of the working world. I sure missed him. Not that we were super tight; I only knew the guy for a semester. But he taught me something about life in those four months, about approaching life with an attitude. Make life a quest for fun, that’s what I learned from Mac. Go nuts, get silly, find fun in every gathering and every situation. Do that, and making friends will come naturally, for people are drawn to a guy who is having the time of his life. That’s what I saw in MacKenzie, and that’s what I was just beginning to see in myself.

I wished Mac could stick around to watch me grow, to see his investment pay off. But perhaps I would grow better without him. He was such a dominating presence in any group, perhaps I would get a greater chance to shine and grow if I wasn’t in his shadow. As much as I missed his company, I decided this was my chance to take center stage. Higgins was mine now, and I could take over where Mac left off. There were sillier antics out there, somewhere, just waiting for me to invent them. I didn’t have to be a sidekick or a spectator, I could go as nuts as I dared.

The first weekend of the semester started out slowly. I wandered next door to Dad Fest, a small bash of about twelve people or so. Low key and quiet, this was just the kind of party Dad preferred. Personally I was ready for something a lot faster and rowdier, which is why I smiled when "Wheelchair Ted" rolled into the party. He was a wild and crazy paraplegic from 10th floor. Ted liked to play drinking games, he loved to tell jokes, but best of all, he liked to lend his wheelchair out to his drunken friends. I got to go first. I pushed the joy stick forward and slammed into the couch, just missing Ted’s legs. "Easy, ace!" he laughed. I turned it around and headed for the door, then stopped as I realized something: I’m driving a babe magnet.

"Want a ride?" I asked a brunette standing by the door. She gladly sat on my lap with her arm around my neck, and together we cruised out into the halls of Higgindome. I handled the curves pretty well - till I tried doing a cookie inside the elevator. Gashed a few people's shins, but they weren’t about to criticize a man in a wheelchair.

This little land rover was a gas, but I was more interested in this strange girl sitting on my lap. I had a feeling she was interested in me, too. I seized the moment by pulling into the empty study lounge, stopping in the corner. It wasn’t Lover’s Leap, but it would do. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Parking," I answered with a smile, then I leaned closer, looking into her eyes from six inches away. It was all green lights, as far as I could see, so I kissed this lady on the lips. She returned the fire as she slid her hand under my shirt and rubbed my chest. I couldn’t believe how easily this was happening. "I don’t even know your name," I suddenly realized out loud.

"I’m Megan," she said with a smile. Then she asked, "Your place or mine?"

"Mine," I replied, throwing the wheelchair into reverse and zipping down the hall. We returned the land rover to Ted, then quickly exited the party and slipped into my room. As I locked the door, Megan sat on the bed and smiled. This was pretty strange, heading for romance with a girl that I met just moments earlier. The strangest part was that she wasn’t resisting a bit. It didn’t add up. Girls were supposed to hold back. They always had before.

From the moment my butt touched the bed, I became the passenger and Megan the driver. If I thought I was doing the stalking, the hunting, I had to think again. This wasn’t romance. This was sex. All too easily, it happened. And it wasn’t that great. Years of build up, and that’s all there was to it? I guess it felt like a let down because it wasn’t at all intimate. This didn’t begin to approach the special feeling that I got from kissing Sheila or holding her hand. And as soon as it was over, I wished I were a thousand miles away from the girl. The conquest was over, and only an awkward air remained. I didn’t like the girl – I didn’t even know her.

The next morning I opened my eyes and realized I was in trouble. There, lying next to me, was a naked woman. That’s supposed to be a good thing, I know. But it was so not good. As Megan came to, I realized she had interests that went way beyond mine. She talked sweetly and looked at me like she had husband in mind. Me, I froze, just hoping she would see my disinterest. Nope, she wasn’t going to make it that easy. She took up where we left off the night before, whether I was interested or not. The night before, it began as an adventure, a conquest, a curiosity to see how far it could go. Now it was imprisonment as Megan hung onto my every word to see if I was sincere. I never realized my perspective could change so quickly and dramatically. I never realized that something so enticing could turn into something so empty, so uninviting.

The Meganfest continued for three solid days. She was the hunter and I was the prey, guilty, apathetic prey. And it didn't help that Dicky Jay saw us going in and out. I wondered what he thought.

Disco could not understand why I was so down in the dumps over having a ‘full time woman slave.’ "Do it to your heart's delight," he counseled. But my heart's delight subsided the instant we peaked on that first night. Since then, I only wanted out, though I was afraid to say such. I was too much of a chicken and a shmuck to confront Megan honestly, so instead I hid for a week straight. I hid in Flick’s room with the Doper People, I lingered around with the Babes on 5^th floor, I did anything to dodge her. I even went to classes just to get out of the dorm.

That was no way for a man to live, looking over his shoulder for the rest of his college life. Eventually I got careless. I did things like going to the bathroom without an escort, taking the elevator up to meals, sloppy things like that. Deep down, I must have wanted to get caught. And I did. I was chasing Lance down the hall with a squirt gun one afternoon when the Megster intercepted me and asked if we could talk. For a fleeting moment, I considered making a break for the stairwell. I could easily outrun this chick, I told myself. But then I realized the obvious: she needed some closure. And so I resigned myself to face her.
"It seems like you're avoiding me lately," Megan complained. "Is something wrong?"

At first, I played dumb: "Me? Avoiding you? No, not at all."

"Then you want to keep seeing me?" she asked as she stepped closer. Whoa boy, that stairwell was looking mighty tempting. But denial time was over. As tough as it was, I had to confront. For the first time in my life, I had to break things off with a woman. I guess it was tough because it was like admitting I had used her and grown tired of her. That was the truth, essentially, but I dressed it up by using the very lines I so hated hearing from wavering sweethearts: "I'm not ready to be involved right now. I'd rather be just friends." Megan understood, or so she said. And I resumed my chase with Lance.

It was great to roam the halls freely again. Once more, Higgindome was my playpen, all twenty of her floors. Playing putt-putt for brewski's, rassling with the Babes, cracking jokes in Cafeteria Land; this beat the heck out of hiding in Flick's room with the Doper People.

Our floor had some new faces this semester, one of those being "Spanky." Disco introduced me to him at my first dinner out of hiding. Spanky seemed like a good recruit, a young man quietly in awe of this new life style. Being a junior college transfer, this was his first semester away at school, and he couldn't wait to do all the stupid things college students do. Disco and I agreed: this Spanky was dying to be corrupted into a party monster. He just didn’t know it yet.

Spanky's room struck me as funny. His roommate Bull was a body builder, so he had posters of Arnold and other muscle bound titans above his bed, while Spanky pinned up the most fabulous bikini babes on his side. But the paradox of the college room is this: sitting on your own bed, you're always facing your roommate's wall hangings. So Spanky had to stare at beef cakes instead of scanty two pieces. Didn't seem fair. Of course we teased him about it. "It's gonna rub off on you, bud. Yup, a couple months from now, you'll be hanging out at Gold's Gym, trying to find dates."

Spanky’s bulky roommate seemed excited about campus life, too. But Bull was a little more restrained than Spanky. Bull was here for the degree, and a high GPA while he was at it. He partied, but never to an appropriate level of excess. That was out of the question, because heaven forbid, that would inhibit tomorrow’s work out, plus there was studying to be done. He seemed obsessed with living a balanced life. Yeah, he was a nice guy and all, but he had an unhealthy fear of extremes.

Spanky got his first chance to let loose at a party in Morgy's Playhouse, held in honor of Raul's 76th birthday. As we tapped the keg, Spanky looked like a rookie inserted into the starting lineup on Opening Day. He looked so excited as we played drinking games like Mexican and Swallow the Worm. His eyes lit up like a little kid's on Christmas morning, and he couldn't wait until someone picked him to drink. How refreshing to meet someone with a proper and healthy perspective on college.

Musky was at this party, too. He was a lot looser than when I first met him, back when he was telling me about Indian torture tactics and such. This time he was just smiling, ear to ear, and laughing at every joke. I couldn’t figure this guy out. He was the most relaxed, yet the most intense guy I’d ever met. I could tell this would be an interesting friendship, especially post midnight, when beers accelerated the process of getting to know each other.

Several of the Babes from fifth floor came by, displaying a healthy buzz from happy hour. They made a grand entrance as Renee, the big chested girl, entered first, throwing open her blouse and declaring, "All right, this is a BUST!" Musky practically hit the floor laughing. Banjo Jim saluted. The rest of us stared, speechless, as Renee wandered in and found the keg, acting as if this were just another party. What a wild chick, and yet, so easy going.

The Babes brought the whole herd this time, a dozen ladies gussied up and ready for action. Among the bunch, I spotted the new blonde. I’d seen her five or six times now, but I hadn’t met her yet. And the more I saw her, the more I built things up in my mind. I guess I had a crush going for this lady, without even knowing her. But the more I was attracted to a girl, the harder it was to make eye contact or start a conversation. So I wandered over to Shelly and asked for the lowdown. "Her name is Cindy," Shelly answered. "Cindy! Come here!"

Now I was really nervous. I didn’t want it to look like I was inquiring about her. Shellypoo introduced us, then circled around the foosball table to get a drink. I was instantly captured by Cindy, as quiet and shy as she seemed. She wasn't like these other girls. Cindy glanced my way, then quickly looked back at the Babes surrounding her. If anyone was going to make a move, it would have to be me. "How are classes?" I asked, really stretching for something to say.

"Good," she smiled. Then she glanced around and said, "You've got an interesting room." Her eyes were fixed on Raul, my deer head with a nylon stocking over his face. I forced some small talk with Cindy for a few minutes, just the usual what's-your-major, I-don't-know-what's-yours stuff. But of course, body language carried the bulk of the conversation, her eyes telling me she might be interested, and my smile telling her I was easy pickings.

"I think she digs you," Banjo Jim whispered after Cindy rejoined her girl friends.

"I think I dig her too," I sighed. Flick overheard, and in his ever present wisdom, he suggested that I ask her back to my room.

"This is my room, Flick."

"Oh, right, right. Well hey, you can use my room, man." Like I would take any chick back to his 60’s pad.

"I don't think this Cindy is the type you just carry off and bop," I tried explaining to my one dimensional buddy. "No," I went on as I gazed her way, "this lady is definitely too classy for that."

I noticed one of the Babes standing all by herself, looking like she could use a hello. "I’m Morgypoo," I said with a smile and a handshake.

"I’m Amanda," she answered, reluctantly shaking my hand and looking quickly away. She didn’t seem like the friendly type. Maybe that’s why she was standing all alone. I took the cue and wandered over to the keg, which wasn’t nearly so ice cold.

"She doesn’t like men," Lance informed me as he motioned toward Amanda. "And you’re a man. I just thought I should point those two things out."

Lance was right. Over the course of the evening, I learned that Amanda could be pretty coarse. You had to be careful what you said around her. A trained tongue, designed to rip a man’s ego into hundreds of tiny pieces that could then be devoured by birds and rodents. She seemed to be reading ill intentions into everything men said or did. Basically, 50% of the world’s population were jerks, categorically. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. What a sad and bitter existence. Of course, I kept a safe distance from then on.

Just when it seemed that we couldn’t fit another body into this cramped little dorm room, the Mo Phi Bo arrived, twisting and turning as they squeezed into the party. It was good to see black and white mixing for once. But I was especially grateful that they didn’t pick tonight to penny us in. Forty people with full bladders, locked into a squished room, that’s not a situation I want to live through.

It was around then that Banjo Jim, that little son of a gun, managed to find my hidden stash of snackables and began passing them out for all to munch on. It's like he had a nose for that stuff. "Great party, Morg," Banjo grinned as he stuffed Oreos into his happy little mouth. "You got any Cheez Whiz?" he then mumbled, spraying black crumbs across the room as he spoke.

Shortly after we ran out of beer, the party dissipated. Cindy and the girls left for some frat party. As for the guys, Flick and Musky went off on a Bong Quest, Banjo Jim and Lance drove uptown for some late-night tacos, and the rest of the guys called it quits.

So before I knew it, I was all alone, looking over my messy room. I hated when parties ended, especially my own parties. It felt so anti-climactic, going from forty friends to none in just a few minutes. Ah, the ups and downs of college life.

It's funny how the love game can go in streaks. Feast or famine describes it perfectly. I have a theory about why this is so. I believe women are more interested in men who are taken, idiotic as that sounds. If you’re available, well, you must not have n\much going for you. But if you have a girlfriend, suddenly you’re worth snagging. I'll give you a case in point.

When I finally asked out Cindy, an innocent smile flashed across her face as she answered yes. Oh, but I was excited. But the first two dates with Cindy went awkwardly, with me doing most of the talking. That same shy elusiveness that drew me to the girl was now frustrating me, perhaps to the point where I was trying too hard. I like to think I'm pretty good at reading people, but Cindy's eyes gave me no clues. So with no feedback to go on, I barely had the confidence to kiss her good night.

Our third date found us partying in Dad's room, the very place where Paula almost climbed into my clothes at a previous party, and that after being so aloof three shots earlier. Cindy wasn't quite so frisky. She barely spoke, and seldom looked my way. Either she was totally shy or she wanted out. I was just about to ask Dad for some magical Southern Comfort, that powerful aphrodisiac, when I noticed a red headed woman across the room. I’d swear she was undressing me with her eyes. It didn’t matter that I caught her staring, that only fueled her fire. Either she had the hots for me, or else my zipper was down again.

I tried looking away, but I could still feel the heat of her stare penetrating me. Couldn't she tell I was with someone? My heart missed a beat as she walked my way, looking like a lioness on the prowl. I was actually a little scared. She stopped beside me and whispered into my ear, "I'm so-o-o horny."

No way. Did I hear her right? Was this for real? I froze, totally speechless and wondering if Cindy, my date, overheard this vixen. Wait, maybe it was Cindy who said that? "Did you say something?" I asked Cindy. She nodded no.

"You look like you could do it all night long," this brash red head whispered, this time loud enough for Cindy to overhear.

"I have no idea who she is," I whispered to Cindy. "Honest." Cindy seemed unfazed and even disinterested. In a way, I was even more frustrated with Cindy now. Couldn’t she show me an ounce of passion here, jealousy, anything? Or hey, let’s be honest, why couldn't Cindy be a little more like this red head?

"Can you?" this chick asked voluptuously.

"Can I what?" I asked, the sweat beading up on my forehead.

"Keep it up all night?"

Let’s see, I could answer yes and follow this girl back to her room for a sizzling adventure, or I could brush her off and ride out the night with the crippled horse I rode in on. I know, most guys would have dumped the lame date and jumped all over this new girl’s offer. But I couldn’t. I liked this Cindy, even if we weren’t connecting just yet. And I didn’t know this other woman. I hadn’t had time to work up any interest, other than the hormonal kind. Chasing her felt like it would be admitting that romance is only good for sex and not for companionship. And I wanted companionship so badly. So I decided to place my bet on Cindy, even if she was shying away.

"I'm, uh, I'm kind of with someone," I said as I put my arm around Cindy. I figured that would end all advances, but the next thing I knew, this bold chick reached around me and forcefully took my arm off of Cindy! "You don’t give up easy, do you?" I asked. She smiled and said nope as she ran her hand up underneath my shirt, caressing my chest with her fingers. I glanced helplessly at Cindy, wondering if she would defend my honor by beating up this new girl. But Cindy only drew a sigh and stared off in the other direction, not wishing to deal with her competition.

Meanwhile, the red haired woman started tickling my ear with her long fingernails, sending chills down my spine. Now I didn't quite know what to make of this. In twenty one years of fantasies, I'd never had the fortune of being seduced or molested by such an attractive young lady, except for that brief escapade with Paula and the Southern Comf… hey! I wondered if she took a swig of that powerful potion?

Whatever the cause, fate felt mighty cruel. Whoever was in charge of scheduling had me overbooked on this night, and I wasn’t exactly a frequent flyer. But now, during a rare instance when I already had a date, seduction was coming at me full speed, virtual sex on a stick.

As she whispered more words that I had never heard, except on cable, I said, "Listen, I really am here with someone else."

As I motioned to Cindy with my eyes, this lady gripped my face with two hands and turned it back to her, then said, "What do you want with her, when you can have a red hot woman like me?"

"She's got a point, Morg," Banjo Jim said, his head popping in between mine and the hot woman’s. He seemed to feel I should at least hear this woman out.

The red head tickled Banjo Jim’s cheek and said, "You’re cute. But it’s him I want," running her fingers through my hair.

I happened to spot Linda and Shelly gawking in amazement, both of them glaring at the woman beside me.

"Did you guys put her up to this?" I asked. Shelly sternly answered no, then asked if I wanted help. "Please," I begged. At that point, Shelly and Linda boldly wedged in between myself and this nympho girl, saving me from certain sex. The girl tried to post up and swing around to my other side, but Shelly deftly blocked her out with a moving pick, ala Charles Barkley. I thought for an instant that those two might go at it, but the eager redhead realized she was outnumbered and wisely backed off.

"Was that for real?" I asked the Babes.

Linda nodded. "It sure was. I guess you've never heard about her before, huh?" I shook my head. "She's always like that," Linda continued. "Last week she went after one of the guys on our floor. He was laying on his bed watching TV, and she walks right in and lays down on top of him, in front of his girlfriend."

We went on laughing about the sexual boldness we'd just witnessed, Linda, Shellypoo and I. Yet Cindy wasn't so amused. She seemed to be off in her own little world. Two hours later, I found out why as she hit me with the same lines I had used on Megan: "I'm not ready to get involved right now, Morg. I'd rather be just friends, okay?"

I was bummed, but I could see that coming. Since I spent so much time on her floor visiting the Babes, we were running into each other several times a day, and that put too much pressure on us too soon. Yeah, it was inevitable.

Somehow, on a night when I had both a date and a woman crawling all over me at the same time, I walked away alone. Go figure.

I didn’t have to go chickless for very long. The week after being dismissed by Cindy, the boys and I went to happy hour to get, well, happy. We drank, we laughed, we made fun of each other in a friendly way, and we scouted chicks as always. Scouting usually meant looking, but not approaching. At least in my case. But I was getting braver these days. Occasionally I could summon the boldness and courage to strike up a conversation with a lady, provided I had a few brews in me. Such was the case this fine day, when I spotted Candy from 6^th floor across the crowded bar. My buddies were all staring at her, each dreaming, but none trying. I remembered last Halloween when I actually met her, when she gave my toy pony a kiss, then me. Unlike every other beautiful girl I’d known, Candy seemed pretty friendly and sweet. Somehow, I wasn’t the least bit afraid. So while my pals dared only to ogle from afar, I found myself walking over to her bar stool. "Hi, I'm Morgypoo," I smiled as I poured her a beer from my pitcher.

Candy smiled back and took a healthy sip, then eyed her lager and said, "Ah, plasma, nectar of the gods." This chick downed half her glass in one sip. "So you're the Morg," she then smiled.

"You've heard of me?" I asked in surprise.

"Sure. You've got a building named after you, right?"

"Yeah! And you're Candy, right?"

"How'd you know that?"

"I must have heard someone mention your name before," I smiled. The truth was every man in Higgindome knew who she was. She was a celebrity, but she didn't know it. I wasn’t going to tell her.

Deb and I talked and laughed and guzzled for an eternity that afternoon. That was hardly what my buddies expected to see. Every few minutes I'd glance back their way and catch them all staring. They'd make an assorted display of encouraging hand signals, instructing me what to do next. It's like I had eight third base coaches, each more vulgar than the one before. Their real objective wasn’t to prompt me into action, it was to get me to laugh and blow the opportunity. Not this time.

This Candy woman was so spry, so spunky, not at all stuck on herself like most foxy women. She was so outgoing and energetic that it was catchy. "We should to go a movie sometime," I blurted out.

"We should," she said. "I’d like that."

First dates are often stiff and awkward, but that wasn't at all the case with this lady. After the movie I asked if she might want to stop by the Palace for one or two beers. "Now there's an idea," she answered, as if it were rare for either of us to hit a bar. And soon we were slamming down pitchers and dancing to the jukebox. It didn’t matter that the bar was nearly empty on this Tuesday night. We had our own little party of two, loud and cheerful.

You pay attention to signals on a first date. You notice the way they look you in the eye or look away, you notice if they face toward you or to the side. And I recall picking up on subtle social cues that evening, like the way Candy sat close to me, and how she selected Jimmy Buffet’s Why Don't We Get Drunk And Screw? on the jukebox, singing along with volume and passion. To the untrained person, this might go unnoticed. But I took this as a cue, a hint that maybe she was romantically interested in me. So as we danced to a slow song, I laid it on the line and kissed her, briefly, just for a second, then waited to see her reaction. She returned my affections, coming back for more. This was too cool. It’s like I was dreaming.

I was flying high as we went back to my room after closing time. I was pretty sure we were going to get real cozy. Looking into Candy’s eyes, I wasn’t at all worried about feeling trapped later on. She was a keeper. We sat on my bed together and kissed for awhile, then Candy reached her hands under her sweater and pulled it over her head. I was so blown away as she presented me with her beautiful figure. And I couldn’t believe this beautiful and delightful woman was romancing me.

This, yes, this is what college was all about - not classes and tests and all that garbage. Here was a spunky woman who knows how to have fun, yet far and away the prettiest woman I ever kissed, and it was all happening so easily for once. How quickly college life had changed, going from a place of abstinence and rejection to a place of hedonism and pleasure. Suddenly I had women throwing themselves at me, doing and saying things I had only dreamed about before. And how did it make me feel? Awesome. Each adventure was another conquest, another mountain to climb, another high. On the fun scale, I was scoring tens and loving it. As for the meaningfulness scale, well, I'd thrown that one out. It was too easy to get hurt when I looked for meaning.

I'm usually a good judge of character. My first impression is seldom wrong. But some people tend to make poor first impressions, and I slowly came to realize that Lance was one of those people. He seldom initiated conversation, so I'd mistaken him for being stand-offish, a Mister Suave. And when he did speak, it was likely a witty comeback, facetious in nature, mocking whatever you just said. The thing is, he didn't laugh when he made such wisecracks. His expression never gave it away, so he came off as snooty.

Over the course of beers, though, I learned that Lance meant no harm with his one liners. Every tease was meant as fun, and most his put-downs were actually self directed. You might say he was tongue-in-cheek; you just couldn't see the tongue.

Lance turned out to be a great emotional leader at the Palace. Something clicked in the guy after a few beers, that cool reserve giving way to a fun and rowdy demeanor. And keeping us boys on pace was his gift. Each time a new pitcher arrived, he filled all the glasses, raised his beer up over his head as a toast, and bellowed out, "To the Boyzz!!"

"To the Boyzz!!" we hollered back in unison before chugging for glory. Then came the celebration ritual. You know, sort of an end zone dance. Each man bent forward at the waist, slapping his thigh harder and harder, faster and faster, until all at once we jumped up and smacked high fives. Then came the rodeo yells, Lance's in Yeee haa! form, Spanky's a coyote call, and mine a Yip Yip Yah! I think Musky borrowed his yell from the Apache’s rain dance.

Now I should point out that this behavior was not the norm for the other tavern patrons, at least not on an hourly basis. Most folks looked at us like we were either crazy or stupid. But did we boys care? Nah. That's what bars are for. Home of the professionally stupid, no maturity allowed. You see, our chugs and cheers and synchronized outbursts always served to put us in a happy mood. You couldn't find anyone in the Palace who smiled more than Musky, Lance, Spanky, Flick, Banjo Jim or myself. We were a team, us boys, a drinking team composed of several strange and loveable characters. Inseparable. Bonded by excitement, and made stronger by the uniqueness of each member.

Turn to Chapter 7: One Deadly Chick… http://www.morgypoo.com/ch7.htm