So I went up to Austin and waded through the history and political science curriculum. I certainly wasn't a monk my first two years, but I'd gotten a couple of small scholarships and I worked hard to maintain my GPA. I discovered my element in the academic arena and I did much better than I had in high school. I spent the first year and half of the second in a dorm, which was okay, but I never really took to forced communal living.

Around Christmas of my sophomore year, two friends took me aside one evening and made me a proposition. They'd found a three-bedroom apartment not too far from campus and they were looking for a third roommate to share the expenses. They had discussed the possibilities for several days and I was their first choice. Both of them were good students, neither was addicted to wild parties, and the money was considerably less than I was paying for room and board in the dorm. The term was ending so I agreed and cleared the arrangement with my folks (since I was still under 21). By New Year's Eve, I was moved in.

Gary and Ed, my new roomies, valued their privacy as much as I did and we all got along fine, each with his own room to escape to. I was a much better cook than either of them, though I taught them the basics. On the other hand, they didn't mind housework and I hated it, so the chores divided up pretty evenly. As it turned out, the three of us shared quarters for the 2-1/2 years until graduation with a minimum of squabbling, and we parted good friends. We all live in different parts of the country now, but we still keep in touch.

Ed was from Baton Rouge and still didn't know many girls in Austin, but Gary, who was from Fort Worth, was luckier: His high school sweetheart had also chosen UT. She was a blonde, bouncy little drama major named Sherry (I know: "Gary-and-Sherry," like a bad song) and she was careful not to intrude when she came over to see Gary. She was cheerful and pleasant and pretty, and Ed and I quickly accepted her frequent presence. She never stayed overnight, though.

Sometimes I'd come home and hear muffled sounds of bedsprings and passionate moaning from behind Gary's closed bedroom door. I'd go on about my business and when they emerged, Sherry would pat me on the arm in greeting and I'd give her a big smile in return, and no one would mention the bedroom. She was a sweet girl, very much in love with Gary, and Ed and I silently envied them both.

In mid-December of my junior year, almost exactly a year since the three of us had set up housekeeping, Sherry took me aside one afternoon and asked with elaborate casualness if I might be interested in meeting a friend of hers who had just transferred from Texas Wesleyan. Ed had begun dating a certain special girl regularly by then, and I think Sherry felt it was her responsibility to see that I wasn't left out.

I was flattered, certainly, but I'd become cautious about women and it was a habit I didn't intend to break. I dated often enough, though only on a purely social basis, and I enjoyed the occasional sweaty make-out session with a girl at a party, but there was very little emotional involvement. The last thing I wanted was entanglements.

Sherry was so earnest, I suggested she bring her friend to the pre-Christmas open-house we were planning the next weekend. That way, if it didn't work out, her friend would have the party as fallback entertainment. Had I known what I was getting into, I might have chickened out.

I was bedding down a case of Lone Star in the ice-filled bathtub the evening of the open-house when Sherry turned up with her friend in tow. She didn't seem to think it odd, making introductions in the bathroom, and Rose and I hit it off immediately. She was a compact little brunette with sultry dark eyes and almost too much makeup, and lots of tan. She favored tight blouses and short skirts, which was okay with me.

Rose glanced around at the tile and the hand towels and laughed. "First time I ever had a date in the john," she said, and her eyes twinkled conspiratorially, making it a shared joke.

About a third of our small apartment complex was older students and another third was young faculty, so most of the tenants were having open-door parties. I pulled on my Christmas sweater, the one with reindeer all over it (my mother's idea), and Rose and I went out to make the rounds of the parties while Gary and Ed and their girlfriends held down the fort for awhile at our place. She was the perfect date for such an occasion: Pretty and charming, friendly and outgoing, and apparently capable of drinking anyone under the table. We had a great time.

After three or four hours of conviviality, we found ourselves back at the apartment; Gary and Ed headed out with their dates and I wasn't about to start on the litter until morning, if then. I was a bit unfocused, being unaccustomed to so much beer in so short a time. I was too gassed to drive but I could walk and talk if I took it slow. Once I sat down on the couch it seemed easier to stay there. And when Rose plopped down on my lap and kicked off her shoes, it seemed easier to keep her there, too.

I had nothing specific in mind when I gave her a friendly squeeze and kissed her briefly on the neck. I liked her and it seemed like the thing to do. Rose hooked her arm around my shoulder and studied my face thoughtfully for a moment. Then she leaned in and kissed me, long, hard, and deep. I hadn't been kissed with that much initiative since-- Well, since Mary.

Then she put her lips close to my ear and said softly, "I really like you, Mike. Let's go in the bedroom and fuck."

The seconds passed while I digested that. It was a week short of 1965, but the Sixties hadn't really arrived in Texas, wouldn't for several years yet, and I had never heard a suggestion like that from a girl. I must have been staring at her in disbelief, because Rose sort of shrugged and said "Well, if you don't want to, that's okay. . ."

At which point I said something suave like "No, let's do it!" A bad mistake.

I don't know whether it was the beer, or the fact that I hadn't gotten laid since I started college, or just general nervousness, but it turned into a long evening. When we got to my bedroom and shut the door, I fumbled badly trying to take off Rose's blouse and skirt and she had to finish. I couldn't manage her bra at all. Then she had to help me out of my own clothes. I was barely sober enough to be aware that I was embarrassing myself badly.

The next mental snapshot on that roll is of me, sucking Rose's lavish tits and trying desperately to will myself into an erection. We both were doing a lot of moaning, but for different reasons. She was very understanding, though, and did a class job of sucking on my cock until I was stiff enough to be useful to her.

Then she climbed on top of me and stuffed my bewildered cock into her cunt. I squeezed her large, jiggling breasts and I squeezed her smooth, muscular ass. I squeezed every part of her I could reach. Perhaps I was still astonished at suddenly being completely naked and in bed with a very sexy girl only a few hours after we'd met. And perhaps I'm too much of a romantic to get very worked up without foreplay.

It ended after ten or fifteen minutes with Rose masturbating herself to a climax while the head of my cowardly cock sat lodged just inside her, as if it had dozed off. When she finished her series of little shudders, she slid off me and lay propped up on her elbow.

She stroked my hair and said, not unkindly, "Don't worry about it, honey.

You're just tired and you had a little too much to drink tonight. It happens to all guys once in awhile."

It was too much. I was frustrated, mortified, horny, and more than half-drunk -- and now she was offering me a convenient excuse, like tossing a life preserver.

"Don't be so fuckin' *nice* about it, for chrissake!"

She snatched her hand back. "Well, pardon *me* all to hell!" She hopped off the bed and began snatching up clothes from the floor. She was seriously annoyed.

On the third try, I managed to sit upright. Rose had her underwear on and was yanking her skirt up over her hips. "Please," I begged, "I didn't mean that. I'm sorry, Rose." She was shrugging into her blouse and moving toward the bedroom door, a stormy look on her face.

"Rose, *please* come back, just for a minute! I have to explain . . ." She glanced at me and, I suppose, saw the misery scrawled all over my face. She hesitated and then came back and sat on the edge of the bed just beyond my reach while she put on her shoes.

"I'm sorry, Rose, I had no right to be ugly when you've been so terrific." I was a little more composed and she sat quietly and waited for me to continue. So I gave her the two-minute version -- that she was only the second girl I'd ever really had sex with, and what had happened the first time with Mary, and why I had become unreasonably angry.

"Rose, if you'd gotten mad at me for conking out on you, I probably could have handled it. But you were so understanding about everything, . . . I just couldn't deal with it. I'm sorry -- God, I'm so sorry. I seem to say that a lot to women I get involved with," I added, and I heard the bitterness in my own voice. She gave me that thoughtful look again and scooted closer. She held my hand and her tacit acceptance of my apology almost brought me to tears. I guess it showed.

"Want to try it again?" she asked softly. "From the top? I could even stay the night if you think you want me to." I almost accepted but I knew I couldn't. I squeezed her fingers.

"I don't think you'd better," I replied, with an attempt at a wry smile. "I'm afraid all I'm good for right now is self-pity. But you don't know how much I needed to hear you say that."

"Okay; I really do understand." She leaned over and kissed me very gently. "I hope you find her some day." I must have looked blank. "The right girl," she added. She stood, touched my cheek for a moment, and then slipped out. I heard the apartment door click shut a moment later.

I lay on my side staring into the dark and wondering what it was about me that attracted disastrous relationships.
 

I don't know why it didn't occur to me earlier, but the first time I saw Sherry after the Christmas holidays, I suddenly remembered that Rose was a good friend of hers. Oh, God, I thought -- what stories were making the rounds now? But Sherry grinned at me and said "Rose tells me you two really hit it off at the open house." I waited for the other shoe to drop. "She didn't give me any details, . . . but she *did* say you were *very* interesting in bed. . . ." She gave me a friendly leer and I silently thanked Rose for her discretion.

"Rose is quite a girl," I agreed, with what I hoped was a mysterious smirk. I didn't call her, but I bumped into Rose on campus a couple weeks later. She was in animated conversation with a tall young man in a basketball letter sweater (she came up to the Longhorn on his front), but when I gave her a little wave she put him on hold and detoured in my direction with a big smile.

"How you doing?" She seemed genuinely interested.

"I'll get by," I replied. "I talked to Sherry; I wanted to thank you."

She glanced down and looked at me through her mascara. "No problem. You *are* a nice guy, even though we, um, had a problem that night." She glanced back at the basketball player, who was waiting patiently. "I've been getting acquainted with Dave, over there, and I'm meeting a lot of other people, too." What she meant was that her free time was taken for the foreseeable future.

"Well, I'm glad your transfer to UT is working out so well." Which meant I understood and I wouldn't pester her for dates, trying to prove myself to her. She smiled again, patted me on the arm, and went back to her tall friend. I saw her occasionally, around campus or with Sherry, and we exchanged greetings, but we never had another date. I have no idea what happened to her after we graduated.
 
 

Copyright 1993 by Michael K. Smith. Copies may be made and posted elsewhere for personal enjoyment, but all commercial rights are reserved.