Doubling my score
Date: 6/16/2017, Categories: Teen, Author: SirSpewalot, Source: LushStories
My junior year in college the first time I was in school started out poorly. I had been repeatedly ill the first two years, one semester with pneumonia and bronchitis, another semester with mono, and a third semester with a recurrence of bronchitis, and my latest set of courses were more than I could handle after my work had suffered so my first two years. Finally I decided I should take some time off to recuperate and earn some money so I could do better on my return and arranged to leave school in mid-November. Socially I had been very reserved while I was there, just busy as hell and worn out, and had managed to have one lover for a few months my second year, which lasted until she graduated, which meant I had had a total of three lovers. A couple of days before I was set to leave, I was walking back to my dorm room from the library--I had spent my two free weeks reading some old mysteries when I wasn’t taking care of travel plans and paperwork. It was a little after noon, and I was relaxing as I digested a small lunch I’d gotten on the way to the library. Someone called my name, and I looked up to see my friend Anna, a hot blonde history major who often had chatted with me, about to enter the door to her entryway. We had met the first time in line when registering for our second semester; she had been just ahead of me in line, and when our eyes met she smiled and said, “Slowest line in town,” and I’d immediately contradicted her, “No, the post office is longer,” and ... after that she seemed to enjoy the fact that I never just went along to get along (or to get in her pants or good graces) when chatting. “So you’re leaving soon,” she said, and I nodded. “Let me give you a goodbye drink,” she said, and I readily agreed. We went up to her room, which I had never been in before, and after she poured each of us a small glass of whiskey (yes, children, that was a more civilized time when 20-year-olds could legally buy liquor), we sat on the couch. She asked me about my travel plans and my future work plans, and then we listened to one of her albums (she already had an excellent jazz collection at age 20; I didn’t appreciate it enough then but envy her now) as we sipped our drinks. When it finished, she went to the record player and asked if I had any requests. “What do you have?” “Come take a look,” she said with a smile and led me by the hand to her albums. We looked through them as she told me about her favorites, and she settled on Hank Mobley’s Workout , which she’d just gotten recently and wanted to play for me since it was so good. She refreshed our drinks and sat down next to me, her left arm against my right, and leaned back with her eyes closed. After the first track, she said, “Mmmm,” and I asked her how she learned about jazz. “My parents.” After a second she added, “My first lover.” Afraid of making a wrong move, I avoided the obvious line of questioning and asked, “And who was his favorite?” She smiled to herself and said, “It was either ...