April 16, 2018:

The first I took home was an absolute angel.

She was so kind to me, in the depths of my first period of age-onset depression. I was not cutting my hair, not shaving, not showering, not changing my dormroom sheets. She'd take me to the big bathtub in the co-ed showers, seduce me tenderly with bubblebath and blowjobs, clean me up, make me whole. Later she'd lead me to the clean sheets in her dormroom bed to seduce me some more. One time she said, "Thank you. I feel less empty now." You can't imagine the generosity in that.

At home my mother was first shocked that this beautiful co-ed was of course spending the night with me in my little single bed. Like we were gonna put her up on the kitchen table or something. Later she liked her very much.

On that first trip we took her car. It was a stick. In the slightly sloping parking lot behind the neighborhood bowling alley she taught me to shift: just how much clutch, now a little more to prevent rolling.

She left school early. It wasn't for her. A big hippie dude with far more hair than me came to collect her. Was he her friend, her boyfriend, her whatthefuck? I had no idea. Only that she was gone, and for a time I was terribly, terribly lonely.