Back in 1986 I lived in a cool little house on College Ave. in Normal, IL. It was split up into 2 upstairs apartments and 2 downstairs. I had one of the downstairs apartments. It had the benefit that over the winter I could ride the bike up the front steps and into the living room as winter storage. Behind the house was downtown Normal, with all the shops and stores.  Right behind the house was a sub shop called “Sub Conscious”. The girl that managed it was a real hoot. Her name was “Nancy Big Tits Miller” and she had the most perfect DD tits. She never wore a bra. During a conversation one day she mentioned that she was out of a place to live in a couple days and didn’t know what to do. I told her that I had plenty of room in my place, and she was welcome to come stay with me. The rent was cheap, cheaper by two. She asked me if sex came with the deal, and kind of taken aback I said “sure”. Little did I know what I was getting myself into. We consummated the deal with her buying me a corned beef sub and a quick screw in the walk-in cooler. That was the first of many screws in the walk in and many corned beef sandwiches.

Nancy moved in that weekend. Turns out that when she doesn’t have to go out, not only does she not wear a bra, she doesn’t wear a top. Getting her to wear any clothing at all was interesting. She always said that it just gets in the way of having sex. Which she constantly wanted to do. If she wasn’t at work or otherwise occupied, she was begging for sex. Now you’d think that at age 20, that would have been a dream come true. Which it was. But I have to admit, it got a little tiresome. At times I felt like one of those motel beds that you put a quarter in the slot and the action begins.

Nancy rode a Yamaha 650 Special. And she looked good on it. She looked good on whatever she rode.

We partied a lot. We drank a lot of beer and smoked a lot of weed. We did a lot of mushrooms. Our average coherency factor was somewhere about a 3 of 10 in general. I would get up in the middle of the night and just have no idea where I was.

We’d get wasted on multiple substances, and if I could get the key in the ignition of the bike within 3 tries, we would get on the motorcycle and go for a ride out in the country until dawn. Then when it got to be dawn we would go to the Getty Truck Stop in North Normal and get cheeseburgers and milkshakes. Somehow, we never died.

One evening, I took the bike to Kroger to buy steaks for dinner. Stuck in front of the Kroger was a long stretch black limousine, dead in the water. Being me, in tattered Levis and black leathers, I offered to look at it. I got the tools out of the bike, and within about 15 minutes had it running, though not fixed permanently it would get them by to get to a shop the next morning.

The driver offered me cash, which I declined. Then he offered me a spliff of a “special” variety he said. I took it.

I got home to the little house on College Ave. and I told Nancy the story of the limo and the spliff. We discussed whether or not to smoke it, coming from such a questionable source. We grilled our steaks and discussed smoking questionable weed as we ate. After dinner we cleaned up and decided to smoke it. We cranked up the stereo, kicked back on the couch with a couple beers and smoked it in front of the TVs. Now when I say TVs, there was a wall of 15 TV sets in the living room. All these people that I knew that had apartments or dorms had these big ass TV sets. Someone came up with the brilliant idea to leave their TVs at Scott’s house for the Summer instead of carting them home and back. Thus I had 15 TVs. I hooked them all up to cable, set them on different channels, turned the volume off and cranked up the Neil Young on the stereo on repeat. It was the ultimate environment to trip. And we did a lot of tripping. Anyway, the last thing I remember is Neil Young playing Heart of Gold on the stereo and then nothing.

I had a friend named Roger that lived in rural Bloomington, and he would stop by in the mornings to make sure I got up for class. He walked up the back steps and saw bloody footprints. He followed them all the way around the house. There was a big oak tree in the back yard. Under the tree he found Nancy and I, naked, both bleeding from our feet.

Roger was a farm boy. There was nothing subtle about his tactics. He turned the hose on us right then and there in the backyard.

It turns out that one of us had dropped a glass on the sidewalk. For some reason we had decided to walk around the house on the sidewalk tracking bloody footprints. That had scared the hell out of Roger. He went to the drug store and bought a bunch of gauze and tape and anti-biotics to patch us up. I didn’t make it to class that day.

Nancy and I lived together all the Summer.  In the last week of the Summer, she was drunk off her ass and riding her 650 when she crashed it. She was ok, just knocked up a bit. She found a new boyfriend to live with, so we parted amicably. I met the new boyfriend when she was moving her stuff and I quietly said to him “I hope you know what you’re in for.”. He just looked at me like a deer in headlights.

 It was a fine summer romance and adventure. I’d say everyone had a good time.