The Women of Broderick
High School: The Student Body
1988-1990
There have been many of you. More than I have ever admitted, whether it was to one of you or even to myself. I am not sure why. There are many of you that would like to call me "the typical man" and I suppose that's true. I am the guy your mother warned you about and all that jazz. Handsome, smooth-talking, a real charmer. I'm Satan in a designer suit. I break hearts and take names. Guess you should have listened to mother, huh doll?
Have I always been this way? ...Yes. Yes, I have. Did I always enjoy it? ...Yes. Usually I did. I enjoyed using you, almost every last one of you. Instant gratification, that's my game. And you played it ladies. You had to have known. Most of you weren't stupid. Why would you believe me when I said I'd call? Why would you think I wanted anything more from you but a blow job in the bathroom or a quick fuck in the backseat of my car?
If it's any consolation, I'm sorry. Most of you really do deserve an apology. Most of you will never really get one, since most of you have either forgotten me or hate me, which really is all right with this guy. But I'm doing this is for me, really, to make me feel better. Because I'm selfish, when it comes right down to it. I'm selfish, and that's something I've never denied. I am sorry for it though.
So...we might as well start at the beginning...
Danielle - You were my first. I didn't want to sleep with you. I wanted to sleep with your sister. She was fifteen. I was sixteen. You were seventeen. You weren't slutty or anything like that. You had slept with two guys, and they were both boyfriends. They were jock types, not like me. I don't even know why you took an interest in me the way you did, what with not being slutty and only liking jock guys. I guess you didn't know that I liked your sister.
I slept with you because I wanted the experience. So I could rock your sister's world, actually. I figured you would be good practice, since you'd already had sex. The only thing I neglected to consider was the fact that if I was trying to nail your sister, I was going to have to see you. I also didn't count on you telling your sister that we had sex. That really threw a wrench in to the works.
Looking back though, you were pretty good for a chick with hardly any notches in her belt. I was your third, unless you were lying, and I've been with girls since you that have been with five times that many guys that were pretty bad comparatively. I'm sure you've made some mediocre guy very happy, because I think that's all you felt you deserved was mediocre. I'm sorry you feel that way. I'm also sorry that it's kind of true.
Heather - It was really hard convincing you that I hadn't slept with Danielle. I'm still not sure how I managed to do it. Maybe it was because you were dumber than your sister. But you were prettier, and that's saying a lot because Danielle was pretty damn good-looking. You had the best shoulders, the most graceful neck and these fantastic green eyes. You told me you were a virgin, but you were lying. I didn't care. I had lied to you about sleeping with your sister, so who was I to judge?
In fact, you guys shared a bedroom, so the first place I had sex with you was about five feet away from the first place I had sex with your sister. I kept thinking about that the whole time we were doing it; I kept glancing over there and seeing me on top of Danielle. I sometimes wonder if you noticed, but not often.
We had sex one other time, in the bathroom at school. I stopped calling you. I stopped taking your calls. I avoided you at school, and I avoided your sister, too. Then I started dating a girl that I knew you hated. I'm sorry. That was pretty harsh, even if you were sort of dumb.
Brienne - You're a bitch. I think that's what I liked most about you then and what I hate most about you now.
I took me almost three months to get you in bed. That's the longest I've ever spent trying to get a girl naked. I don't know what it was about you, but I was determined to conquer you. And I was certain that once I had, I'd be on my merry way. Not true. You were amazing. A real natural. We had sex every day, whenever, wherever, however. You weren't picky. You were worth the wait. To this day, you're still one of the best I ever had.
At the time, I thought I loved you and I got really caught up in that. But I didn't love you. Not a bit. I loved your voice and your face and your body and your smile and your laugh. But I didn't love you, who you were. Because when it came down to it, you weren't a nice girl. You were the girl that the other girls at school were scared of because you'd ridicule them for any little old thing that came to mind. You were the girl who laughed right in a guy's face if he tried to talk to you. You were...a bitch. Just like I said.
You didn't even break up with me. You just showed up at homecoming with another guy. I was angry. I called you a whore in front of damn near the entire school, I screamed it at you. You just looked at me and laughed and turned away. You laughed. You weren't embarrassed or ashamed or anything. It was all funny to you.
Damn, you're good.
Lori - What can I say about you that hasn't already been said about French prostitutes? You were a skank to the nth degree. Your skankiness is equal to none. I know this because the first time I went to your apartment, there was a guy coming out of it. I watched from my car. A guy knows the look of another guy who's just gotten his rocks off, and that dude looked like a pretty satisfied customer.
I should have just started the engine and gone home, but I didn't. The fact of the matter was I had just been humiliated by my girlfriend in front of the whole school. I needed to vent. I went from getting hot sex with a beautiful girl every day to nada. I met you at the bowling alley three days after homecoming, and it was easy (just like you) because my friend already knew you. I guess he'd never slept with you - surprising, I know - or I'm sure he would have warned me about pursuing you.
Not only were you my first skank, but you were my first redhead, too. My dad once told me redheads are wild in bed. He was right. You were wild. Wildly boring. I don't know if you thought that because you were so pretty in the face and you had the body of a porn star that it was cool for you to just lay there emitting short, cigarette-scented puffs of air and occasionally spasming like a cat dying on the sidewalk, but that's about how it was. I got off as soon as I could, got dressed, and left. I don't think I even said goodbye to you.
I'm not sorry that you're so slutty. I'm sorry that you're not very good at it.
Judith - Oh, man, Judy Blue Eyes, what the hell were we thinking?
I just wanted to tell Christian about Lori. I drove over there as soon as I left her house. That's what Chris and I did, you know? We slept with a girl - we called it notching, you know, like a belt - and then we told each other about it over a couple of his dad's beers. But he wasn't home. You were, though. Your car was parked in the garage, and the garage door was down, so I didn't know.
I guess I probably should have knocked, but I've been friends with Christian since we were twelve. We pretty much never knocked anymore. I saw you on the couch, crying. You were very lady like, sitting straight up with a tissue clutched in your fingers and held to your face. But man, that was awkward. I had always liked you, thought you were really pretty in an elegant, refined way. You had the most enchanting blue eyes I had ever seen. It was hard to look at you sometimes, they were so pretty. But now you were crying and I didn't know what the hell to do.
I asked if you wanted me to go and you said no, to come sit down. I did. I put my arm around you. It was only supposed to be a comforting gesture, but Jesus, did you smell nice. I'm not sure exactly what transpired from there, but soon we were making out on the couch. Then we were upstairs. In your bed.
I never did find out what had made you cry that day, but I'm pretty sure it had something to do with your divorce from Christian's father a couple months later. Christian never found out what happened and neither did your (ex)husband. Pretty lucky since we carried on for a few weeks. I don't know how we pulled it off, but I'm glad we did. I think maybe if I had been forty-four or you had been seventeen, we could have had a real good thing. Maybe we couldn't have had forever, but I think we could have made each other happy. I think maybe you could have been my first love. But you weren't, and I can't say that a part of me isn't sort of sad about it.
Your funeral was really hard. You were so young, just a couple years shy of sixty. Christian was really torn up, losing his mom so suddenly like that. He couldn't finish the eulogy, so I had to do it for him. I hope I did all right.
Also, I miss you. I really do.
Melanie - I'm not sure how you got the idea that we were together, especially when I told you from the get go that I was sleeping with a married lady (whose name I never disclosed, of course) before we even slept together. You slept with me anyway. And after we slept together, I didn't give you any impression that I was committed to you at all, in any way. I made sure you knew I wasn't. You know, by not calling you when I said I would, by never taking you out on dates, by going to the same party as you and making out with one of your friends while you were standing right across the room. But you still acted like a fucking lunatic.
Come on, twelve phone messages? Twelve?! Little notes on my windshield? Pinned to my front door? Tricking me in to going to lunch with your Bible-thumping parents? Telling me you're in love with me in the middle of sex? Jesus, woman. You take the crazy cake.
Look, you're cute as hell, okay? You are the epitome of cheerleader - petite, perky, and flexible. You're also crackers. Do you understand me? You are insane. And the only thing impressive about your sexual prowess was your ability to get both legs behind your head. Other than that, you're pretty run of the mill.
Seek. Therapy.
Robin - When we had sex, I didn't actually know your name. We were dancing at a party and eventually we ended up dancing our way in to the bathroom. You were very aggressive, and that made it even hotter. It was all over in ten minutes, but it was still good. At least for me.
My friend Matt asked where I was and I told him. He made me point you out, and that's when he laughed and told me your name. Apparently you've done that at a lot of parties. You'd gotten him last summer at a 4th of July barbecue. You also got Christian over Christmas break while he was outside smoking a cigarette at some other party that I wasn't at. He had told me about that, actually, and he hadn't known your name either.
So, uh, thank you, I guess, for being so friendly. And for always wearing skirts.
Christa - You tried really hard. Too hard, I think, and I guess that's why it never went any further than sex. You weren't very pretty, but you weren't ugly. It was that you tried so hard to be pretty, you tried so hard to be funny, you tried so hard to win me over. It was annoying. And even though I really appreciate all the oral sex, it never made me want to be your boyfriend regardless of the fact that you were spectacularly good at it. You weren't bad in bed either, now that I think about it. You were better than your friend Maegan, I'll give you that much.
I don't really feel too bad about you catching me with Maegan, though. After that happened, you finally left me alone. Of course, Maegan stopped talking to me, too, once she found out I'd been sleeping with the both of you, and that was a shame. She wasn't as good in bed as you, but she was a hell of a lot better looking and I think with a little work, she could have gotten better.
Maegan - You know, the saddest part about the whole situation was that I was actually starting to dig you. You were so damn smart; you were just sixteen and about to start college in the fall, and crazy pretty. You had a face like sunshine. You were a little thick in the middle, but I liked that, actually, and your legs were long and slender. Also, you were the funniest girl I've ever met. You could make me laugh and it always seemed so easy, like you just knew exactly what to say. But you were so timid in bed. Your whole body was tense and you didn't make a sound, just took sweet sharp breaths and exhaled gentle sighs. You were never on top; I think the thought of it probably scared the hell out of you.
I wish I would have told you about Christa. I was going to quit sleeping with her...well, no, I guess I wasn't. Because she was better than you. And until you were better than her, I probably wouldn't have stopped sleeping with her. And if it wasn't her, it would have been another girl who was better in bed than you.
But for what it's worth, I actually cared about you. You never saw because you kept your eyes closed, but I always looked at you at the whole time. I always wanted to see your face. And I never wanted to leave right after it was over like I did with other girls. Other girls like Christa. I think I might have even loved you a little, but I didn't even realize it till I was running out your front door with my pants clutched in my hand.
Sophia - There's a reason people go to Miami after high school graduation, and you're it. There's a reason people say Latin lovers are the best lovers, and you're it. Holy mother of God, you truly are a blessing upon the eyes and groins of men everywhere. Your hair was ruffled black satin and it smelled of papayas and sea salt. Your skin was the same color as the Kentucky bourbon you poured in my glass and your lips were little pink seashells, asking me where I was from, was I having fun, everything but 'can I see your ID?' You moved with all the exquisite grace of a Juliard ballerina, gliding across the sun-soaked sand as the breeze toyed with the delicate wisp of pink printed fabric you had tied about your waist, sometimes blowing it to one side to reveal the profile of a curved and sleek caramel calf and a smooth, round knee.
I bet you didn't know a white boy could dance like that, did you? Pure luck. My mom's brother married a Cuban girl, my Aunt Therese, and she made sure I knew how. She told me it was important that a young man know how to dance with a woman, because women like a man who isn't afraid to move to the music. I asked you if you wanted to salsa, and you looked at me like I was crazy but you were smiling all the same. You nodded and gave me your hand, and I didn't let go of it until I got back on the plane a week later.
I won't even recount the things we did here. They're some of my sweetest memories. For one whole summer I had a girl who was a friend and a lover and who expected nothing more, and to discuss openly that brief romance would only soil it. I could not keep you for myself, Sophia, but I can keep your memory as mine and mine alone.
College: Broadening Your Horizons
1990-1992
Charlie - I think I slept with you because you reminded me a little of Sophia. Because you were tan and your hair was curly and dark and in a certain light you kind of looked Cuban. You were my first college girl, but other than that there really wasn't anything else about the whole experience that was memorable. We were partners for some project in our intro psych class; we were in your dorm room trying to get work done, and then we doing each other on your roommate's bed.
We had sex for the next couple weeks - until the project was due, I mean. And that was it. Actually, that was kind of cool of you. Thanks.
Elise - Holy shit, you were weird. Not crazy, but weird. You were in to all that pagan, incense burning, Earth worshipping, holistic medicine, astrology crap. You said we were drawn together because I'm an Aries and you're a Leo. You said we'd have fiery, passionate sex. It would be an explosion of rapture and pleasure.
You were wrong.
Toni - You were twenty-one and used to buy alcohol for all the underage kids in the dorms. I always thought you were an okay chick, pretty face, nice little body. We slept together one night after you'd bought what must have amounted to a trough of Jaeger. We didn't use a condom. Not smart. I talked to a friend of mine later and he told me you'd been passed around the dorms more than a final exam answer sheet. Apparently that's your game - get the freshmen and sophomores drunk, then have sex with them. Nice. Wish I'd thought of that one.
I got myself tested and it came back clean. I seriously hope that at some point, you did the same.
Francesca - Your name always reminded me of soda, like Fresca, but I'm sure you've heard that a thousand times. You were bubbly like soda, too - don't know how often you've heard that. I guess I probably took advantage of you a little. You were at a party that your friends had dragged you to, and one of your friends was dating a friend of mine. You got drunker than you should have...way drunker. But hey, at least after a few shots you finally started to seem like you were having a good time.
A group of us were on the front lawn of this guy's house. Your friend and my friend went off somewhere, then your other friend went to go say hi to some chick she'd gone to high school with. It was just me and you and after a few minutes of semi-awkward conversation (so what's your major? you from here? any siblings?) you asked me if I wanted to go make out in your car.
Well of course I did! You were cute and you were drunk enough that I knew I could probably nail you if I played my cards right. Looks like I played them right. You did all the work; all I had to do, really, was just kick back in the passenger seat.
I still feel a little bad about it though. I saw you on campus a few times after that and at other social events. You never said hello, and what's more, you always looked away. Which tells me you're a little ashamed of what you did. A part of me wants to tell you there's nothing to be ashamed of, these things happen in college, guys do it all the time (guys like me, for instance), no big deal. Another part of me wants to say, "Well no shit, Shirley. Maybe next time you should learn when to stop accepting shots so you don't give it up to some guy whose name you may or may not remember."
So I'll say this - don't feel bad if you can't remember my name. The only reason I remembered yours is because of the soda.
April - You. Are. AWESOME. The world is a better place because of girls like you. You were the most honest, upfront person I've ever met. The first time I saw you is a story I tell everybody. We were at a coffee shop, one of those cramped, dimly lit ones with tables on the sidewalk for the smokers. We were smokers. You were with a guy and I was alone, reading some local publication. Then you shot up out of your chair and said, "You sorry son of a bitch!"
I'd had that very same phrase, or something close to it, shouted at me plenty of times by this point in my life, so I looked up, thinking perhaps you were talking to me. Actually, you were talking to the guy you were with.
He said: "April, you're causing a scene."
You said: "You're damn right I'm causing a scene! You're a real shit, Roger, a shit of the highest order."
To which he replied: "April, please, would you just-"
At which point you interrupted with: "Fuck you! Fuck you! I'll tell you what, I'm gonna grab some miscellaneous guy, take him back to my apartment, and hump his brains out. How does that sound, Rog? How's that make you feel?"
This is where I came in. You took a quick look around and your eyes landed on me.
You said: "You. Come here."
I said: "Me?"
You said, rather curtly: "Yes, you. We're going back to my apartment and we're going to have sex."
Roger interjected: "April, this is ridiculous. You don't even-"
And you told him: "Shut up, Roger. Your opinion was not solicited."
At this point, I was on my feet but still unsure of what to do. Roger looked kind of small; I was pretty sure I could take him, but I really wasn't trying to kick some guy's ass in front of God and everybody. But you had walked away from the table and were on your way over to me. Roger attempted to call you back once more, but to no avail. You grabbed me by the arm and we were on the way to your car.
Of course we didn't have sex. I went back to your apartment with you, though. I meant to thank you for not crying, but I never got around to it. So thank you for not crying, because that would have made the whole situation weirder than it already was. But you know, thinking back on it, I guess it wasn't that weird. We sat on your couch and you played Coltraine on the stereo and we talked about you and Roger. Usually guys aren't so in to girl talk, but it wasn't girl talk, not really. You were telling me all things you would do for him, all the things you tolerated and sure, I didn't get his side of the story, but I remember being pretty bewildered at just what a girl is capable of doing when she loves a guy. I didn't realize that's what girlfriends did. After all, the only girlfriend I'd ever had had been Brienne, back in high school, who was a total bitch to begin with and besides, high school girlfriends...well they just don't count.
You asked me: "Have you ever cheated on a girl?"
And I told you: "No. I've slept with multiple girls at the same time, but I've never cheated."
And you said: "So you're a man-whore?"
Which was about the time I realized that yeah, I was a man-whore.Twelve girls in two years. A year and a half, actually, since I was with Brienne for six months. And I can't say that it didn't upset me a little, realizing what I was.
So I told you: "Yeah. I guess I kind of am."
And you replied: "Well, Brody, at least you admit it."
We hung out all the time after that; between class, after class, and during class if we had one together. People always thought we were dating, and we would say, "Nope, just fucking!" Which wasn't true. At least for a while.
Things do change after you have sex with a friend. We never should have done it. It was never the same. We got through three months of strictly platonic interaction and then we had to plant a little tequila in to the equation and that's all she wrote. We still talked, still hung out, but it was awkward. Well, no, maybe no awkward, but there was just...this weight that seemed to hover above our heads, pressing down on us. The weight of the mistake we made, the mistake the ultimately cost us our friendship.
God, I wish it had never happened. Even though it was great - wow, it was great, and that's not just the tequila talkin' - it wasn't worth losing what we had before the sex. I'm so sorry I let it happen. I'm just so damn sorry. I hope you're okay.
? - If April had known about you, it would have only reinforced her point that I'm a man-whore. But after a week of April not returning my calls, I figured I was in the clear.
You were older than me, maybe in your early thirties. You were...grateful, shall we say? Very giving. Very responsive. You were just what I needed; anonymous sex in the backseat of my beat up El Dorado under a lamp post in the parking lot of Stuckey's Bar. And I got the feeling that I was just what you needed to. I hope you didn't feel dirty or slutty later. I didn't.
Bianca - You rotten little bitch. I hate you. I HATE YOU.
Hey yeah, you know what, I did tell everyone that you dropped your panties the first night we ever went out. And yep, I sure did call you a whore. And I absolutely let people know that you don't know the first thing about giving a blow job.
See the problem is that all of that, everything I said, was true. What you told everyone...oh, man, you looney bitch. Yeah, I raped you. That's what you said. Even though you knew Tae Kwan Do and could probably kick the living shit out of me, I was totally able to take you down and forcibly have sex with you. You lying slut.
What's the problem? Were you mad because I said all of those awful (but true) things about you? Were you pissed because I didn't call you again because what guy in his right mind would call a chick who put out on the first date? So that's how you get back at me? You get me charged with a fuckin' felony?
But of course you dropped the charges after this guy and that guy came out of the woodwork, saying you'd pulled the same shit on them. I just happened to be the only one you pressed charges against, but what about the other guys? Did you blackmail them or what? Is this funny to you? Calling a guy a rapist is one of the sickest, most demented things you can do, particularly when the guy isn't a fucking rapist!
I had to leave the damn school because of you. It didn't matter if pretty much everyone knew you were lying. You completely tarnished my reputation, and I was doing an okay job tarnishing it myself, thanks. God, you disgust me. If I ever see you walking down the sidewalk while I'm driving, I swear to Christ I'm going to hit you with my car.
TOMORROW: College, 1992-1994
1988-1990
There have been many of you. More than I have ever admitted, whether it was to one of you or even to myself. I am not sure why. There are many of you that would like to call me "the typical man" and I suppose that's true. I am the guy your mother warned you about and all that jazz. Handsome, smooth-talking, a real charmer. I'm Satan in a designer suit. I break hearts and take names. Guess you should have listened to mother, huh doll?
Have I always been this way? ...Yes. Yes, I have. Did I always enjoy it? ...Yes. Usually I did. I enjoyed using you, almost every last one of you. Instant gratification, that's my game. And you played it ladies. You had to have known. Most of you weren't stupid. Why would you believe me when I said I'd call? Why would you think I wanted anything more from you but a blow job in the bathroom or a quick fuck in the backseat of my car?
If it's any consolation, I'm sorry. Most of you really do deserve an apology. Most of you will never really get one, since most of you have either forgotten me or hate me, which really is all right with this guy. But I'm doing this is for me, really, to make me feel better. Because I'm selfish, when it comes right down to it. I'm selfish, and that's something I've never denied. I am sorry for it though.
So...we might as well start at the beginning...
Danielle - You were my first. I didn't want to sleep with you. I wanted to sleep with your sister. She was fifteen. I was sixteen. You were seventeen. You weren't slutty or anything like that. You had slept with two guys, and they were both boyfriends. They were jock types, not like me. I don't even know why you took an interest in me the way you did, what with not being slutty and only liking jock guys. I guess you didn't know that I liked your sister.
I slept with you because I wanted the experience. So I could rock your sister's world, actually. I figured you would be good practice, since you'd already had sex. The only thing I neglected to consider was the fact that if I was trying to nail your sister, I was going to have to see you. I also didn't count on you telling your sister that we had sex. That really threw a wrench in to the works.
Looking back though, you were pretty good for a chick with hardly any notches in her belt. I was your third, unless you were lying, and I've been with girls since you that have been with five times that many guys that were pretty bad comparatively. I'm sure you've made some mediocre guy very happy, because I think that's all you felt you deserved was mediocre. I'm sorry you feel that way. I'm also sorry that it's kind of true.
Heather - It was really hard convincing you that I hadn't slept with Danielle. I'm still not sure how I managed to do it. Maybe it was because you were dumber than your sister. But you were prettier, and that's saying a lot because Danielle was pretty damn good-looking. You had the best shoulders, the most graceful neck and these fantastic green eyes. You told me you were a virgin, but you were lying. I didn't care. I had lied to you about sleeping with your sister, so who was I to judge?
In fact, you guys shared a bedroom, so the first place I had sex with you was about five feet away from the first place I had sex with your sister. I kept thinking about that the whole time we were doing it; I kept glancing over there and seeing me on top of Danielle. I sometimes wonder if you noticed, but not often.
We had sex one other time, in the bathroom at school. I stopped calling you. I stopped taking your calls. I avoided you at school, and I avoided your sister, too. Then I started dating a girl that I knew you hated. I'm sorry. That was pretty harsh, even if you were sort of dumb.
Brienne - You're a bitch. I think that's what I liked most about you then and what I hate most about you now.
I took me almost three months to get you in bed. That's the longest I've ever spent trying to get a girl naked. I don't know what it was about you, but I was determined to conquer you. And I was certain that once I had, I'd be on my merry way. Not true. You were amazing. A real natural. We had sex every day, whenever, wherever, however. You weren't picky. You were worth the wait. To this day, you're still one of the best I ever had.
At the time, I thought I loved you and I got really caught up in that. But I didn't love you. Not a bit. I loved your voice and your face and your body and your smile and your laugh. But I didn't love you, who you were. Because when it came down to it, you weren't a nice girl. You were the girl that the other girls at school were scared of because you'd ridicule them for any little old thing that came to mind. You were the girl who laughed right in a guy's face if he tried to talk to you. You were...a bitch. Just like I said.
You didn't even break up with me. You just showed up at homecoming with another guy. I was angry. I called you a whore in front of damn near the entire school, I screamed it at you. You just looked at me and laughed and turned away. You laughed. You weren't embarrassed or ashamed or anything. It was all funny to you.
Damn, you're good.
Lori - What can I say about you that hasn't already been said about French prostitutes? You were a skank to the nth degree. Your skankiness is equal to none. I know this because the first time I went to your apartment, there was a guy coming out of it. I watched from my car. A guy knows the look of another guy who's just gotten his rocks off, and that dude looked like a pretty satisfied customer.
I should have just started the engine and gone home, but I didn't. The fact of the matter was I had just been humiliated by my girlfriend in front of the whole school. I needed to vent. I went from getting hot sex with a beautiful girl every day to nada. I met you at the bowling alley three days after homecoming, and it was easy (just like you) because my friend already knew you. I guess he'd never slept with you - surprising, I know - or I'm sure he would have warned me about pursuing you.
Not only were you my first skank, but you were my first redhead, too. My dad once told me redheads are wild in bed. He was right. You were wild. Wildly boring. I don't know if you thought that because you were so pretty in the face and you had the body of a porn star that it was cool for you to just lay there emitting short, cigarette-scented puffs of air and occasionally spasming like a cat dying on the sidewalk, but that's about how it was. I got off as soon as I could, got dressed, and left. I don't think I even said goodbye to you.
I'm not sorry that you're so slutty. I'm sorry that you're not very good at it.
Judith - Oh, man, Judy Blue Eyes, what the hell were we thinking?
I just wanted to tell Christian about Lori. I drove over there as soon as I left her house. That's what Chris and I did, you know? We slept with a girl - we called it notching, you know, like a belt - and then we told each other about it over a couple of his dad's beers. But he wasn't home. You were, though. Your car was parked in the garage, and the garage door was down, so I didn't know.
I guess I probably should have knocked, but I've been friends with Christian since we were twelve. We pretty much never knocked anymore. I saw you on the couch, crying. You were very lady like, sitting straight up with a tissue clutched in your fingers and held to your face. But man, that was awkward. I had always liked you, thought you were really pretty in an elegant, refined way. You had the most enchanting blue eyes I had ever seen. It was hard to look at you sometimes, they were so pretty. But now you were crying and I didn't know what the hell to do.
I asked if you wanted me to go and you said no, to come sit down. I did. I put my arm around you. It was only supposed to be a comforting gesture, but Jesus, did you smell nice. I'm not sure exactly what transpired from there, but soon we were making out on the couch. Then we were upstairs. In your bed.
I never did find out what had made you cry that day, but I'm pretty sure it had something to do with your divorce from Christian's father a couple months later. Christian never found out what happened and neither did your (ex)husband. Pretty lucky since we carried on for a few weeks. I don't know how we pulled it off, but I'm glad we did. I think maybe if I had been forty-four or you had been seventeen, we could have had a real good thing. Maybe we couldn't have had forever, but I think we could have made each other happy. I think maybe you could have been my first love. But you weren't, and I can't say that a part of me isn't sort of sad about it.
Your funeral was really hard. You were so young, just a couple years shy of sixty. Christian was really torn up, losing his mom so suddenly like that. He couldn't finish the eulogy, so I had to do it for him. I hope I did all right.
Also, I miss you. I really do.
Melanie - I'm not sure how you got the idea that we were together, especially when I told you from the get go that I was sleeping with a married lady (whose name I never disclosed, of course) before we even slept together. You slept with me anyway. And after we slept together, I didn't give you any impression that I was committed to you at all, in any way. I made sure you knew I wasn't. You know, by not calling you when I said I would, by never taking you out on dates, by going to the same party as you and making out with one of your friends while you were standing right across the room. But you still acted like a fucking lunatic.
Come on, twelve phone messages? Twelve?! Little notes on my windshield? Pinned to my front door? Tricking me in to going to lunch with your Bible-thumping parents? Telling me you're in love with me in the middle of sex? Jesus, woman. You take the crazy cake.
Look, you're cute as hell, okay? You are the epitome of cheerleader - petite, perky, and flexible. You're also crackers. Do you understand me? You are insane. And the only thing impressive about your sexual prowess was your ability to get both legs behind your head. Other than that, you're pretty run of the mill.
Seek. Therapy.
Robin - When we had sex, I didn't actually know your name. We were dancing at a party and eventually we ended up dancing our way in to the bathroom. You were very aggressive, and that made it even hotter. It was all over in ten minutes, but it was still good. At least for me.
My friend Matt asked where I was and I told him. He made me point you out, and that's when he laughed and told me your name. Apparently you've done that at a lot of parties. You'd gotten him last summer at a 4th of July barbecue. You also got Christian over Christmas break while he was outside smoking a cigarette at some other party that I wasn't at. He had told me about that, actually, and he hadn't known your name either.
So, uh, thank you, I guess, for being so friendly. And for always wearing skirts.
Christa - You tried really hard. Too hard, I think, and I guess that's why it never went any further than sex. You weren't very pretty, but you weren't ugly. It was that you tried so hard to be pretty, you tried so hard to be funny, you tried so hard to win me over. It was annoying. And even though I really appreciate all the oral sex, it never made me want to be your boyfriend regardless of the fact that you were spectacularly good at it. You weren't bad in bed either, now that I think about it. You were better than your friend Maegan, I'll give you that much.
I don't really feel too bad about you catching me with Maegan, though. After that happened, you finally left me alone. Of course, Maegan stopped talking to me, too, once she found out I'd been sleeping with the both of you, and that was a shame. She wasn't as good in bed as you, but she was a hell of a lot better looking and I think with a little work, she could have gotten better.
Maegan - You know, the saddest part about the whole situation was that I was actually starting to dig you. You were so damn smart; you were just sixteen and about to start college in the fall, and crazy pretty. You had a face like sunshine. You were a little thick in the middle, but I liked that, actually, and your legs were long and slender. Also, you were the funniest girl I've ever met. You could make me laugh and it always seemed so easy, like you just knew exactly what to say. But you were so timid in bed. Your whole body was tense and you didn't make a sound, just took sweet sharp breaths and exhaled gentle sighs. You were never on top; I think the thought of it probably scared the hell out of you.
I wish I would have told you about Christa. I was going to quit sleeping with her...well, no, I guess I wasn't. Because she was better than you. And until you were better than her, I probably wouldn't have stopped sleeping with her. And if it wasn't her, it would have been another girl who was better in bed than you.
But for what it's worth, I actually cared about you. You never saw because you kept your eyes closed, but I always looked at you at the whole time. I always wanted to see your face. And I never wanted to leave right after it was over like I did with other girls. Other girls like Christa. I think I might have even loved you a little, but I didn't even realize it till I was running out your front door with my pants clutched in my hand.
Sophia - There's a reason people go to Miami after high school graduation, and you're it. There's a reason people say Latin lovers are the best lovers, and you're it. Holy mother of God, you truly are a blessing upon the eyes and groins of men everywhere. Your hair was ruffled black satin and it smelled of papayas and sea salt. Your skin was the same color as the Kentucky bourbon you poured in my glass and your lips were little pink seashells, asking me where I was from, was I having fun, everything but 'can I see your ID?' You moved with all the exquisite grace of a Juliard ballerina, gliding across the sun-soaked sand as the breeze toyed with the delicate wisp of pink printed fabric you had tied about your waist, sometimes blowing it to one side to reveal the profile of a curved and sleek caramel calf and a smooth, round knee.
I bet you didn't know a white boy could dance like that, did you? Pure luck. My mom's brother married a Cuban girl, my Aunt Therese, and she made sure I knew how. She told me it was important that a young man know how to dance with a woman, because women like a man who isn't afraid to move to the music. I asked you if you wanted to salsa, and you looked at me like I was crazy but you were smiling all the same. You nodded and gave me your hand, and I didn't let go of it until I got back on the plane a week later.
I won't even recount the things we did here. They're some of my sweetest memories. For one whole summer I had a girl who was a friend and a lover and who expected nothing more, and to discuss openly that brief romance would only soil it. I could not keep you for myself, Sophia, but I can keep your memory as mine and mine alone.
College: Broadening Your Horizons
1990-1992
Charlie - I think I slept with you because you reminded me a little of Sophia. Because you were tan and your hair was curly and dark and in a certain light you kind of looked Cuban. You were my first college girl, but other than that there really wasn't anything else about the whole experience that was memorable. We were partners for some project in our intro psych class; we were in your dorm room trying to get work done, and then we doing each other on your roommate's bed.
We had sex for the next couple weeks - until the project was due, I mean. And that was it. Actually, that was kind of cool of you. Thanks.
Elise - Holy shit, you were weird. Not crazy, but weird. You were in to all that pagan, incense burning, Earth worshipping, holistic medicine, astrology crap. You said we were drawn together because I'm an Aries and you're a Leo. You said we'd have fiery, passionate sex. It would be an explosion of rapture and pleasure.
You were wrong.
Toni - You were twenty-one and used to buy alcohol for all the underage kids in the dorms. I always thought you were an okay chick, pretty face, nice little body. We slept together one night after you'd bought what must have amounted to a trough of Jaeger. We didn't use a condom. Not smart. I talked to a friend of mine later and he told me you'd been passed around the dorms more than a final exam answer sheet. Apparently that's your game - get the freshmen and sophomores drunk, then have sex with them. Nice. Wish I'd thought of that one.
I got myself tested and it came back clean. I seriously hope that at some point, you did the same.
Francesca - Your name always reminded me of soda, like Fresca, but I'm sure you've heard that a thousand times. You were bubbly like soda, too - don't know how often you've heard that. I guess I probably took advantage of you a little. You were at a party that your friends had dragged you to, and one of your friends was dating a friend of mine. You got drunker than you should have...way drunker. But hey, at least after a few shots you finally started to seem like you were having a good time.
A group of us were on the front lawn of this guy's house. Your friend and my friend went off somewhere, then your other friend went to go say hi to some chick she'd gone to high school with. It was just me and you and after a few minutes of semi-awkward conversation (so what's your major? you from here? any siblings?) you asked me if I wanted to go make out in your car.
Well of course I did! You were cute and you were drunk enough that I knew I could probably nail you if I played my cards right. Looks like I played them right. You did all the work; all I had to do, really, was just kick back in the passenger seat.
I still feel a little bad about it though. I saw you on campus a few times after that and at other social events. You never said hello, and what's more, you always looked away. Which tells me you're a little ashamed of what you did. A part of me wants to tell you there's nothing to be ashamed of, these things happen in college, guys do it all the time (guys like me, for instance), no big deal. Another part of me wants to say, "Well no shit, Shirley. Maybe next time you should learn when to stop accepting shots so you don't give it up to some guy whose name you may or may not remember."
So I'll say this - don't feel bad if you can't remember my name. The only reason I remembered yours is because of the soda.
April - You. Are. AWESOME. The world is a better place because of girls like you. You were the most honest, upfront person I've ever met. The first time I saw you is a story I tell everybody. We were at a coffee shop, one of those cramped, dimly lit ones with tables on the sidewalk for the smokers. We were smokers. You were with a guy and I was alone, reading some local publication. Then you shot up out of your chair and said, "You sorry son of a bitch!"
I'd had that very same phrase, or something close to it, shouted at me plenty of times by this point in my life, so I looked up, thinking perhaps you were talking to me. Actually, you were talking to the guy you were with.
He said: "April, you're causing a scene."
You said: "You're damn right I'm causing a scene! You're a real shit, Roger, a shit of the highest order."
To which he replied: "April, please, would you just-"
At which point you interrupted with: "Fuck you! Fuck you! I'll tell you what, I'm gonna grab some miscellaneous guy, take him back to my apartment, and hump his brains out. How does that sound, Rog? How's that make you feel?"
This is where I came in. You took a quick look around and your eyes landed on me.
You said: "You. Come here."
I said: "Me?"
You said, rather curtly: "Yes, you. We're going back to my apartment and we're going to have sex."
Roger interjected: "April, this is ridiculous. You don't even-"
And you told him: "Shut up, Roger. Your opinion was not solicited."
At this point, I was on my feet but still unsure of what to do. Roger looked kind of small; I was pretty sure I could take him, but I really wasn't trying to kick some guy's ass in front of God and everybody. But you had walked away from the table and were on your way over to me. Roger attempted to call you back once more, but to no avail. You grabbed me by the arm and we were on the way to your car.
Of course we didn't have sex. I went back to your apartment with you, though. I meant to thank you for not crying, but I never got around to it. So thank you for not crying, because that would have made the whole situation weirder than it already was. But you know, thinking back on it, I guess it wasn't that weird. We sat on your couch and you played Coltraine on the stereo and we talked about you and Roger. Usually guys aren't so in to girl talk, but it wasn't girl talk, not really. You were telling me all things you would do for him, all the things you tolerated and sure, I didn't get his side of the story, but I remember being pretty bewildered at just what a girl is capable of doing when she loves a guy. I didn't realize that's what girlfriends did. After all, the only girlfriend I'd ever had had been Brienne, back in high school, who was a total bitch to begin with and besides, high school girlfriends...well they just don't count.
You asked me: "Have you ever cheated on a girl?"
And I told you: "No. I've slept with multiple girls at the same time, but I've never cheated."
And you said: "So you're a man-whore?"
Which was about the time I realized that yeah, I was a man-whore.Twelve girls in two years. A year and a half, actually, since I was with Brienne for six months. And I can't say that it didn't upset me a little, realizing what I was.
So I told you: "Yeah. I guess I kind of am."
And you replied: "Well, Brody, at least you admit it."
We hung out all the time after that; between class, after class, and during class if we had one together. People always thought we were dating, and we would say, "Nope, just fucking!" Which wasn't true. At least for a while.
Things do change after you have sex with a friend. We never should have done it. It was never the same. We got through three months of strictly platonic interaction and then we had to plant a little tequila in to the equation and that's all she wrote. We still talked, still hung out, but it was awkward. Well, no, maybe no awkward, but there was just...this weight that seemed to hover above our heads, pressing down on us. The weight of the mistake we made, the mistake the ultimately cost us our friendship.
God, I wish it had never happened. Even though it was great - wow, it was great, and that's not just the tequila talkin' - it wasn't worth losing what we had before the sex. I'm so sorry I let it happen. I'm just so damn sorry. I hope you're okay.
? - If April had known about you, it would have only reinforced her point that I'm a man-whore. But after a week of April not returning my calls, I figured I was in the clear.
You were older than me, maybe in your early thirties. You were...grateful, shall we say? Very giving. Very responsive. You were just what I needed; anonymous sex in the backseat of my beat up El Dorado under a lamp post in the parking lot of Stuckey's Bar. And I got the feeling that I was just what you needed to. I hope you didn't feel dirty or slutty later. I didn't.
Bianca - You rotten little bitch. I hate you. I HATE YOU.
Hey yeah, you know what, I did tell everyone that you dropped your panties the first night we ever went out. And yep, I sure did call you a whore. And I absolutely let people know that you don't know the first thing about giving a blow job.
See the problem is that all of that, everything I said, was true. What you told everyone...oh, man, you looney bitch. Yeah, I raped you. That's what you said. Even though you knew Tae Kwan Do and could probably kick the living shit out of me, I was totally able to take you down and forcibly have sex with you. You lying slut.
What's the problem? Were you mad because I said all of those awful (but true) things about you? Were you pissed because I didn't call you again because what guy in his right mind would call a chick who put out on the first date? So that's how you get back at me? You get me charged with a fuckin' felony?
But of course you dropped the charges after this guy and that guy came out of the woodwork, saying you'd pulled the same shit on them. I just happened to be the only one you pressed charges against, but what about the other guys? Did you blackmail them or what? Is this funny to you? Calling a guy a rapist is one of the sickest, most demented things you can do, particularly when the guy isn't a fucking rapist!
I had to leave the damn school because of you. It didn't matter if pretty much everyone knew you were lying. You completely tarnished my reputation, and I was doing an okay job tarnishing it myself, thanks. God, you disgust me. If I ever see you walking down the sidewalk while I'm driving, I swear to Christ I'm going to hit you with my car.
TOMORROW: College, 1992-1994