That’s what he called him: The Package. No point getting personal. They wouldn’t know each other for long. He might even be dead soon. Who knew? No point being on a first name basis with a corpse. ‘Get the fuck up,’ he said. ‘We have to make it to the dumpster. Can you make it?’ The Package was breathing heavily. He was out of condition. He nodded. ‘I….think….so,’ he said between gasps. Fat fuck. Why can’t they send me to get someone fit for once? Even just healthy. Someone who could at least run more than ten meters without throwing up. ‘Well don’t think so, know so,’ he said. ‘When I say ‘three’ we bolt for the dumpster. And….’ ‘….and what?’ asked The Package. ‘Don’t expect me to fucking carry you. If it comes down to you or me, it’s me. Do you fucking understand?’ The Package nodded, his face red with exertion. The rain kept coming down, a steady drizzle. The slick blackness of the bitumen looked treacherous in the dark, but they had to make it. The police weren’t far behind.. Alas, my girlfriend suffered from a case of Catholicism. Sure, we fooled around but it was always with our clothes on. I wanted to know the mechanics of a girl. I wanted to know what a pussy looked, smelled, and tasted like. Her pussy, specifically. But that was not to be. She gave me a couple of hand jobs and she'd get herself off by rubbing herself against my leg but that was the extent of our intimacy. I'll admit that I spent a lot of time masturbating while I was seeing Lorena, wondering how things would go if she'd only get past her Catholic guilt and give in to me. Near the end of our senior year, right before I asked her to go to prom, she abruptly broke things off. I tried to find out why but never got a satisfactory issue. This led to a lot of self-doubt and self-image problems over the years. We traveled in different social circles so once she dumped me I barely saw her again. Soon college and real life took us farther apart until she was merely a memory. As time wore.
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