Can love be recycled? Or, can true love be salvaged?
That knowledge had Drew and me going crazy with the girls. It's a wonder we didn't get diseases.
"Rachel Jones," Drew said, laughing.
I laughed along with him. Rachel was a total freak, would do just about anything, anywhere. And she let you know it, too.
"If I'm into you, you're into me," we both said, just cracking up.
That was Rachel's thing. She claimed she didn't sleep around with a lot of different guys. But the guys she did fuck, she fucked a lot.
Neither of us believed her, but she was just so damn fun to be around, even when Drew wasn't fucking her.
I never fucked Rachel. Don't get me wrong, I would have. But even back then, I had these weird morals or standards or whatever you want to call them. Rachel told me she wanted to fuck me, specifically because I was a football player.
I couldn't get with that. Even then I wanted, at least the illusion that the girls were into me, not my stature at the school. I wasn't stupid. I wasn't na__ve about it. I knew that several of the girls I fucked did it because I was a ball player. But they didn't have to open their mouths about that. The fucking - at least in my mind - was about me and her not about her and her need for a football player. But Drew had no problem with why the girls wanted to fuck. He was just happy they wanted to fuck.
After Rachel and I had our little spat. She went to Drew and started asking a thousand questions about me. Drew later told me that Rachel was both shocked and awed that I wouldn't have sex with her for what she thought was a stupid reason - shocked because no guy had ever turned her down, yet awed because she thought there was something intriguing about that.
Drew told me one day what Rachel was scheming to try and make me jealous by screwing Drew and letting me know about it. We both laughed, but I could tell Drew had something for her. I just didn't know exactly what it was.
Anyway, we let Rachel carry out her little plan. She came to the apartment while I was eating. Drew hadn't made it home from class yet. Rachel and I had a little small talk, mostly her talking about not understanding me.
"You know those other girls are fucking you because you're a football player, right?" she said.
"Some of them, yeah," I said. "I'm not that stupid."
"What the fuck, then? Why would you turn me down?"
"Look Rachel, didn't you talk about this with Drew? Didn't Drew tell you?"
"Yeah, he told me some bullshit. That's what he told me, nobody, at least no 21-year-old guy I know thinks like that."
"I do," I smiled.
Drew walked in and Rachel walked to him and gave him a sloppy wet kiss before he could even put down his bag. Rachel then grabbed him by the string of his sweat pants and a led him to the bedroom.
Stopping at the door, Rachel looked at me and said, "I hope you have a good night. Don't wait up for Drew."
"Rachel!" I said as she was about to open the door. "Wrong door. That's my room."
Rachel gave me an icy grimace, turned and led Drew to his room.
Sporadically over the next few hours I heard moans, groans, grunts, yelps and squeals. The sloshing of Drew's waterbed had to be screwing with our neighbors, too.
I went to bed about 12:30 that night. About 3 am, they were at it again. But this time I could've swore that they were fucking in Drew's closet. The vocal sounds were a bit muffled, but I could hear rustling on the floor of the closet, which shares the wall with my closet, and the sound of hangers sliding across the metal rod.
Then I heard what sounded like fingernails scratching down the wall, followed by a hurried, "Oh shit. Inmyass. Inmyass. Inmyass. Inmyass. Oh fuck! Cum in MY ASS!!!"
I smiled again and rolled over. Drew had gotten him a little stinky dick.
"Dude, you know why I was so into Rachel? You know?" Drew said, bringing me back to the present.