same group of friends, except for Anna, who wasn’t there. The part of me that was starting to get used to this whole Captain America thing wanted to believe that she was at home, sitting on a bag of frozen peas, writing me love letters in her diary:
Dear Mat, I am so sorry for big-timing you back in “the high.” Last night, while you were making love to all of my bathing suit parts, I finally felt what it’s like to be a true American again. Like a real one, you know, like John Cena or Hank Williams Junior. I finally learned the error of my ways. You are a true hero. I would ask you to marry me like right now, except it would be selfish of me to rob the world of your touch. They say if you love something, set if free, and if it returns, then it’s yours. I totally don’t even care if you come back. You are like an eagle, like a wild stallion, like public restrooms in European cities. You need to be free. So go, Mat. Be free. Freedom your fucking face off! And fuck the freedom into anyone who stands in your way.
Girls talk like that, right?
I never got a chance to find out, because one of the cheerleaders from my class, a girl named Alexa, approached me early in the night and captured my attention. Side note: I’m still Facebook friends with her and she seems super happy with her husband now that the whole “Fuck my cheating husband” period has blown over.
Alexa never even knew I existed in high school, but on the heels of marathon animal sex the night before, my confidence meter had skyrocketed to a zillion, and none of those awkward social dynamics from the past meant a thing to me. Oh, to be young and dumb again.
“Hey, didn’t we go to high school together?” she asked. Oh no, sister, you don’t get to play coy with me. I turned to give her my full attention. I only had nine more days before I went back up to Fort Lewis. It was time to get down to business.
“Who gives a fuck about high school? You don’t know me and I barely know you. Let’s change all that tonight and try not to get pregnant. What do you say?” Pure romance.
“That’s a little forward,” she said through nervous laughter.
“Well, this truck ain’t going backward. You down or what?”
Alexa was no idiot. You don’t survive a vicious clique like a high school cheerleading team, having spent four years at the top of a human pyramid with everyone looking up your business, without knowing how to navigate the reputational threats that come from hooking up with random dudes. There was a process to this. There were expectations. She wasn’t just going to lie down on the ground right there and pull her panties to the side. This wasn’t heaven. This was a house party. Dignity was important.
“Let me say bye to my friends,” she replied, glancing straight into my eyes for just a second. The fun, open, flirty look on her face from when she’d first walked up to me was gone. In its place was the certitude of a sexual Terminator. Through her fixed gaze, I could see that she’d done all the calculations. She’d assessed me, she’d assessed the environment, and she’d made her decision.
All my brain could muster was: Oh, fuck, I can’t believe that just worked.
When she went over to say good night, I could see her recounting our conversation to all her gorgeous friends. They looked over at me and giggled. Some of their eyes grew wide in mock surprise. One of them smacked her on the ass as she walked back toward me, like a coach offering encouragement to her star running back as she headed back into the game on fourth and (a girthy eight) inches.
It was more than a little intimidating, because it was clear that this girl knew what she was doing (or was about to do), while I, without a ton of experience under my belt, had no idea—though I was learning fast. The only thing that came to mind was to make it a carbon copy of the night before. So I took her to the exact same beach lot and pulled into the exact same parking spot after going back to the exact same gas station for the exact same box of condoms.