I had just broken up with my high school/college girlfriend, and I was new on the dating scene. The only problem was, I went to a college roughly the same size as my high school. Once your peers knew you had a busted relationship, you were pretty much off limits to everyone on campus. I don’t understand how that worked, but people who were broken up in college could only date other people who had broken up in college. Everyone else was too selfish, and they didn’t want to be known as the person dating someone’s ex-boyfriend or girlfriend. It was a stupid rule, but it was a rule I was forced to follow, except for two memorable occasions. Ironically, both of those “occasions” ended up dropping out of school due to unexpected pregnancies. It definitely wasn’t me though, I swear. I did the math and everything!

So, what was a guy to do way back in the early ’00s when he couldn’t date anyone who wasn’t a trashy, possibly cheating slut or a pathetic, sensitive loser at his stupid liberal arts college? Answer: The Internet. Someone invited me to join a website called Friendster, and when I say that within hours of signing up for the service I was looking for girls within 100 miles that were single and cute, I really mean within ten minutes. One of the first girls I contacted was a freshman at NYU whose default profile photograph was her dressed as a witch on Halloween. This blond-haired, green-eyed chick was wearing black fishnet stockings and very short-shorts that showed off quite an impeccable ass. For the sake of concealing her identity we’ll call her…Heather. Being a wordsmith as well as a stellar online conversationalist, it didn’t take me long to get on her good side. I kind of chalked up our budding friendship to one that would inevitably lead nowhere. Even though I would call her “cute” or “hot” in messages and e-mails I never really put across the vibe that I wanted to dig her out. In fact, it was she who intimated to me that she wanted to get together, and she even went so far as to imply that she was interested in a little penis-in-vagina-mouth-and-butt action.

I remember going to see Explosions In The Sky in Philadelphia one night, and leaving the show to find several text messages and a missed call from Heather. We hadn’t really made the progression from online to phone chats, so I called her up during the drive home to ask what was up. She said she had a weird dream she couldn’t wait to tell me about. It wasn’t even a dream, she basically just said she was falling asleep in class and thinking about sitting on my lap in Washington Square Park and making out. Lying out of my ass, I told her I was going home to visit my folks the next weekend, and maybe I’d stop by NYU and say hello if she waned. She sounded very excited. Over the next couple of days, she invited me to a party at her dormitory on Thursday night (I had no Friday classes that semester, or any semester of college, until the 2nd semester of my senior year — which totally sucked, by the way) and said I could crash at her place if the night went on too long, and if I wanted to. I told her that sounded like a good plan, and I looked forward to seeing her. You know that expression, “He was eight feet high if he was a foot?” Well, I must have masturbated eight hundred times that week if I did once. I was fresh out of a relationship and prepared for my first attempt at recently-made-single sex. There was no way I was going to disappoint her. I was going to have the strength of four horses and the stamina of four…whatever animal has the best sexual stamina. Well, according to the Internet it’s also horses. So, basically, I was going to fuck her like four horses.

That week couldn’t have gone by any slower. Heather and I talked every day about how good it was going to be to see each other and get to know each other. She kept telling me about these “dreams” she was having, which again weren’t dreams but sexual fantasies disguised as dreams because she was never actually asleep when they came to her. Sure, she displayed a few annoying girl tendencies — she talked at length about some stupid comedy that had just come out on DVD, and she was really into bad Electroclash music — but I didn’t let those trivialities sway my decision to blow her back out. I had my mind made up that she was smoking hot freshman looking to bang, and I wasn’t going to let her shitty taste in films or music stand in my way. The day before I was to drive home, Heather admitted that she was nervous about meeting me because she wanted our first embrace to be really memorable. Unlike a horse, which has great stamina, the thought of her pouncing on me without even getting a good glimpse at my hideous face almost made me cream my pants. I asked where she wanted to meet, hoping she would say, “Just come to my dorm,” but she said “Starbucks.” Okay…not exactly the best location for a truly heartfelt embrace (especially not the Starbucks she chose, which is notorious for being a crummy location frequently visited by people who want to sneak into the bathroom without actually buying anything). You never really see two sort-of strangers meet for the first time in a Starbucks, then shove their tongues down each others throats while dry humping to the frothing sounds of an espresso machine. I’d make a witty joke about froth here, but I can’t think of a funny enough punchline.

I went to sleep the night before I was to meet Heather thinking about my ex-girlfriend, and how good it was going to feel to be the first to get laid after our break-up. Don’t lie, you know that’s always on your mind as soon as you officially end a relationship with someone. The first person to fuck somebody new always “wins” the post-relationship mind game. For the rest of your life, it sticks with you. It’s like…hitting a jackpot on a slot machine, or something. It never fucking happens (except to me in Montreal when I was 19), but it’s something you never forget. Like a slot machine pay out, nutting in some stupid broad when your ex is sitting at home watching TV is an accomplishment that cannot ever be taken away from you. Even if, in the end, it all comes down to luck. It’s an orgasm inside another human being. It’s silently shooting poisoned arrows at a defenseless creature still coping with a recent heartbreak. It’s fucking amazing. I was fully prepared to be fucking amazing, and awaiting an amazing fuck.

But something weird happened.

** Stay tuned for part 2 **

The Beatles – And I Love Her
Kevin Odegard – Wine, Women And Song
Os Mutantes – Anagrama

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