Brie had a habit of pressing her face against my neck during some point usually towards the end of our sessions. But there were also times when she clutched the back of my neck with her hand and suddenly I felt her nose bearing down on my Adam’s apple only about two minutes in, so maybe she was just nervous and didn’t know what to do. There was this one time in my dorm room, during a bout of midday horniness that needed some relief. And this time was sexy as shit because she sat on top of me and I bounced her up and down and felt my thumb digging in to her belly button and watched her moan up at the low hanging light that she could have bonked her head against if she leaned much closer. As if she were practicing modern dance choreography (and she had been a dancer, which she’d given up for studying painting and banging me), she curled her head down so she was looking straight down at my lower belly. And she turned up the volume of her moans as if the hairier part of my stomach made it so much sexier. And she dipped downward and buried her face in my neck, while at the same time, amazingly, reaching back with one hand and grasping my cock to make sure it stayed inside her. This time I was being responsible and wearing a condom. It felt very awkward, but for the next minute or so, I got an inch-away view of her thin, stringy black hair with even one gray hair near the top of her head where it parted. She’d worn her hair in a ponytail when we first met, but that had gone the way of all bad ideas. Her breath felt hot on my neck and her vocals vibrated off my pillow like a surround sound fuck-buddy museum piece. I felt her hand that wasn’t on my cock slither around in to my hair. I peered up over her head to see what the action was like south of the great hill. Her ass bobbed in the air and my dick felt like it could fling out of her at any second. So I scooted down and, in a feat of gymnastics, curled my legs up so they forked between her legs and spread them out on either side and got my old pal more firmly situated in her pussy. I thrusted with more authority and her hand jerked away from my cock. It writhed across her ass and rested at the edge of her crack. I could see my nuts flailing above her ass like two fat kids trying to jump over a wall, but then I started cumming and shut my eyes and put both of my hands around her cheeks. I raised her face so she looked in to mine and at the moment our eyes met she stopped her staccato moans. Her face was flushed and her lips were parted and her eyes were squinted, like they had been shut for the duration of their acquaintance with my neck. The fat of her cheeks was balled up between my thumbs and forefingers. I finished and let my legs fall flat. I didn’t kiss her. I just held her face and we stared at each other, breathing. She bent down and kissed me for a long time. She sat down on the bed, dabbing at her groin with a tissue and got back in to her slip. I rolled off the condom and wrapped it in a couple tissues and threw it away. When we were both fully dressed, we looked at each other again, smiling and she raised her arms in a partial shrug. We really didn’t know what to say. What can you say? “I guess I’ll see you soon?” she said. “Yeah,” I said. “Call me or something.” “Why don’t you give me a call?” A pause. “If I feel like it.” “Bye Dennis.” She walked out the door with her handbag swinging from her shoulder loosely enough that it could have spilled all over the floor. I wanted to be something like an art gangster that past semester (Spring). I hung out with a few other dudes who knew spray painting and we went around campus at night with spray cans, spraying designs on the sides of buildings and in classrooms holding classes we hated. Then a campus cop saw us walking around and one guy, I think Jim (dumbshit), was holding his spray can in plain view. The cop said, “Hey! What are you kids up to?” And I remember saying, “Fuck, let’s run.” And we did and the fat cop hardly bothered to chase us. He yelled some shit and I heard him running, but then he stopped and I heard the crackle of his radio. He said something about these five kids, holding a can of something, etcetera. Nobody came after us, and we all dispersed at the top of Crest Hill and ran back to our dorms. From that point on, we A) tooled on Jim a lot and B) stuck to spraying places downtown, like at the abandoned train tracks under the Orono bridge, and the vacant lot at Sidberry Street. What a name, Sidberry. I picture a sleazy guy named Sid with tattoos and sunglasses smoking a cigarette and dropping trow, but the sleaziest people down there were us, and we smoked joints. I got laid the most of any of us. The other guys were either virgins or had gotten it maybe a couple times. Stevie was once bragging about getting head the previous week, and I whipped out the picture of Janis and he stopped bragging. Nate once asked me if Brie had any hot friends. I was surprised, because I didn’t even remember telling them about Brie. Brie and I would smoke weed and talk about painting and music. Things that we actually had in common. I think she mostly stayed with me because of the sex, which was the same reason I stayed with her (who woulda thunk it?). But sometimes she behaved like an actual girlfriend. Like one evening when we sat on the bench outside the library, after checking out a couple books on Rembrandt that she needed to help her study. She sat on one of my legs and nestled her head against mine. Her other leg hung loosely down the side of the bench and I noticed a tear in her jeans. I put my hand on it and rubbed that spot. I looked out over the campus and saw a number of other girls walking around. Most of them I could probably fuck if I really wanted to. But I didn’t care at that moment. I was glad to be with this artsy, intellectual, slim, dark-haired young woman in my lap. We were fucking in her room. It was very dark and the shades were down. I was on top of her, doing my technique where I moved slowly and caressed her body up and down with each rhythm and, while she lay there thinking how romantic this was, gradually speeding up until it turned in to raw, visceral, panting, thwapping, bed-squeaking sex. We were getting towards that latter part. She was in a breathy mood this evening; her lips curled up showing her teeth, which were parted and made her expression turn from almost angry to disbelieving, to giving in. She arrived at this last expression as my balls starting slapping against her and she craned her neck back and shut her eyes. She made a noise that was a fast paced version of the noise a woman makes when she’s beginning to laugh at the inappropriate joke you made. I grunted long, hardy grunts. I heard the bed scrape against the floor. It was actually moving forward. I was fucking Brie, and her bed. I wonder if the bed liked it. It scraped again, louder, and further forward. She balled a chunk of my hair up in her hand and said, between broken breaths, “Dennis. Dennis. I’m cumming.” She did a full body jerk to her right and the bed groaned against the floor again. It bumped against the wall. Her hand yanked the edge of the mattress and I pressed one hand down on her mattress and propped my body above hers like I was doing a one armed push-up. This allowed my groin to sort of flex so my cock could move about ten times faster. It was an idea I’d gotten at the gym while doing actual push-ups. She started yelping. I cupped one of her legs in my hand and pushed it forward to give myself more room. I trembled from holding myself up. I felt like if I got an aneurysm from fucking a girl this hard it would be totally worth it. She said, “Oh my God.” She took several rapid breaths. “Fuck,” she said. The bed scraped against the wall once more. She ripped the bed sheet off the mattress and flung her arm around my back. My hand swept down her leg in a mutual muscle spasm; her leg jerking forward and my arm surrendering. I collapsed on top of her. My head touched down on her pillow, my eyes pummeled in to her sprawled hair which cracked my vision like a movie screen breaking down before soft blackness. My orgasm felt like it took two minutes. Her exhales were long and loud and sounded like she said ‘Ga’ over and over. She squeezed me twice with her arms and legs and I didn’t want this to end. When I got back to my room, I found a note on the door: MEET US AT THE BACK OF STORM AT 5:30. WE KNOW YOU DON’T HAVE CLASS THEN. WE KNOW YOU WON’T REGRET IT. There I was, at the back of Storm Hall. I didn’t see anybody. I don’t usually smoke, but I was smoking a cigarette then, because I was nervous. I don’t usually get nervous. Only in my dreams. I try (and succeed) to not give a shit about the slightest thing on the outside, and as a catch 22 I have nightmares. This felt like a dream. Two dudes came up to me from the path behind the dumpster. They were carrying textbooks and wearing preppy sweaters, but I felt like I’d seen them both before. One of the guys—the dark haired one—nodded at me, and kept ignoring me. For another few seconds. “Dennis,” said the light haired dude. “What’s up,” I said and dropped my cigarette and stepped on it. “Trey,” he said. I shook his hand. “Brent,” said the dark haired guy. I shook his hand. There was a pause. “Let’s cut to the chase,” said Brent. “We’ve heard stories about you.” “The whole campus has heard stories about you,” said Trey. “Now let’s get real. Some people think you’re disgusting, a weirdo, a horrible person,” Brent said. “But we think you’re just one of us.” “We want to induct you in to Alpha Alpha Sig Fi,” Trey said. “The what?” I said it loudly. “We’re a secret frat,” said Brent.