She Did It (Part 2)

[Last of a two-part post.]


Like I said, it was supposed to be a big deal.

But what more can you say about an act so awkwardly “in the moment,” that commentary afterward is just a lot of sawdust in the mouth?

Maybe my post-teenage mind thought the whole “penis-into-vagina experience” would turn me into some super-orgasmic, explosively emotional freight train. And that I would achieve nirvana. Maybe I’d be high for weeks.

I had no idea.

Don’t come inside me!” Robyn hoarsely whispered.

“Okay, okay.”

Above the headboard, out the bedroom window, moonlight shined through. Grunting, moaning, sighing: “That’s good … so good … goooooooooood.

Then, boom.

Yeah, all lowercase on that “boom.” La petite mort.

Say goodnight, Gracie.



On Saturday morning, Robyn and Meredith had a University of Minnesota women’s softball game to play. They asked me and Dave to come along and cheerlead.

So we did.

All I remember is that, before the game started, Robyn walked up and kissed me for good luck.

That’s when I really started to have feelings for her, feelings that went beyond one night of lust. She trusted me. And I wanted to trust her.

Sure, she was a bit of a handful and something of a live wire, but … maybe she could be tamed. “Potential new boyfriend” pride started welling up inside me.

We returned to White Bear Lake that afternoon, first stopping to buy more beer, liquor and food for our big party that night. I’ve no specific memories of the party—who was there, what was talked about, what music we listened to—probably because those brain cells were fried decades ago.

But I do recall that what I’d hoped for that night didn’t happen.

SheDidIt2Of course I wanted to have sex with Robyn again. But when I went to look for her among all the people at the party, she was nowhere to be found.

Dave’s bedroom door was shut. So I went over to see what was going on.

“Mikey!” Dave bellowed from the living room. “Don’t go in there!

I opened the door anyway.

There was Robyn, making out with some guy on Dave’s bed.

Slamming the door, I went to my room, closing the door behind me. Spent the rest of the night listening to them knocking against the adjoining wall.

Didn’t get a wink of sleep. It felt like the longest night of my life.


Up early Sunday morning, I threw on some clothes, grabbed my wallet and headed out, stepping over all the snoozing, hungover bodies littering the floor.

Didn’t leave a note or let anyone know where I was going. Just knew I needed to get the hell out of there. If the calendar-planner is correct, I probably left around 7:00 a.m.

I hoofed it the entire 8.2 miles to Stillwater. Stole a Pioneer Press on the way. The walk was a good chance to think.

I don’t remember feeling angry; was probably more sad than anything. I hadn’t really gotten to know Robyn. It was all so confusing.

Stumbling down to the St. Croix River, I sat on a park bench and watched the world go by. After buying some coffee and reading the newspaper, I got it in my head to visit my Lakewood friend Mary McIlrath.

Mary and I had been on a date months before, catching Karla Bonoff in concert. Mary played guitar at the Lakewood student café, and was more of a good friend than a potential love interest. I recall we hung out that Sunday at a playground near her parents’ house, just outside of Stillwater. Wish I knew what we talked about, but as there’s no record, it’s lost forever.

Anyway, you’re probably wondering, “Whatever happened to Robyn?”

Dave told me she’d been attacked by some black girls in the women’s room of a Minneapolis bar.

I never saw her again.

Guess it was no big deal after all.

~ by completelyinthedark on May 30, 2014.

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