I’ve decided to share my latest book (The All-Important, Well-Fed, Giant White Man) with my followers here, free of charge, one chapter at a time. So… Where were we on this read-along… Oh, yes…

Chapter 17: The Glorious Spot in My Jeans…

I shed a great deal of the fat by the time I transferred to SUU the semester following Hawaii. And by a great deal, I mean 79 lbs. How that happened in two and a half months could make a great science fiction book all by itself, and there was absolutely nothing healthy in the way I pulled it off. Just know that after the Tenniele façade came to a close, I was determined, at any cost, to transfer over to my next school a transfigured person. I would have gnawed my own ass cheeks off if it would have made that happen. There was no way I was going to be that same guy who Rachel obviously never wanted, and who Tenniele clearly was too good for, when I stepped off that plane again.

It was going to be a new start of a new life for me. This was more or less the exact same thought I had when stepping off the plane in Hawaii, I know. And, yes. It was just as positively cliché as the first time I thought it. I also meant it both times.

The driving forces behind the extremeness which led to the unhealthy weight-loss were a cocktail of desperation and hopefulness, splashed with a sense of inordinate urgency to get on already with the fucking awesome life I just knew I was designed to live.

My same-age cousin was already going to school there, and had committed me to join him by promising that the hard work was already done when it came to the most important thing in all of life.

Girls.

He had exciting and substantial friendships already established with a harem of young, hot, horny female freshman. He wasn’t full of hot air, either. He would send (real) photographs and tell me (real) stories of his (real) adventures with them. I’d get online from 2,878 miles away and chat late into the night with many of the gals in his dormitories, and for only fifteen cents an hour! Over the course of two months, and hundreds of screeching modems later, I became good friends with many of them. I was – quite assuredly this time – making the move straight from loser past and into the glorious future. So long as I wasn’t some huge fat ass when I did, I just might have a shot at love sticking around the next time I happened to wallow into it.

I moved into B-Hall of the school dormitories. It was filled with the most fascinating group of teenage boys with whom I had ever been in constant and close proximity. There was Green, who I quickly learned to latch onto because he always was somehow surrounded by all the ladies. There was Indian Jimmy who sat in his dorm room eating corn chips, playing video games all day most days. He wasn’t to be confused with Big Jimmy, the guy who lived in the dorm across the hall who had the notoriously biggest penis any of us had ever laid eyes on. And believe me, he had no trouble whipping that thing out and showing it off every chance he got. Then there was Fat Curtis. He introduced me to my first alcoholic beverage ever: peach schnapps. I took one sip of it and felt like the biggest badass of all time. There were a couple real jerks who lived down the hall. They were far too cool to let themselves be associated with the rest of us.

And then there was me and my cousin Glen, sharing a room which we turned into party central. We built our own giant wooden contraption that held one bed inside the other so that we could fit a couch against the opposite wall where the other bed used to be. We had the biggest TV of anyone there, the DVD player (hey, they were new and impressive back then), and we had the best video game system. Over in one corner was a lava lamp. In the other, party lights. Hanging on the interior side of the door was a necktie which, when hung on the outside of a shut door, meant “don’t come in. I’m getting it on in here.”

Our room was strategic and perfect, so long as you don’t count the ever-emanating stench of flatulence, sweat, and semen that hit you when you neared the threshold.



Still, we had nonstop girls over. I never made out with any of them at first. I still had no idea how to go about it. But we played lots of kissing games, watched lots of movies, and began our journey toward flunking out of school (which we both did with gusto that semester). Judging by how often the necktie was never tied on the outside of the door, I don’t think my cousin ever got lucky with anyone either. But the system was there, just in case.

Most of the girls came from A-Hall. The girls in those dorms were my first taste of female crazy. They were exciting. They were just as life-stupid and reckless as we were. And we all loved having absurd fun together. There was Shandy. She became the best friend who never mixed pleasure and business. She took her make-outs outside of B Hall. There was Katrina #1 who my cousin supposedly made out with all the time. I just never saw it. Pink and Clara lived down the hall and they used to hang with us and have a blast with us, but they were very good Mormon girls who never got into any real trouble. There was Janice, my cousin’s ex-girlfriend who seemed to have a thing for me from day one, but with whom I could never hook up because I was too faithful to my cuz (yeah, we’ll go with that story). And then there was Katrina #2.

Katrina #2 was a good looking girl. She was one of the girls I had chatted with while I was in Hawaii. And something just clicked between us when I got there. We started hanging out in each other’s dorm rooms regularly, and one day while we lay on her bed laughing, I just went for it without thinking. The kiss.

I’d never done it before and as I zeroed in, I had a panic attack and hesitated. What if she didn’t want to kiss me back? What if this move would blow everything with her? She sensed my awkward vacillation and asked what the matter was. I just looked back at her with giant frightened eyes. I still remember my eyebrow twitching in that moment. Shit. This is Rachel all over again. It’s happening again. It’s happening again. What do I do now? Abort? Abort!

Lucky for me, Katrina was much more experienced in such matters than I was, and she finished the job before I could retreat.

Cowardice 1. Dan 0.

She lunged at me and suddenly we were full-fledge making out.

CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE

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Dan Pearce is an American-born author, app developer, photographer, and artist. This blog, Single Dad Laughing, is what he’s most known for, with more than 2 million daily subscribers as of 2017. Pearce writes mostly humorous and introspective works, as well as his musings which span from fatherhood, to dating, to life, to the people and dynamics of society. Single Dad Laughing is much more than a blog. It’s an incredible community of people just being real and awesome together!