“Do yah think? Two virgins on campus, at the same time! What a coincidence.”
“Harry, I think something’s going on with me. I just don’t know what it is, but something’s going on.”
“Yah, man, and if I were you, I’d let it go on. Ya gotta teach her who’s boss. Don’t call Tammy…let Tammy call you,” said Harry with his pipe in one hand and his Elmer Fudd hat c****d at a rakish angle.
“Her name is Catherine, Harry. C-a-t-h-e-r-i-n-e…Catherine.”
I flopped into my bed, grabbed the Sherlock Holmes anthology from my nightstand, and entered the 19th century world of murder and intrigue, which was a more logical world than time warps, broken glasses, sphincters in my head, floating canoe paddles and Elmer Fudd across the room, studying a text book while smoking his pipe.
Later, I walked to
