The first time I saw Megan was her entrance at our college co-op's move-in party in the fall of '75. All eyes turned to see a tall, beautiful and buxom brunette parting the waves of skinny, gawky, pimply faced future dorm mates who were anxious to take their ill-starred, no-hope and forlorn shots of capturing the attention of the co-ed goddess suddenly in their midst.
And then we saw Dan and all hope was dashed, and no bar of soap in the communal shower would be safe in the coming term.
Megan introduced us to her 6'5", 250-pound boyfriend and explained he was studying at the university across town and played football for their varsity team. It figured he was a linebacker and we could tell he was quickly sizing up the competition in the room and concluding that only my buddy Steve, just slightly shorter and lighter and an athlete in his own right, a goalie for our community college team, might give him any trouble. He'd later learn, as the rest of us already knew, that Steve was gayer than a float in a Rose Bowl parade and was, instead, checking HIM out.
Dan was awesome all on his own. A star for the national university champion University of Toronto Blues and touted for greater things in the pros, he was famed for taking down even bigger behemoths on the field and ending the careers of quarterbacks stupid enough to lose track of ol' number 99. He was quick as fuck too, clocked at 4.5 seconds for a 40-yard dash.
Ironically, it was that speed and brutal attack that led to his downfall in the boudoir. And created a tantalizing opening for your narrator.
Meg moved into my six-student unit and we became fast friends, playing backgammon and watching TV on the 14" black & white Zenith in the lounge, playing the "bob" game which involved downing a shot every time a character addressed Bob Newhart by name on his old sitcom -- you'd be blasted by the third commercial break. She was a scream.
Funnier still, that fall we'd often be treated to the fast and furious bedspring opera emerging from Meg's bedroom next to the kitchen where we'd huddle, pretending to debate the Op/Ed page or do our homework, while Dan exploited a seam in Meg's defence and took her down for a loss. Moments (seconds) later Meg's door would pop open and Dan would bolt for the exit, sometimes saluting the skinny dudes who could only dream of filling his cleats.
The first time that happened Meg emerged and sheepishly addressed her blushing roommates. "Did you hear any of that?" she squeaked with a tight smile and we tried to assure her the flimsy construction materials used to build our student co-op muffled all untoward noise from behind closed doors. But by then we'd all heard Steve's explosive dumps and she knew it wasn't true. She sighed and quietly closed her door.
And there matters stood until that night during the Thanksgiving break when I thought I had the whole joint all to my lonesome with everybody home stuffing themselves with turkey. It was late, I was in my bathrobe and watching CITY-TV's Baby Blue movie, a horrible porno called Naked Up a Tree or something. I heard the lock turning on the hall door and before I could leap off the futon and turn the channel to a some more respectable late-night fare, there was Megan with a big smile on her face.
"What are we watching?" she asked brightly, squinting at the screen in time to see three stewardesses tearing the clothes off some lucky baggage attendant. "Oooooo, you're watching the Baby Blue! Wait, let me get changed!"
I blushed but the next thing I knew she'd gone to her room and came back to join me on the couch in her bathrobe. I don't know whether she was more excited to watch the film or share the big fat doob I had in my hand.
"What are you doing here?" I asked as I passed her the spliff. I loved watching her pucker those lips around it and was certsin sharing it would be the closest I'd get to smooching her.
Megan sucked in an impressive draw and I beheld the swelling of her chest beneath the flimsy terrycloth. "Ah, had a fight with my guy," she rasped while holding in the toke, finally releasing it. I made a note to attempt "shotgunning" later on.
"Problems in paradise?" I asked. "What happened?"
Megan shrugged and the topic just hung there as we watched the unfolding drama on the screen. A pilot was feverishly working his flight stick in the cockpit with two of the stewardesses. I provided running commentary and was rewarded with giggles in between ganja puffs -- it would otherwise be weird watching porn with any of my roommates, let alone one I'd love to get in the cockpit.
Breasts suddenly popped out of a blouse (on the screen) and it was Megan's turn for commentary. "Hell, mine are better than those puppies," she roared and I almost swallowed the roach. She loved my reaction and gave me a playful swat.
Shortly after that the pilot made a belly landing and wound up in the swamp -- my colorful description of Rex Hardbody's demonstration of cunnilingus and Megan was rapt and slack jawed. She turned to me and asked the question.
"Can I ask you something -- as a man?"
I laughed nervously. "Sorry, I don't think I have enough imagination to picture you as a dude."
She rolled her eyes and swatted me again and I loved it.
"You KNOW what I mean!" she cried. "No, I want your opinion on something and I want an honest answer." She pointed at the screen where Trisha Lovelong was screaming in pleasure as Rex was doing his thing. "Why don't men actually like to do that?"
I frowned. "What do you mean? Eating a woman out?"
"YES! That's what I'm talking about. She seems to be having a good time, HE seems to be having a good time, what's up with that?"
I was trying to process her hypothesis and decided to take it in pieces. "First of all," I said, lighting up another joint because this was going to be a long, meaningful talk, "a lot of men absolutely dig pleasuring their ladies in this very special way."
"What, with their mouths? Down there?"
