Perhaps it was the result of her vicious hangover. Or maybe it was her attempt to mirror my cool, which she likely attributed to my veteran reaction to intercourse: the emotionless junction of anatomies, a mercantile transfer of bodily fluids, nothing worth making a fuss about. Yet inwardly I was rejoicing over my new status, estimating how many of the other freshmen in the dining hall were virgins—those sad, perfect little Harvard students who spent all their time in libraries. Indeed, there was more to college than studying. I went to Sara’s room that night, hoping to repeat our performance and to see you. Neither event happened. Though we still didn’t discuss having had sex, upon getting into bed she mentioned that she was having painful premenstrual cramps. I took the hint and we went to sleep. Only three more weeks until our next paper was due in Prufrock. Based on the successful results of our first collaboration, I expected another request for assistance.
