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The opportunity had definitely come at the right time. My hometown had run dry of fresh possibilities. A crude way of saying that the dating scene was dead but let’s be honest here. I’m an intellectual, Jewish wiseass. Here in the South where one is surrounded by upper class – sorority – ultra conservative – Christian “Southern Belles” that is the worst handicap a guy can have. “What’s the opposite of Christopher Reeves? Christopher Walken!” Is NOT a good icebreaker.

The Soleman was starving! From those of you who’ve read my previous stories know, I’m pathetic when it comes to self-control and women. (Ok so I’ve gotten lucky and had a few girls jump into bed with me.) I don’t think my aged father realized how much more of a blessing rather than a warning that he gave me when he said, “Watch out for those Cajun girls. They’re crazy.” Amen.

As it was, four months into my first semester that I had my first real opportunity to taste the local “cuisine.” I’d moved into a row of townhouses down by the river that divides the town in two. I was in a nicer section away from the low rent homes and noisy joints that typically mark a college town. Fortunately, we also get a different breed of woman out here. Small duplexes and row apartments interspersed amongst suburbia. This isn’t the atmosphere for the wilder types like apartment complexes and none of the dredges that come from dorm refugees. A cleaner side if you will.

My own neighborhood is a private community, a mix of retirees, upper middle class, and more domesticated college students. The block I live on has two urban professionals and 8 sets of college kids. I live alone myself, my dog, Rip, to keep me company. There were several gorgeous women, but they were either spoken for, or simply immature. What a nice cliché.

The nice thing was the pair of sisters living two doors down. Leslie was the petite, older one, barely standing up to my chest in her constantly bare feet. Let it never be said I have no will power. Lori was the younger, but more boisterous of the two. At 5’7” she looked the part. However I can say nothing has ever tickled me than watching little Leslie chew out her “little” sister, something Lori’s boyfriend, a marine sergeant, not have enough guts to do.

Alas, their precocious nature set me aside as something akin to a brother. Honestly I was cool with that. Leslie also had a boyfriend, so both girls were already spoken for. And my own schedule would never allow for a decent, healthy relationship. Hell, there wasn’t even time for a good fuck buddy! In retrospect, I think all three of us subconsciously realized that and it was because of that we were relaxed around one another. Boy scouts honor, I was my complete unadulterated self.

It sucks…but I wouldn’t have it any other way. If I’d never been in this position, I’d never have had this latest experience.

*** I was always closest with Leslie, not to say that Lori and I didn’t have as rich a friendship. Not only did I help her with a paper (English degrees do have a purpose!) but she’d also set food aside for me on night I got home late from the office and didn’t have time to cook for myself. But I diverge. Leslie…

Leslie’s boyfriend had stationed out in Iraq for already a year. He had already completed his term but was staying on for additional six for personal reasons. He’s also a career jarhead and, as Lori explained it, wouldn’t mind seeing a rise in rank a little faster than what’s average. Sometimes this led to a bit of conflict between Leslie and her beau, his career versus writing her a letter.

I’m not at all dissing our troops, and I’m not playing the “other guy” here. This war has unfortunately brought some ambitious people to the forefront and often let personal relationships go on the slide to feed their drive. That’s exactly what I told Leslie when she showed up on my doorstep at 11 o’clock at night looking to vent.

I won’t justify her late visit nor will I try to justify what happened that night. At the time I’d just completed grading finals, my own work completed and handed in a week before. So after a grueling 72 hour stint running files, records, and grade sheets between the various official offices (say that three times fast) I came home that evening completely intent of getting ripped, no connection to my dog.

’d had a couple of beers and given Rip his favorite treat. Picture if you will a strung out, wrung out grad student sitting on a GoodWill, secondhand couch drinking Woodchuck cider and a oversized English pointer lapping Killians Red out of a chafing dish. Good times. And good times dictate better smoke.

Leslie had left a note on my door earlier in the day stating that she was due in that night and wanted to talk, so I left the front door unlocked and the front light on. Thoroughly relaxed I sat down to watch some TV when Leslie called to give me an estimated time of arrival and an offer for a couple of crawfish po’boys. I left Rip on the couch with his beer and ran upstairs for a quick shower.