In accordance with her subconscious birthday wishes, I've decided to make the beginnings of my relationship with Courtney -- the Prodigal Babe, Old Faithful -- a matter of public record. The account that follows is the absolute truth as I saw it and I testify under oath that I've altered nothing.
I'd just returned from Nashville -- my home away from home. On the surface, my plans were to give post-secondary education another chance, but really it was supposed to be a way to keep busy. Among the classes for which I'd registered, two seemed most promising: Criminal Justice and Social Problems.
Well, the first just so happened to suck the ass of cow while the second was far more fulfilling. In each, I quickly noticed, was this hot, raven-haired young beauty. A chick who couldn't stop scoping the Christer. Naturally, I returned the favor with a wink and a nod... maybe a couple of licked lips, but that was only the first couple times. She, on the other hand, couldn't keep her dirty thoughts to herself.
For a few weeks, I endured not only the constant staring but a barrage of unsolicited notes passed in class that ran the gamut from "Do you like me, check yes or no" to "Why can't I get just one screw?"
Finally -- when I no longer felt like campus security could protect me -- I stopped her after class and said, "We need to talk." She got excited and tried following me to the bathroom. I had to tell her, "No, I meant later," she gave me puppy dog eyes and I let her come in to listen to me pee.
We made it to the student center -- though I don't know how I survived, having to put up with the hundred different names for the babies she wanted to have -- and took seats outside but not far from the prying eyes of the public.
To my great and utter surprise, she started laughing and continued doing so until she was bent double, tears streaming down both sides of her face. I was stunned. Not a word had passed from my lips and I couldn't see anything nearby that'd be funny -- and certainly nothing THAT funny.
"What're you doing?!" I finally cried in a complete panic.
She calmed down, revved up again, settled it, giggled and straight-faced said, "I'm just shittin' ya, dude."
"Do what?"
"Look, you took yourself so damn seriously and I couldn't help it. I didn't think it'd take so long for you to break, but still. God, that's hilarious."
I was astonished, outraged, flabbergasted, boondoggled even. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, ma'am! You've been coming on to me for weeks now and you think I took MYself seriously? Au contraire, mon soeur!"
Courtney leaned up in her chair caught me dead-red in the eyes, with a hand on my shoulder like some kindly grandfather, she said, "Chris. I was just pulling your leg... but I think you're smart and you can be funny, so I'm going to keep you around. Tomorrow night, 10 o'clock, coffee, Waffle House, Arkwright. Got it? Good. Now I've got to jet, my boyfriend's waiting -- he's got a 15-inch cock and it isn't going to fuck itself, you know."
We met the next night and we've been friends ever since.
Happy birthday again, Courtney and welcome back.
Liberally yours,
Chris "come spandex or hot pants" Horne
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