The girl with enormous breasts whose parents were hippies: When I first slept with Blossom, she told me that sex was the best drug, the “highest high.” She would move up and down on me, making wild animal noises, as I lie on my back. Then she’d laugh unselfconsciously and raise her arms up like she was worshipping some wacky moon goddess. She smelled like cinnamon and said things like, “When you cum, it’s like you’re painting my soul.” And I would try to match her with my own woo-woo hoo-ha: “Your tits are like beautiful planets that I want to explore and write poems about…your pussy is the most delicious pomegranate.”        

The just-divorced girl with an exotic accent: I wasn’t really sure where she was from (maybe Australia, maybe Oklahoma) but the sound of her voice made me hard in my pants, even when she was talking about how her and her ex-husband had sex every day for nine years. Sometimes more than once. Before she moved “back home” (wherever that was) she spent her last night in town at my place. She called me by her ex’s name a few times but didn’t apologize (she had downed the last of my liquor). She wanted me to speak Spanish to her but I didn’t know any. She told me a few key phrases (Se siente rico: “That feels good.” Te voy a echar de menos: “I am going to miss you.” Ajustado culo: “Tight ass.”)  I wanted to impress her but I was saying the words wrong and then I ejaculated too soon. “I’m sorry,” I told her. “That wasn’t my best,” I felt like an athlete who just choked in a winnable game. “It’s was good,” she said. “You fucked me good.” We were drunk and falling asleep but I felt bad. “You’re just saying that,” I said.

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