Naked Chuck was zonked, sprawled on an orange-vinyl, bean-bag chair in the party room of the Phi Sig frat house.

Lester strode in, slamming the door.

Chuck shock-awoke. His butt slid onto the slat-wood floor. He covered blood shot eyes.

Lester had hands on hips. “Man, you look like Lucinda squeezed you dry.”

Chuck sounded like a choked frog. “Kiss my butt.”

“I didn’t put you in this state.”

“The hell you didn’t. My mouth tastes like dirty shoes. Get me a brew.”

Lester retrieved two Rolling Rocks from the fridge and threw one to Chuck. He fumbled the catch before draining the contents in one chug.

Lester said, “That woman was more than you could handle. Lucinda’s bra requires the material of a three-piece suit.”

“I’m not in the mood for your derision.”

“Cover yourself. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

Chuck pulled a crumpled tee shirt over his crotch.

“So, what happened?”

Chuck pressed the chilled bottle to his forehead. “She stripped to topless and nearly tackled me.”

“Jesus.”

“I almost gagged. My pants were around my ankles when my iPhone dinged with a text message. I shouldn’t have looked. My mother. ‘Honey, what are you doing? Call me.’ Bad image. I deflated like the Hindenburg.”

“Bummer.”

“Lucinda was still game. She pulled and yanked. No response. Then, she got pissed.”

“Oh, man.”

“I thought of the pills you got from Canada through mail order. I scrambled into the bathroom and dry swallowed one.”

“Good move.”

“Not so much. Lucinda got angrier that I needed a woodie pill for her.”

“But, it worked?”

“Did you try those pills?”

“No need, yet.”

“They sold you a colonoscopy-prep drug. I got the runs.”

“Shit.”

“That’s what I said. Lucinda bolted. I was up all night. Now, I’m exhausted.”

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