College Boy

The town of San Felipe was packed. We headed straight for the Miramar Bar. It goes without saying that we were all quite inebriated. That being the case, there was no point in stopping now, so we continued adding to our buzz and hit a few more bars. I wound up in the back of a truck with a girl named Fawn. We went to high school together. She said she was down here with some friends. She cuddled up next to me as the truck drove to goodness knows where. Who cares? “Denny,” Fawn confided, “I had the biggest crush on you in high school.” “Really?” “Really.” “But then you wised up, and got over it, right?” She thrust her tongue into my mouth. Maybe she didn’t. We smooched away in the back of the truck until we arrived at our destination. I had no idea where we were. We waltzed into the bar, where a packed house was listening to Samba music. For some reason, no one was dancing. Fawn took her leave to find the bano. I moved my head in time to the music. I was now tapping my foot, really getting into it. I don’t know why, but soon the entire bar was egging me on to dance, sort of cheering me on to shake a leg. How could I refuse? I kicked the sandals off my feet, and shuffled to the center of what was now the dance floor, of which I was currently the sole occupant. Everyone was clapping their hands and encouraging me to get down and groove out (something like that. Guess I ain’t real hip to the fab new lingo). Suddenly, I had company. A three hundred pound mamacita joined me on the dance floor, and was with me face to face shaking it like that Latina sexpot Charo, or some kind of Mexican hula dancer. The crowd went wild, and when the song stopped, they burst into applause. I was now a Mexican rock star! Fawn emerged from the lavatory to my new found fame. She threw her arms around me, and we kissed. I’ll have to admit, I used to think she was a kind of skinny Olive Oyl-type in high school, and too shy for me to be comfortable around. But she looked good now. And she wasn’t acting shy. Never underestimate the merits of alcohol and intoxication. I don’t remember much of what happened next. Subsequently, we somehow made it back to my tent, and were naked. Fawn had her arms wrapped around me. I wasn’t minding this. She was asleep (if that’s the word). It was obvious that we had made the beast with two backs. I was really enjoying this trip. But there were more salient matters at hand. My bladder was in dire need of depletion. Therefore, I stood erect, put on my shorts, and left the comfort of the tent to brave the elements, and take a piss. “Fawn!” a drunken voice of anguish cried out. Again. And again. And yet again. I reentered the tent, and gave Fawn a nudge. “Hey Fawn, someone’s calling for you.” She heard the bellowing of this fellow akin to Stanley Kowalski in “A Streetcar Named Desire.” “Oh shit, that’s Reeve!” “Who’s Reeve?” “My boyfriend.” Boyfriend? Oh shit, indeed. My code had been compromised. I didn’t couple with women who were spoken for. I didn’t know she had a boyfriend. This guy is going to want to kill me. And he’s drunker than hell (which could be a plus on my side). Think he’ll listen to reason? Doubt it. I was curious. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?” “You didn’t ask,” she replied as she got dressed. “Besides, we had a fight.”