How to be a Freshman Horndog: Janis Part 1

[tomjones88]

Let me tell you about Janis. But first, let me tell you quickly about legs.

I’ve always had a thing for legs. When I was twelve years old, not long before losing my V-card, finally, I remember flipping through my Dad’s Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. He wasn’t around at the time to beat me for looking through his shit. He was in prison. So the magazine was all mine.

The model who stuck out to me the most was this one woman with curly long hair somewhere in that uncertain region between blonde and brown, wearing a multicolored ethnic-Islander tinged swimsuit and sitting on the sand as the surf came in, her expression jaded. All their expressions were jaded. My de-facto facial expression was jaded, too, and this worried my teachers. It made me feel pretty mature when I looked at these much-older models, though.

The best part about this model was her smooth, tanned legs. They were thick but not too thick and there wasn’t a vein to be seen. A crease was visible in her skin at the point where leg, thigh and waist all met. The Three Corners. One of her hands dangled in between her legs.

I could tell from looking at that picture, even at the age of twelve, exactly what information was being conveyed. It was that the best way to make a woman yours was with your tongue. If her thighs were around your head and her hand was set between her legs, touching your head, then she was yours.

So six years later, here I was, at a house party during my first weekend at school. I watched the partygoers exiting the party.

I sat on a bench with Jason. Jason and I had made friends after both of us were caught by campus police biking around completely blitzed. We sat side by side in the campus police office waiting for the lazy jelly rolls to call us in and dole out our punishment, letting our highs wear off. Jason had a tattoo running all the way down one arm. He was jacked; I was this lanky fucker who had kicked the shit out of a couple bigger guys in juve, but would never mess with someone who looked like Jason.

He’d eventually turned to me, extended a hand and said, “Jason.”
I said, “Dennis.” We shook hands.
A cop walked past us, ignoring us, not ignoring his latte.
“These cops are pussies,” said Jason.
The cop stopped, wheeled around, looked at Jason and moved on.
So yeah, I liked Jason immediately.
We sat on the bench and drank a PBR each and Jason wore his baseball cap backwards. My hair was bleached and I’d put my earring back in but the backwards baseball cap thing didn’t work on any girls older than fourteen and I wasn’t a pederast. I don’t think Jason was either. I think he was Asexual.
And all the girls at this party were eighteen, nineteen. Nobody was twenty-one. It was one of those parties and I was glad I’d chosen one of those schools. My dick stirred a little whenever I saw a girl walk past in cutoff jeans with patterned black leggings, or if a stray bra strap glistened in the lights on the porches or the headlights of illegally-driven cars. But nothing that made me really want to go for any of them.
Jason burped.
“I’m gonna flunk that test tomorrow,” he said.
I didn’t know what he was talking about or care.
“I’m gonna keep drinking tomorrow,” I said.
That was when she walked out the screen door.

Janis had red hair falling down to her shoulders, freckles that you could have spotted a mile away underwater at night, green eyes, lip gloss that was slightly smeared on her lips that were smiling at some joke inside the door. She wore a white buttoned-up school shirt worn at Catholic schools. I know this because she also wore a green plaid skirt. Her legs were bare and as she walked she exposed the ideal legs; thick white thighs curving down in to a smooth leg that arched inward still further in to gaunt lower legs.

She walked with two female friends. They both stumbled and Janis somehow helped them both stay steady while laughing at them. She was tipsy but not drunk. I guessed her as Irish by ancestry and pegged her alcohol tolerance as too tolerant. Like mine. I wanted her legs wrapped around me. If they weren’t wrapped around me by the end of that night, I’d have to flip out and masturbate all over the Dean of Student’s desk.

I stood up.
“Mrs. O’ Brien!” I called. She kept walking. “Woman with the Irish-ness everywhere!”
She paused. She turned. Her friends turned. Half of Janis’ face said that she was relieved to be referred to as a woman, finally. The other half of her face said that she wasn’t sure if she deserved it. This was perfect. The mentality was ideal.
“That’s not her name…” one of her drunk friends said, because Janis hadn’t yet.
I was approaching her.
“Yeah that’s not my…name,” said Janis.
I got close to her.
I looked in to her eyes. Janis didn’t move back, she just did something with her head where her eyes were angled slightly down and her chin couched halfway down to her collarbone. Oh yeah, and her eyes were blue. Blue!
“What is your name then?” I asked.
“Janis…” she said.
I shook her hand.
“Batman,” I said.
Janis’ friends mumbled something about me being a loser and one of them tugged at Janis’ shirt. Janis giggled at my pop culture savvy, overpowering them.
“Um, okay,” she said.
“Do you prefer martinis or sex on the beach?” I asked.
She didn’t answer at first.
“Uh, what is that, a drink?”
I took a half step closer.
“A position,” I said. “A position in which one can drink. Amongst other things.”
She was mystified but intrigued. Her friends had backed off and were halted, waiting for her, but they seemed almost a mile away.
“Alcohol pong,” I said. “Not beer pong. Alcohol pong. We’re playing it. Now.”
I began to walk away. This had not been an actual plan. Not until now. But it would happen.

The game of alcohol pong involved myself, Janis, Jason, and even one of Janis’ uptight friends, loosened up by the vodka and the feeling in the air, which I couldn’t feel myself, making me the loosest of them all. We played on a makeshift table set up outside in the nearly abandoned parking lot of Janis and her friend’s dorm. The friend and Jason ended up going off somewhere hand in hand; great for Jason. Janis kept trying to perfect her throw and get the ping pong ball in to a cup and kept failing. I repositioned her hand. She tossed. She made it. She made a gasp of joy. It wasn’t the last gasp I would hear from her.
She turned to me mid gasp and I kissed her.

Minutes later, we made out against the brick wall of her dorm building, the breeze blowing. I kept moving a hand down in to Janis’ skirt and she kept pulling it away. This did not mean that she didn’t want me to stick my hand down her skirt, exactly. It meant that she thought she shouldn’t want me to.
I said this to her:
“You think you shouldn’t want me to,” I said and kissed her. “But you want me to.”
Janis squinted for a moment. But she got it. She looked down.
“I um…I want to see you again. That’s all.”
I pulled away from her somewhat, my hands resting on her shoulders, one finger on each hand resting on the ridge of her bra strap. Her eyeliner made a shadow on her face. She looked in to my eyes.
“Me too,” I said. “I’ve never felt the same way kissing another girl.”
I brushed a lock of her hair from her cheek.
I repeated, “I really haven’t.”
Janis thought about how to phrase her next question.
“Are you…dangerous?” she said.
I looked at her strangely. She looked away. She giggled. I laughed. We both started laughing loudly.
“Sorry,” she said. “Sorry, that was awkward.”
She leaned in and kissed me and stuck her tongue in to my mouth and I stuck my tongue against her’s.

That night I went home with her number. I looked up the local escort service I’d found online. I checked the balance on the credit card my Dad had given me months before. There was plenty. I called the service. I arranged to meet a girl downtown at the Meredith Inn. My drunk was wearing off so I smoked the rest of my pot and walked downtown in the dark. I met this woman who called herself Jolene and who was probably about thirty years old an hour later and whose face already sagged but her makeup made her look all right. She rode me on the low, skeevy bed in room 103 and I ground my pelvis against her as the sun came up.