I’m a good man. And tonight I had proof.
Just spent an evening with a friend, nothing fancy, just noodles and Sauv Blanc. Forgot completely I’d had a load of laundry tumble drying in the block opposite, so went out to get it at 12.30am. I’d been ready for bed for some hours and groaned as I headed downstairs again.
On the way over, there’s a girl arriving at the block’s other door. Leggy blonde, boobs and bum half out of sequinned minidress, the usual thing. You can’t help but look; I mean, whoa.
She’s behaving a little strangely. Keeps doubling up, dropping things. Not unusual around this time on campus, although not an everyday occurence on a Monday. After the briefest of pauses I head towards the other door, bundle my bone-dry clothes into my bag, and head for home.
She’s still there. All tits and ass and legs, in a giggling heap. I ask if she’s okay. She is by the happy undergrad standards – i.e. paralytically drunk – but not if she wants to get home. While campus is safe enough, I don’t want to leave a vulnerable teenager in a doorwell.
I offer to get her home. (My key fits this lock thanks to the laundry access.) I pick up the bundle of tits and ass and legs and support it on my shoulder, trying to get her to talk (it seems like just drunk, but if it’s drugs I’ll be able to tell once she’s talking.) She talks, giggling. It’s just drink.
“I’m Jess.” Giggling. Oh hell and damnation, the bare arms are going around my neck. The face is startlingly beautiful, model-girl even. I ignore it. I’m a good man.
She doesn’t know where she lives. I support her more. She remembers it’s on this floor. Walking down a corridor I notice ‘—— JESS!’ on a door. Whew. Now all we have to do is find the keys…
She’s on the floor again. I sit her against the wall. The minidress barely covers her backside and there’d be nothing left to the imagination, if I imagined it. Concentrate, Worth, concentrate. You’re a good man.
The problem here is that the evening out put half a dozen units into me, just enough to affect judgement and oh bloody hell she’s kissing me. Stop. Stop her. I stop her. This isn’t what I expected when I went to collect my laundry. Keep it together. Her breath’s on my neck and the long legs are – you’ve got nieces this age, Worth. In fact, you’ve got 501s this age. Concentrate. You are an adult helping a young girl home. That’s all you’re doing.
We open the door. She nearly falls. Blast and buckets of blood, that means I’ve got to go in. Take a deep breath.
It’s an undergrad room. In other words, it’s just about possible to see the carpet under the jumble of towels, sheets, clothes, underwear, bags. “I leave in two days!” she mumbles among the jumble. Yeah, sweetheart, and I’m leaving in two minutes.
I don’t even want to think about what’ll happen if security walks down this corridor. I know exactly what it’ll look like. This is bad. I ask her to take a few steps forward, to her bed and sanctuary. She reaches around and DON’T UNZIP YOUR DRESS DON’T UNZIP YOUR DRESS I stop her wriggling and manoevre her to the ‘bed zone’, a mountain of assorted blankets under which there’s probably a mattress. I lie her down. She won’t let go. Her arms are around my neck and I’m horizontal. Let go. The breasts are popping out and my resolve is hardening. I escape her honeyed grip.
She’s on the bed at last, lying on her side, best position if she vomits in her sleep. She’s peaceful, breathing evenly, not in danger. She’ll wake up with a headache, but no worse. I force myself not to linger for a look, and leave.
My laundry bag’s in the corridor where I left it. I shake myself and head across the lawn to my block and home.
I’m a good man.