Of Cocktails and Vestigial Tails

When I was in college, I had a friend named Carly. Okay, that was a lie (even though you may not have picked up on the micro-expressions), but I still occasionally see her so I am hiding the name.

Anyway, she was a couple of years older than I was, but she stayed in the dorms.

Over time, her room was a room of refuge for two reasons: she always had wine, and she had a nice stereo system with lots of good tunes. I mean, think about it, after studying in the evening, we would go to Carly's room, she would have the stereo on softly, and we would talk and drink. What a way to unwind before bed on a school night.

There are a few things that this may indicate: I was a functional alcoholic. Well, not sure if I was really a functional alcoholic, but I drank a lot.

Anyway, the wine that Carly enjoyed, after a while, was box wine. We would go through a couple of boxes per week, maybe more. She called it her truth box. It was kinda cute in a alcoholic denial sort of way.

Well, she, me and several others would chat about this or that, listen to music and just have a good time. It seemed to be a relaxing time, and we discussed all sorts of things. I mean, we would discuss religion, politics, teaching assistants, foreign films, drinking games, musical groups, whatever.

And we would go out together – generally on Thursday nights because the clubs were full and the cover charges did not apply to us. We would get ready, and go over to Carly's room, then start drinking out of the truth box. Even though we did not pay covers, we still had to pay for drinks. And most of us would just drink the free water to keep hydrated at the bars.

Carly generally changed while we were in the room, and I can still remember looking at . . . her ass. Unlike normal people (okay, me), when she changed to go out, she would change her undies as well. Her back would be to the group, so that there was no "frontal nudity", so to speak, and she would slip off her undies, pause, and then slip on the other pair that she would have in her hands. She was a fairly thin girl/woman – we all were, come to think of it – and her spinal column could be seen, each vertebrate clearly shown in a line, running down her back. But it appeared as if she had a few extra vertebrae, forming a bit of a tail near her butt. Actually, after the first time I saw it, I made it a point of looking at my backside with a mirror. No vestigial tail for me.

Now, I have probably seen her ass more than any (unrelated) woman I have ever seen. The first time I saw her butt, I was a bit embarrassed, but over time, I got used to Thursdays with Carly's ass. I secretly suspected she was an exhibitionist.

Actually, one night I started wondering if she were perhaps an alien. I mean, I figured that aliens would resemble lizards. I am not sure if it was because I used to watch Land of the Lost (with the Sleestak) or because I was a little too tipsy while thinking, but I began wondering if she could be some sort of lizard alien. You know, these lizard-aliens did something to make her look humanoid, but there was still a vestigial tail after the transformation to humanoid form.

And then I started thinking about her truth box, the wine-in-a-box. Did I have any missing hours after consuming the alcoholic beverage? Oh, I was not sure. And the soft music and conversation about all sorts of things – was this someone who knew how to host a group of friends, or was this was a lizard-alien who was getting intell from a bunch of college co-eds? I never really found out.

I continued to partake of the truth box, the wonderful music and the conversation because it was a wonderful time in my life. That, and a Thursday night ass view. It was almost as if I was a frat boy who frequented strip clubs. Well, strip clubs don't have good music, do they?