I’ve always had a thing for legs. When I was around fourteen, I distinctly remember reading a copy of my dad’s Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition and gawking at the smooth, tanned legs of the woman on the cover; her body brightened by her orange swimsuit, her feet curling together in the foreground of the picture on the sand of the beach where she sat. She looked at you with the coy, jaded look women are meant to have in these photos. I wondered if I would ever be this close to a stunning female’s legs in real life and if she would ever look at me like so. Five years later, my buddy Jason and I sat on a porch outside a house party in November, watching the partygoers exit. We were drinking scotch and coke and I was numerous sheets to the wind. Jason burped. “I’m gonna flunk that test tomorrow,” he said. I watched the legs of the girls wandering outside. A few of them stumbled on the doorstep like drunken high-schoolers (which was basically what we still were, as freshmen ages 18 to 19), some of them were helped out by their equally smashed, wonky boyfriends (or guys who wished they were their boyfriends), and others exited smoothly and without any help, thank you. Many wore those tight black silk pants that are a continuing fad among the hip middle class female set. But a surprising number wore skirts"short skirts"although it was a cold night. A girl in a flannel Irish skirt walked out. Her bare legs were thick and curvy at the top and smoothed out in to lean running legs as her lower legs curved in to her feet. She wore black shoes that looked like particularly warm slippers. She wore a backwards Red Sox cap that looked like it didn’t belong to her. I wondered why she was dressed like she was in Boston and had stepped out of line from an Irish marching band. She had red hair and freckles and chatted with two other girls. She seemed more sober than her friends. “Look at the legs on that one,” Jason said. Jason had no tact whatsoever. They probably heard him. But I was surprised someone else cared about legs as much as I did. “Yeah,” I responded. “They’re really something.” In a moment of utter cockiness, I called to the girl in the flannel skirt. “Ms. O’ Brien! What’s your first name?” She and her friends looked toward me, perplexed. “Janis…” she said eventually. “Hi.” I raised my beer. “Great to make your acquaintance, Janis.” “Yeah,” she said, sort of smiling. “Same.” “You ladies get home safe,” I said. I can sound like a dick if I want, like a smooth operator if I want, like a drunk teenager if I want (which is being myself), or like a cop, if I really want. Janis and her friends trotted off to a car at the far end of the driveway and I could tell by the way she walked that I had been all four to her. I knew at that point that somehow, some way, I would bang Janis before the year was up. During most of the fall semester I was pretty diligent about going to classes and studying, I was kind of serious about not smoking as much pot as I had in high school and not getting arrested for it as I had once. But gradually that all went out the window because the school I go to (I'm not going to name it. It's somewhere in the Midwest), is one of the hardest partying institutions in the country. By the end of October I was crashing my bike in to the student lounge because I was drunk and getting written up by the campus cops for playing beer pong outside, in the parking lot, with four other people. I was/am ridiculous. One of the people I played beer pong with that night was none other than Janis. We first hooked up that October night. I felt her boobs and made out with her against the brick wall of Dodson Hall. She had been a Catholic schoolgirl; that explained the uniform. At one point she pulled away and said, “I like you…” “You’re not too bad yourself,” I said. “I don’t know if we’ll ever see each other again, but you’re not too bad.” Maybe three years before, around the time I’d trained myself to stop fearing girls, had been the first time I’d given this line. Janis looked vaguely disappointed after she heard it. Her freckles gleamed out of the darkness in the corner of the building we were scrunched up against and made her look lonely. I kissed her again and said goodnight and left. The next time we met was in December. I saw her in the student lounge after our Economics class and we ended up eating lunch together. She wore a black skirt this time, with thick grey leggings, and silk blue shirt. While mentioning something about how her Mother had cut off all financial support for the rest of the year, she crossed her legs and my lower peripherals detected a ring of skin between her skirt and the leggings. I told her she seemed really different from her Mother and Janis laughed. After a minute of silence"me finishing my ice coffee and chucking it, her throwing out the rest of her sandwich-- she asked if I wanted to take a walk with her. I was like, "Sure." We walked around in the cold over to her dorm and I led her to her door. As soon as we got to her door, she pulled me in and we kissed. Next thing you know, I'm on the top of her bunk bed, naked except for my boxers and she's naked completely. I'm doing a rotating pattern of sucking on the nipples of her tits and I can make out the deep tan lines that mark where her bra stops covering her skin. She ran her fingers through my hair like I'm a fucking pet dog. She cooed and moved her head back and forth, as if nodding. She whispered to me to go down on her. This was something I’d never done. I had an idea of how to; I’d watched pornos. I just thought it was kind of gross. But Janis asked me to and she sounded so fucking sexy saying it I almost came on her leg. I peered upside down between her tits at the ridge of brown pubic hair that was now my tongue’s client. I let my tongue droop out while I moved down her belly-- she had a little bit of pudge coming in around her bellybutton-- and began licking her steep, odorous vagina. I knew that you were supposed to get right in there and also finger her. So I slipped a couple of fingers in after tongue-soloing it for a few minutes. She was mostly shaved aside from the tuft of hair that tangled up on my tongue whenever I licked it over. I felt several stray pubes on the inside of my tongue, so I switched to using only the tip, veering from left to right over her shaved prickles and the bulging pink mass swelling under her folds. She touched the nape of my neck with her fingers occasionally. She squirmed her legs around and every time her thighs brushed against my cheeks and my ears I got a little more of a boner. Janis started making these sounds you’re supposed to make in church. If I spelled it out, it would look like any other female pleasure sound. Let's say it sounded like she'd just realized that Jesus himself was magically eating her pussy. I kept fingering and licking her and her thighs jerked upward inch by inch, rotating her expanding vagina further in to my mouth. At one point her lower body tilted upward enough so that her clit sponged over my nose and my nose bumped in to my fingers, which were circling around inside of her. She caught her breath and kept on with the Jesus noises. She didn’t taste bad. She tasted sour and tangy. Like sex-lemonade. I suddenly realized; "I was born to do this. I love eating pussy. The End."