Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
“Is that good?”
“Well, no, it hasn't been good. But it was good today.”
I'd heard that she divorced the first husband. A year or two later she'd begun dating Randy
Mutton, a slovenly boy who'd ignored those challenges that can get a kid down. Late-bloom-
ing acne and surface shyness only hid the young dynamo inside. She hadn't known Randy in
our college days, though he'd admired her from afar as inaccessible and way too perfect—just
as I had. Randy's heart-thumping crush began the first time he saw Betty on my arm.
But Randy M and Betty B as an item? Wha!
Randy had lived in a fraternity house where I waited tables in exchange for meals. The fra-
ternity's theme of gross humor focused on bodily function. Top rung of the value system there
was anything scatological, disgusting, unfortunate, impolite, indelicate, embarrassing and in
your face. The bathrooms had no walls around the toilets, so the boys farted and shit in traffic,
perhaps to better ditch their inhibitions. Fifteen years before the movie the place was Animal
House. Any given night could trigger the food fight of the Century. The pledges cleaned up,
and the dining room stayed on simmer with many eyes roaming for the first toss or flick.
The place went mum when Betty Boop slipped through the back door to wend her way
through a few tables and whisper in my ear. The boys could not fathom a creature so far
from gross. When she left, one brother speculated that her shit must taste like marshmallows.
Another brother concurred that he would like to suck air through her asshole.
Randy Mutton stared in awe and wonder.
A popular guy in the brotherhood, Randy was known for his generous nature. An event
captured his essence, proving a truth that was, to Randy, self-evident: that pussy is great and
should be shared with friends. That college town was known for its high school girls and their
yen for college boys. I'd seen one such girl around town, shopping with her mother, getting it
right on the dress, the hat, the shoes. Calling her snooty would be unfair, but she would not
look at longhairs in purple vests and bell-bottoms.
I saw Randy one day in the parking lot where I shared an apartment with two other guys.
He huddled with five other guys, as if calling a play. I went over, and Randy pulled me into
the circle. “Okay, okay. She's ready. I told her six but she won't notice if it's seven. Okay. We'll
horsengoggle. Okay?”
Randy had met the same girl and asked for sex for himself and his brothers, because, after
all, they were good guys who could use a break. She'd agreed, in need of a break herself, and
waited in an apartment. Horsengoggle pre-dated rock-paper-scissors in determining order.
Participants recited in unison
ein, schvei, drei, horsengoggle!
On the last note we thrust one to
five fingers into the center space. With all fingers tallied, the total was counted off around the
circle. The last number went first.
