My Sweet Valentine Liar

This is my entry in the Valentine's Day Contest.

*

I was out with my suitemates hunting women on a cold Friday night in early February. We are all juniors at Cornell University in upstate New York. Josh is a business major and an amazing pickup artist. Howie and I are tagging along as his wingmen because we are socially incompetent science majors. Basically, the two of us are horny nerds and Josh has accepted the challenge to get us laid. After hitting most of the other college town bars, we stumbled into The Royal Palms about an hour before closing. The hunt has been a failure despite Josh's best efforts.

I know that calling a science major horny is redundant but, in this case, Howie and I were horny, extremely horny. Neither of us is a virgin and are living proof that even a blind monkey sometimes finds a piece of fruit. (In fact, I had had two pieces of fruit in my life.) Three months ago I had been at the Salty Dog listening to a live band. The group was so loud it was impossible to talk and I'd had a lot to drink. A pretty girl touched me on the shoulder and pointed toward the dance floor. I nodded yes, or more likely hell yes. We danced until closing when she invited herself to my place. This beautiful girl tore off my clothes as soon as we got into my room. We screwed passionately and then we fell asleep. She woke me in the middle of the night and we screwed again. Of course, we screwed in the morning as well. Over breakfast, she told me her name was Violet and she was a biochemistry major. That was our longest conversation for several weeks. I filled in the silences babbling away about nothing. Our relationship went on like that for over a month. The only variation was that if I were studying in my room after classes, she would come over and we would screw. We would eat dinner and screw before doing our homework. Sometimes she woke me more than once in the night to screw. Violet was only the second girl I had slept with and I thought I had died and gone to heaven.

It took me several weeks to realize that although we had a lot of sex, there was no passion on her part. When I tried to give her an orgasm, she protested and told me she just wanted to screw. So, it was missionary position every time. She laid on her back looking gorgeous with her legs spread and her eyes closed. Her only reaction was an occasional Mona Lisa smile. At first, I didn't mind doing all of the work and as the days passed, I found I was lasting longer and longer. I timed myself with the clock on my bed stand. One night after fucking Violet for close to 40 minutes, I realized I wasn't close to coming. I faked an orgasm and said I needed a shower. I jacked off in the shower and came quickly. I thought about our relationship and realized that we didn't have any connection beyond sex.

The next morning, I said we needed to talk. Before I could say why Violet said she was using me. She was waiting for her boyfriend to return. He was lead guitar in a band that was on tour. She was just using me for sex. While we were screwing, she was thinking about her boyfriend. Her occasional smiles were for him. I sat stunned as I watched her walk out.

Howie immediately knew something had changed. I explained that Violet and I had broken up. I even mentioned the boyfriend she was waiting for. Howie asked if I minded him dating her and was off like a rocket when I gave him my blessing. That night I was treated to the sounds of Howie screwing Violet in the room next to mine. I was amazed at how much I could hear. I must have driven Howie crazy for the last month and now it was my turn to suffer. Sex is like a drug in the way it stimulates the pleasure center of the brain. My complete withdrawal from sex was bad enough without having to listen to Howie and Violet through the thin wall. I finally got a little relief when after a few weeks, they broke up. He snorted something about her using him while waiting for an imaginary boyfriend. He didn't believe a word of it. The result was that both Howie and I were super horny and Josh got tired of hearing us whine. So here we were hunting women with our player roommate Josh.

(In case you are curious, the rock star boyfriend showed up a few months later. I saw him at a party wasted on drugs. I was puzzled by Violet's attraction since he looked as ugly as Mick Jagger and his singing sounded like a frog in heat. But what do I know about women?)

Believe it or not guys, sometimes women go to a bar just to hang out with their girlfriends. They're not interested in getting picked up, but that doesn't stop every guy in the bar from trying. Maybe the three women sitting in the booth had enough time together or more likely it was Josh's uncanny skill. Anyway, the bubbly blond bombshell in the threesome was his target. Josh intended her two companions for Howie and me. The blond was named Tiffany of course and she giggled at Josh's pickup line. She moved over to the side of the booth with her two friends. The three of us squeezed in across from them. I got in first and Howie followed. Josh made sure he was on the end across from Tiffany. I was trying to remember Josh's stupid pickup line and comprehend how it had ever succeeded. As a result, I didn't catch the two girls' names above the noise. The girl across from Howie might have been named Gretchen. I have no idea what the name of the pretty girl across from me was. The three young women had already polished off a couple of shots each and a pitcher of beer. They were all too happy to share our pitcher.

The girl across from me announced that they were suite mates out for a night of fun. We started with the required discussion about majors and year. Tiffany was a junior in theater arts. Gretchen was a junior in English literature. The girl opposite me said she was a senior majoring in biochemistry. I hoped she didn't mind that I was only a junior because she had a really sweet face.

The problem with winter in upstate New York is that the cold and snow means everyone is bundled up for much of the year. All three girls were wearing unzipped winter coats over bulky sweaters. All you could see were their pretty faces. In fact, I couldn't tell Gretchen and the girl across from me apart.

It turned out that Gretchen and my partner were sisters and had delightful southern accents. When their mother got divorced, she took a job in admissions at Cornell and brought the girls north. Gretchen said her mother's job meant the two of them could attend Cornell tuition free.

Howie is pretty good at getting conversations going even if he has no more clue than I on picking up girls. He asked everyone at the table to say what makes them squirm. Josh announced that dancing made him squirm and immediately stood up and led Tiffany off to the dance floor.

Gretchen said, "Earthworms wiggling on a sidewalk after a rainstorm made me squirm."

Always the nerd, Howie had to comment, "The earthworms are actually mating."

His statement made both of the girls giggle and squirm.

I said, "I just read about a man who is a professional tree climber. He rigs trees for scientists and teaches people to climb at a college out west. What made me squirm was when the article reported that once he got hired to help search for king cobras in trees."

I guess Gretchen doesn't like snakes because she grabbed Howie and led him to the dance floor. I was alone with the girl across from me. At least, she laughed at my story.

She said, "I can't believe the coincidence. I'm interested in the biochemical properties of a species of lichen that grows high up in redwood trees. Over semester break, I was at the University of California at Davis taking this same man's tree rigging class."

I could listen to this woman's southern accent all day. I encouraged her to continue her story.

She said, "The class was exhilarating. There is nothing like being high up in a redwood tree. Everything was wonderful until the branch I grabbed broke. My safety harness stopped my fall but I hit a tree limb and fractured my tibia."

I said, "How did you get down?"

She said, "The instructor sent his assistant to the ground to fetch a rescue basket. The other students descended with the assistant."

I said, "So, you had to wait a long time to be rescued?"

The girl said, "Waiting in pain wasn't the worst part. I was wearing only a thin tee shirt and cargo pants. I had gone without a bra because I had developed a rash climbing in the heat the first two days of the class. I was horrified when the instructor put his hands under my tee shirt and started mauling my breasts."

I said, "Oh my god, really? How could he do something so outrageous to someone with a broken leg?" I guess she thought I doubted her story. She pulled out her phone and showed me a picture of her standing in a redwood grove with a day pack on her back. She was turned at an angle to the camera and my eyes traced her long legs up to skimpy cargo pants that were molded to her curvaceous ass. There was a lot of firm abdomen below her crop top that just covered her generous breasts. I zoomed in and saw two prominent nipples pushing against the thin fabric. I whistled and she snatched the phone back. She could see what I had zoomed into. She called me a perv and giggled.

I felt embarrassed at being discovered and covered my indiscretion by asking, "Would you like to dance?"

She laughed again and asked, "Were you paying attention when I said I broke my leg?

She held up a pair of crutches that I had missed behind her coat. I was more than happy to sit with her and swap stories for an hour until the bar closed. It seemed every tale I told reminded her of something similar. It hardly felt like an hour when the owner of the bar yelled out the last call.

Fortunately, Josh had his car since the girl's dorms are on the other side of campus from College Town. The girls eagerly accepted his offer of a ride and we all squeezed into his Dodge Charger. Josh parked as close to the girl's dorm as he could but there was still a fair walk left.

I said, "Why don't the rest of you go on ahead? I'll stay with the cripple and protect her from bad guys."

As soon as we were alone, my partner commented, "Do you know that most rapes are committed by acquaintances."

I said, "I promise to keep an eye out for any of your acquaintances hiding in the bushes."

She punched me in the arm and said, "I meant you."

I said, "Don't worry. I am a firm believer in no means no."

(It was 1970 and well before today's requirement of a signed contract consenting to sex.)

She laughed, "That's nice but I'm still not sure I should trust you."

I said, "Ok, let me tell you why you can trust me. My first sexual partner was a friend of my older sister and she taught me everything I know about sex. Once she showed me the art of edging and I gave her an intense orgasm after a half hour of skillful stimulation. At that point, I thought it was my turn, but she said she was on antibiotics and couldn't have sex. I told her I'd be happy with a hand or mouth. She said no and all I was allowed to do was cuddle. I wasn't happy but I honored her wish. Anyway, I offer that story as proof I can be trusted."

My companion snorted, "Your story sounds more like bragging than proof of anything."

She was right. I was bragging. I was trying to impress this attractive senior because I was worried she would think I was a naive junior. I couldn't believe I had just boasted about my sexual prowess as proof of my character. It had to be about the biggest mistake I could have made.

I was blushing as I said, "Sorry, it was the best I could come up with."

She said, "Well, it does remind me of the time that my former boyfriend had me on the edge for nearly an hour. Every time I got close to an orgasm, he would change how fast he was thrusting his massive cock into me. He would wait for me to calm down before speeding up again. After a while, I was pleading with him to finish me. When he finally let me cum, it was the most intense orgasm of my life."

I couldn't believe we were sharing intimate details of our sex lives after knowing each other for a little more than an hour. I was falling rapidly for this captivating woman and my head was spinning from a massive overdose of hormones.

She wasn't very fast on her crutches but I would have been happy if the walk took longer. I loved listening to the sound of her voice. When we got to her dorm, I saw a poster for the school Valentine's Day Dance.

I pointed to the poster and asked, "Would go to the dance with me?"

She giggled, "As long as you don't expect me to dance, I'd love to."

Someone opened the door to the dorm and she asked them to hold it for her. She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and awkwardly scrambled through the door with crutches flying.

It wasn't until I got back to my suite that I realized that I did not have her name or number. A couple of days later, Tiffany came out of Josh's room.

She laughed when I asked her who the girl on crutches was. She said, "That was Ginna's sister."

(I groaned inwardly. The second girl's name was not even close to Gretchen.)

She continued, "Her name is Julia and she is a senior at Ithaca High School. Ginna and I took Julia out to celebrate her 18^th birthday."

(I know the drinking age in New York is 21 but in those days bars were happy to admit underage girls with false IDs.)

I stuttered, "High school?"

Tiffany said, "Ginna shared her sister's text messages with me. Julia is embarrassed. She really likes you but feels terrible that she told you one lie after another. She was afraid you would reject her for being an unsophisticated high school student. Personally, I don't think Julia is used to drinking so much."

I said, "Well all she said was that she was a senior. I was the one who assumed she was a senior at Cornell."

Tiffany laughed, "You are too kind. Julia is not our suitemate. She doesn't have a broken leg. The crutches were for a bet she lost with her sister. According to Ginna, Julia has never climbed a tree nor even had a boyfriend. The only bit that was remotely true was that Ginna and Julia hiked in the California redwoods with their mother last summer. In reality, Julia is a science nerd and a student-athlete."

I laughed and said, "I had a lot of fun talking with Julia and I asked her to go to the Valentine's Day Dance. I'd still like to take her. Please don't tell Julia that you told me about her lies."

Tiffany said, "As long as you promise to be nice and don't take advantage of her. After all, she is just an unsophisticated high school student."

I grinned, "I think that makes her the perfect date for an unsophisticated scientist."

I am looking forward to the Valentine's Day Dance. Julia and I have a lot to talk about. I plan on taking it slow and I hope to get lucky enough to receive a proper kiss. It will probably be a long time before I ever introduce her to edging, but I think the journey will be exciting.

Epilogue

It is nearly fifteen years later and I am walking hand in hand with my wife Julia in the California redwoods. For a thirty-three-year-old, world famous biochemist, she still looks great in a tee shirt and cargo shorts. I'm carrying the daypack because Julia is five months pregnant with our first child. I expect the rest of our journey will be even more exciting.