Didn't I tell you, you were wise to choose Cathedral over other high schools? Sure glad the Brothers never saw this, though.

 

 

 

On another matter, do you guys still have your class rings?  Or did you stupidly give it to your steady girl friend who then refused to give it back.  If you want a real reason not to go steady, this might be it.

 

 

Oops.  Sorry guys .  This picture is from my steady girlfriend's yearbook. I must have loaded the wrong photo. But, since we're here, it stirs up some painful high school memories I'd like to address..

First, look at those legs.  Look at those great legs. And then, imagine the view when those legs were sitting at their desks, crossed. Those skirts must be rolled up at least a foot. This, at a Catholic High School. I know my grades would have taken a hit under these difficult conditions. How lucky we were to attend Cathedral and not have these distractions.  Yeah, lucky!  Sigh. And think also how much more lengthy our confessions would have been.

Legs! Great legs! Lots of leg! Shapely legs! Soft legs! How lucky we were. Yeah. Speedy confessions --- something to be proud of, right.

  I always thought those skirts were an occasion of sin. Especially when this short.  And let me confess to you guys, I did not have the internal fortitude to resist temptation. Particularly since I found out quickly I was dating a girl that would go as far as I would let her. And yeah, you heard that right. Your probably thinking: you lucky stiff .  Well let me tell you, paradise quickly became a curse. As they say, be careful what you wish for.

Needless to say, the longer we dated, the longer my confessions became. And not just longer, more technically complex as well. It got to the point where I felt compelled to bring in graphics as words began to fail me. Its hard for a Cathedral man to admit this, but I was in over my head. At the end, it was total capitulation, sadly, I just let her have her way with me.  She used me then cast me aside.  But she kept my class ring. 

So, guess which one was my steady?  Hint: you can just make out my class ring on her finger. I wonder if she still has it? Maybe she'd give it back for the reunion? After what I did for her, she owes me, right? And, I wonder if she still has any of those skirts from school? Do you think she'd ... nah, sigh.

 

Let me tell you the whole sad story of My Cathedral Ring.

 

My Cathedral Ring: A saga about Gain and Loss, Love and

                Heartbreak, and final Redemption.

I met her at a sock hop at her school. I lived near by. Had nothing to do on a Friday night, so I went. Some Motown groups were going to show up.

I was just milling about. I new a couple of guys who went there. Then I saw her (lets call her Mary), those legs actually. Her Catholic skirt rolled up, higher than the picture above.  I asked her to dance. She said yes. All normal up to there. Then I took her right hand in mine and put it on my shoulder.
\
At first I thought she was staring at someone over my left shoulder. No.

Mary: So, you go to Cathedral.

I was puzzled.

Me: How did you know?  The ring, was all she said.

Mary: My older brother really wanted to go there, but he couldn’t get         in, grades weren't good enough.   He got into Notre Dame though.

Me: Yeah, Cathedral is pretty demanding when it comes to grades (was all I said, nonchalantly). 

Was all I needed to say, right.

 She was a junior. But she had the legs of a senior. We talked and danced the rest of the night.

Mary: I really love your ring. (Of course, it's a Cathedral ring I thought to myself.)
         You know, green is my favorite color. I'm Irish you know. She said innocently. Little did I know this statement carried unforseen consequences.

I asked her out for Saturday. She accepted. On Saturday I went to pick up those legs. I rang the doorbell, Those legs promptly answered.

I couldn’t tell at first if she had on shorts or a skirt.

It was a skirt. The shortest skirt I'd seen in my life. Revealing the longest legs I'd seen in my life. We walked to the car. She got in.

I got behind the wheel and watched mesmerized as she slowly crossed her left leg over her right.

I thought: why can't those legs be sitting across from me in English instead of Matt Lee's. Obviously, that was my heart talking then.  I later concluded that having Matt Lee's legs across from me in English rather than Mary's was probably worth 50 points on my SATs. Though I must say there were a couple of times Matt when I did see a provocative amount of skin above your socks. But to be honest, Mary's legs had yours beat by a mile.

We went to a movie. We shared butter popcorn and a coke. When we finished I moved the cartons to an empty seat on my right.

She then casually reached over and gently enclosed my left hand, giving me the cutest smile I'd ever seen. She slowly crossed her right leg over her left.

 

She then took my left hand and gently placed it in her left hand which was palm-up on her knee, and covered it with her right hand.

Again she gave me that cute smile. She then began to stroke my hand and fondle my ring.

Alarm bells should have been going off in my head, but they weren't. I was too busy staring at those legs. And, feeling electric charges shoot up my arm whenever my fingers "accidently" touched the skin on her knee. After a while, she casually slipped her left hand from under my left hand and reached to fumble with her purse. After which, she placed her left arm on the arm rest, thus, leaving my left hand perched atop her exposed knee. For awhile it remained lifeless, draped over knee.  I was otherwise entranced as her right hand continued to fondle my left hand and my Cathedral ring.  

I began to feel weird as my left hand just laid there, devoid of any mobility.  There she was fondling my hand and ring, and there my hand sat.  It would only be fair, I thought,  if I fondled her knee as well.  And so it began.

She looked at me and gave me a wondrous smile, which I took to mean: I see your fondling my knee – I approve. And to further reinforce her approval, she moved her left hand from the arm rest and moved it to my upper left arm and began stroking it delicately with her fingertips.   

Alarm bells yet? Are you kidding? The only thing I could only hear was "I love how you love me" by the Paris Sisters.

Then I realized, She was letting (letting? hell, insisting) I cop a feel of her naked knee. Which was (need I remind you) attached to those fabulous legs.

We spend the rest of the movie (there was a movie?) like this. Fondling each other like there was no tomorrow.

Movie over.

We get back into the car.


Mary: Can I use your mirror?

Me: Be my guest.

She slides over next to me and moves the mirror towards her.  
She makes some minor adjustments to her hair.  She looks at me, gives me that gorgeous smile. Moves the mirror back my way.  And stays put.

Needless to say, this movement puts her nearly naked left leg (what an incredible skirt that was) against my right leg.  I had slacks on, but that didn't matter. I could feel the heat of her leg radiating through the fabric like it wasn't there.  And I could swear there were occasional sparks jumping from her leg to mine.

 

On top of the direct contact, her proximity allows me to glance at those fabulous legs with abandon.

Your probably thinking.  She hasn't mentioned the ring in awhile.  Oh yeah?  Here it comes.

Mary: I love your green shirt.  It matches your Cathedral ring.

Me: Oh. Yeah. Thanks. I didn't notice that. (Not the only thing I was oblivious to).

Alarm bells? HA! My alarms were on mute.

When we get to her house.  I get out.  Surprisingly, she slides out right behind me, supplying me with yet, another generous view of her legs.  As she stands, she offers me her hand.  Which I eagerly take.  She then uses that as an opportunity to tightly encircle my right arm with both her arms and lean against me, enabling my right arm to now feel the entire length of the front left of her body, including … Well,  I'll just leave that to your imagination (decorum). We walked to her door in this manner. If right arms could be delirious, mine was. By this time, the sparks I had felt in the car had matured into lightning bolts.

I kiss her goodnight – nothing dramatic --- but again, she uses this as an opportunity to snuggle tight up to my body.  Full frontal snuggling I'd call it. The kiss was simple and brief.  

After the kiss we stay locked in each others arms.  It was time for the fateful question.

Me: You doing anything next Saturday?

Mary: Well, as a matter of fact I am. (My sense of well-being took a dramatic plunge).  I'm going out with you. (Only to soar to new heights).

This assumptive acceptance impressed me. What a charming way to reveal her mutual interest in moving forward. It wasn't, OK, I'll go out with you.  It was: I'm anticipating going out with you again.  I was smitten.

We began to date exclusively after that night. And our making out quickly progresses from casually making out to professionally making out.

At times, I rendered her overwhelmed with my Cathedral style.  

This conversation occurred during an early make-out session.

Mary: WOW! Where did you ever learn that? (She, trying to catch her breath).

Me: I'll let you in on an little Cathedral secret:  Brother Leonard's physics lab.  

Mary: He taught you this? (Still gasping for air).

Me: Obviously not this.  But what he did do is provide us a through grounding in the principles of physics. We took it from there. It was the work of many students over many years that originally developed and then fine tuned these methods. It's a strictly oral Cathedral tradition, passed on from graduating seniors to the junior class.

Mary: Does this technique ( gulping for air again) have a name?

Me: This one is called the inclined plane.

Mary: Wow, I never thought physics could be so … umm... stimulating. Got any more physics tricks up your sleeve?

Me: Indeed I do. Brother Leonard’s physics insights were, if nothing else, numerous. And my fellow classmates were brilliantly creative in this unusual collaboration of physics with human anatomy. And  just to clarify things, most of the tricks are not up my sleeve.

Mary: Well, what should I look forward to?

Me: Next, we're going to explore some unusual thermodynamic properties to generate heat, while avoiding entropy.  We call it “emerald joules” in honor of  the color of our class rings.

Her eyes sparkled in anticipation.

She quickly became an enthusiastic devotee of physics the Cathedral way.


Before long, the critical night arrived.  The night I was going to ask her to go steady. I was pretty confident of the result. What I didn’t expect was the fiery intensity of her response.  It was, to put it mildly, breathtaking.  Nothing could have prepared me for it.   Can making out lead to sin? Your damn straight it can if you do it right, and, it's prefaced by a Cathedral ring.

I don't remember much of that night. It's now just a hazy mixture of partial memories and intense feelings.

 I asked her to go steady and gave her my Cathedral ring.  Then all hell broke lose.

Her soft lips were all over me. I remember clothes being shifted.   Then a bright light.  "He's a Rebel" by the Crystals came on the radio. It was to became my favorite song.  I'd made out with girls before, but this was making out of a different class.  

She guided my hands with confidence and authority first to those incredibly soft and long legs, then to … (well, I'm gonna pass on more detailed descriptions here in the interest of decorum.)

I came to think of that night as the beginning of my realization that making out, properly understood, was an art form.  

As our making out continued that night, on came the lightheadedness (mine), the labored breathing and shortness of breath(Mine), the rapid heartbeats(mine), ultimately ending with the chest pain. (I had chest pains for three days). At one point, in order to slow her down and relieve some of the pressure, I actually feigned passing out. Or maybe it wasn't feigned, my memory is really sketchy about this point.  I just remember coming around to many soft kisses.

 Whenever we paused, she just stared at my ring on her finger. She'd hold her hand at arm's length, turning it slightly to and fro letting the facets sparkle, then look deeply into my eyes, give me the warmest smile.  And pounce.

Mary transformed over time from a nice, good Catholic girl, into an incredibly passionate girl with a ravenous exploratory appetite, and a generous openness to push for and cross prohibited boundaries (in other words, an exceptional Catholic girl). And, obviously, not the kind of Catholic girl Billy Joel   described  in “Only the Good Die Young.”

 She was the girl who both led and followed me from from a place of relative innocence, down unfamiliar and forbidden paths, to places, not just dreamed of, but unimagined by a high school senior. When I asked her how she came to know about, or just be open to exploring the various steps in this incredible journey, she gave me a sly smile and insisted it was instinctive, a consequence of her being Irish.

While initially I was skeptical,  I came to believe her, as subsequent experiences bore out her claim. (And just so you guys know, I married an Irish girl. Well half Irish – I couldn't take it in its pure, undiluted form.)  

The relationship with Mary became a remarkable interaction of excitement, passion, learning and experimentation.

At first, I was at a loss to understand the roots of her unbelievable transformation. Going steady? Me?Then it hit me: I gave her my Cathedral ring. That's what began it all. How incredibly fortunate I was to be a Cathedral man. This would have never happened with a Salesian ring, or a Catholic Central ring for that matter.

I'm going to jump way ahead here.

At the end, Our relationship began to crumble. Weeks would go by without a date (too much homework).  At her high school, give me a break. The handwriting was on the wall.  I let her go.   I was completely lost as to why.  We'd never had a fight.  Our last date was as intense as ever (really puzzling). I couldn't fix the problem  because I had no idea what was wrong.  And, I concluded, neither did she, at least consciously.

She met a Notre Dame guy – through her stupid brother. Need I remind you, they had green class rings too. Her parents were giving her a ton of grief about “going steady” Her brother hated me for being a Cathedral man.   

I went to her house and rang the bell. Those legs answered the door.  I drank them in one last time.  They still looked fabulous. I steeled myself against their power over me. She knew I was looking at them.  I raised my eyes slowly to meet hers.

Was that a smirk I saw flash across her lips?

Me: Hi. I came to get my Cathedral ring back.

Mary: No. It's mine.  You gave it to me. Anyways, I sort of paid for that ring. In fact, I think I over paid.

After that opening salvo I could only think. Who is this girl? Is this the same girl I had been dating for nine months? It couldn't be. I was half inclined to search her house for pods.
We had officially broken up on our last date. All appeared civil, even tender, up to now. I anticipated no problem in getting my ring back. I gave it to her as a symbol of our going steady. We were no longer going steady. Give me my symbol back. Made perfect sense to me.

I wasn't prepared for her answer, nor the attitude behind it. So, I gave her the only rational response: I hit back in anger, something she had not seen in me before.


Me: Really.  You know what I think? I think you didn't pay enough to keep that ring. And if anybody overpaid in this relationship, it was me. Its a Cathedral ring. They don't come cheap.

 It stunned her.
 
 I think it was more the emotion rather than the words. But, I could be wrong. She was silent for about ten seconds. Then she threw it back in my face.

Mary: Are you calling me cheap?

Me: Those are your words Mary, not mine.
 
I was in no mood to clarify that "cheap" remark, nor was I interested in soothing her feelings.

A brilliant insight. 100% correct. But 100% insensitive as well. Some part of her realized that keeping my ring was wrong. She felt cheap for doing it. But instead of appealing to that element, I gave her body snatcher twin more reason to keep the ring, sealing its fate.

No silent pause this time, her response was immediate. Now it was my turn to be stunned. She slammed the door in my face.  

I lost her totally. I lost my ring. I lost my Cathedral cool. Pretty much in under a minute. A record that stands to this day. As I walked back to my car I thought to myself: " So, when are you transfering to Salesian?"
 

So there I was, facing two painful losses: her and my Cathedral ring. Two devastating losses at once. I was reeling.  My life went to black.


 I ultimately got through those losses.  But it took me a long time. How, you might ask.

I only managed to get through those losses by exclusively dating Irish girls for about a year. At least I learned something from dating Mary.

An Irish girl nearly destroyed my life.  But a series of Irish girls slowly pulled me back from the abyss and mended my broken heart,  And, they didn't require  a Cathedral ring to prompt the journey. Clearly, with them, it really is an unlearned, instinctive behavior. They are incredibly generous and open, curious and experimentally inclined when it comes to matters of the heart (and body), by nature.

 

I didn't see Mary for three years, when we both attended the wedding of a mutual friend. She came with the Notre Dame guy. I was standing up at the wedding and was standing next to the bride at the reception, greeting people. In she comes.  She waits in the reception line, comes up to the bride, they chat.  I'm a foot away, she manages not to even look at me or acknowledge my existence.

Well, I thought, nothing has changed.

Later, I was outside the hall with a group of friends when one said to me: someone here to see you. I turned around. It was her. Alone. Well not entirely alone, those legs were with her. I drank them in again. Three years can make a guy real thirsty. As I slowly raised my eyes to meet hers, I was met by an incredibly warm smile. To say the least I was confused. I walked over to her. She continued to smile.

I don't remember what we said to each other. I was trying to figure out what the hell was going on. First she ignores me (anticipated). Then she comes looking for me (not expected). Did she forget our last conversation on her porch? I hadn't. And yet here she was talking to me as if it hadn't happened. And, She sought me out. It lasted a few minutes. I walk back to my friend.

Friend: I thought she hated your guts.

Me: She did. You saw how she totally ignored me in the reception line, like I wasn't there.

Friend: Well, from where I stood just now, you could have fooled me. She looked positively beaming when she was talking to you. You know with your back to me I couldn't see your face, but, were you beaming back?

Me: Silence.

Friend: I thought so. Your still smitten with her.

Me: Silence

Friend: And where the hell is Notre Dame guy?

Me: I don't know, somewhere inside.
        What do you make of this?

Friend: Interesting. An hour ago you don't exist. Now, she gives her boyfriend the slip, comes looking for you, and greets you like a long lost friend.

Me: We were never friends.

Friend: OK, OK, long lost lover.

Me: Better.

Friend: So, the evidence clearly indicates she doesn't hate you any more, far from it, and she wants you to know it, and her boyfriend not to know it. Hmmm.
             Hey, maybe she slipped your Cathedral ring back in your pocket when you weren't looking.

Me: Fuck you asshole.

Friend: Hey, You know what would be even more ironic?

Me: I think I'm going to regret this. What?

Friend: She catches the bridal bouquet and you catch the garter.
            I mean, better your hands than some stranger's, right.
             And, right in front of her new boyfriend. That's what I'd call poetic justice. And, given what I just saw: I think Mary would love your hands inching that garter higher and higher up those Irish thighs. A nostalgic trip down memory lane for the both of you. How romantic. Where do you think I should stand to have the best view?

Me: Fuck you asshole. I thought you were my friend.

Friend: I am your friend. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm playing Cupid here, trying to get you two love birds back together. You know, if the garter idea doesn't work, here's what I'll do for you. I'll pick some Notre Dame guy, at random, and beat the crap out of him and threaten to kill him if he keeps dating Mary. You don't need to thank me.

But, you know what I really think? I think if you asked her on a date, she'd accept.

Me: What? Your crazy.

Friend: Like hell I am. Didn't you see what I just saw? I just saw your former lover sneak around in order to talk to you, and beam the whole time she was next to you. Basically telling you she's forgotten your last negative conversation, like it never happened, and forgiven you and wants you to forgive her. She's gone from slamming her door in your face to almost throwing herself at you. If I didn't know your history, didn't know Mary, and just saw her talking with you now, I'd say she was smitten with you. She was radiant in your presence. Your too busy still feeling sorry for yourself and licking your old wounds to see what's really going on here.
           
Me: Your nuts.

Friend: You think so? Ask her to dance. I bet she says yes. When your dancing, ask her out. You'll get another yes.

Me:You are fuckin out of your mind? I'm not going to ask her to dance. And she wouldn't go out with me. Anyway, she's been dating him longer than she dated me.

Friend: It doesn't matter. I smell blood. Being first in someone's heart trumps time in. Your just a pussy! Your letting a golden opportunity slip through your fingers. A real Cathedral man would take the risk. You'd just be asking for a dance. It has to be a slow one though. She could explain that away to Mr. Notre Dame, that you know each other through the bride and groom. After the way she just acted, how could she say no to you. I don't think she wants to say no to you. I'm picking up their relationship is not rock solid. I think she just made a real overture to you. Your just too
 pussy to act on it. This will work.  You'll get her back, not to mention your ring.

Me: Silence. But thinking, what if he's right.

Friend: Look I understand you don't want to approach her in front of him. OK. But at least give her a call. I'm telling you she made an overture. She hit the ball in your court. Hit it back. And again I'm picking up there is something off in their relationship. I think she's looking for a reason to
 get out. I really think she wants you to save her. Cupid knows incipient love when he sees it. You expected the cold shoulder. You initially got it because he was standing next to her. Now he's nowhere in sight. What do you get? Something completely unexpected.  You get a beaming face
 with a fabulous smile. A sly, very warm heart. Forgiveness for past deeds. Are you fucking blind? Does she have to grab your hand and put it on her breast for you to get it? They're not married.   They're not engaged. They're just dating. And if you weren't such a pussy, not for much longer.

Me: I need a drink, lets go back in.

I don't ask her to dance. I don't call her. Pussy it is. Asshole never lets me forget it.

But when I next run into her, three years later, it appears my asshole friend was correct. But by then, she's married to Mr. Notre Dame for about a year.

 I was shopping at an Ace hardware, checking out, when I hear "Hi" behind me. I turn around.  Its Mary and she's beaming again. And those goddamn legs. Again, she approached me.  I didn't even notice her.

We start to talk and walk out of the store together. We haven't gone 20 feet when I casually ask.

Me: So, how is married life?

Expecting some innocuous, bland answer. You know, the kind people typically give to that question. She dropped an atom bomb instead.

Mary: Marriage isn't what I thought it would be. (Said with all seriousness).

My brain (reeling): What?

My brain (still reeling): Why did you say that?

My brain (reeling still): Why did you say that to me?

Who gives that answer to the "How's married life" question. Nobody. And they sure as hell don't say it to an ex. Out of all the fuckin things she could have said, she says that.

Let's go back to her answer and flesh it out a bit to better understand what she was really saying.

Mary: I'm disappointed, my marriage to Joe (his name) is not what I thought it would be.

And, there is no attempt to soften that comment with any advantages or benefits of marriage. It's 100% negative.

And, she manages to tell me this within two minutes of meeting me, and after not seeing me in three years. And pretty much not interacting with me, really, for six years.

 If my friend were there he'd be slowly shaking his head yes meaning: what the fuck did I tell you.

Me: What do you mean by that? (Said as calmly and rationally as I could).

 But I think she picked up my real questions (they were written all over my face): what the fuck is going on here? why would you ever say that to me? What the hell are you telling me?

She gave me some answer but my brain was not accepting much incoming information. It was stuck in a loop regarding her original answer. But it had something to do with all the compromises she had to make in the marriage. Later, after some reflection, I thought: well, wouldn't you expect compromises going in? The only conclusion that made sense for her to say that:  too many compromises were required, and they were too significant. Or, they weren't just compromises, but outright losses.  She felt she was sacrificing too much of herself, and her desires and needs, in the marriage.

This time, as compared to the wedding encounter,  her actions and meaning are not subtle, not open to interpretation, or vague.  This time, she hit me with a 2x4. She got my attention and I understood.  Her intention is crystal clear: she is telling me, “I'm not happy with where I'm at.”

After dropping that bomb on me, this is what she does. She walks directly to her car, gets in and drives off. This takes maybe a minute. She's smiling that fabulous smile, she's friendly the whole time. And those legs, crap, they haven't looked better. They were particularly devastating when tanned – it was late summer.

I'm left standing there thinking. WTF ? :She just matter of  factly told you she was disappointed in her marriage. Well, why not, because she didn't marry me, a Cathedral man. And while were at it: fuck you Notre Dame guy. But, once it became obvious ( later) what she was telling me, the gloating was replaced with sadness.

As I thought more about that meeting and its message I came to this conclusion: I don't think she had   told that to anyone else, but me. I mean, who says that to anybody anyways, even if its true? It's saying your marriage is not living up to your expectations. That's a hard thing to tell anybody.

I ultimately came to think of that information as a gift. She let me in on a secret. As to the question, why me. Why not me: at one time we had been very intimate and close. Who else would she tell it to? I don't think that kind of closeness ever goes away. She was generous to me with her body, why not her innermost thoughts. She knew exactly what she had told me, and it became immediately clear to her, I now knew it as well. (which is why she quickly ran away).

Her marriage wasn't horrible or even bad, but disappointing. How many marriages are like that? She became disillusioned (and maybe she saw it coming, in some sense, like at an earlier wedding).

 Sometimes our decisions are irreversible: they commit us to a path. One among many.  It can be sad when we later revisit that decision and see it for what it really was. If we only knew then, how fateful it would be, or where it would lead. But we can't at the time, that knowledge only comes in retrospect, and maybe not even then.

Another insight, sometimes life gives us second chances (the wedding encounter), and we fail to take advantage of them because we're pussies.

I never see her again.

When I told my friend of the incident, he beat me up mercilessly. And rightly so. But this was how he began.

Friend: I'm assuming the issue of the ring never came up.

Me: An icy stare.

Friend: That's what happens when you don't listen to Cupid: no Mary and no ring. When will you ever learn?  And you know what?  I think she is feeling more than disappointment.  I sense regret as well. Disappointment is not liking the outcome. Regret is  realizing your contribution to the disappointing outcome. I think she wanted to tell you that as well.  She's undoubtedly thought about how her life could have been different had she made other choices. We all do that, and it's about way more  issues than just making different partner choices.  She made some choices that contributed to her situation, and she knows it. What she doesn't know is: would it have been better with you.

I actually smiled at that remark and thought: Not better with a Cathedral man, you must be joking.

But you know, sometimes the asshole gets it right.  Regret, I know  I couldn't avoid it, it weighed heavily on me.  And asshole, he went out of his way to magnify the guilt and sorrow: imagine Jiminy Cricket with a whip. Punishment for being a pussy he called it. Not to mention so very unCathedral.

A year later I met my 1/2 Irish wife. Apparently, sometimes life gives us third chances. By that time I had actually matured. I knew better what I wanted from life, and the partner I wanted to go through it with. I saw it in her on the first date. I went after her.  No pussyfooting around this time.  I had an occasion to tell her about Mary, so I did. I was curious as to what she thought about what happened. She listened to the story. While the word pussy did not cross her lips, wouldn't you know it, she sided with asshole in terms of  how clueless and timid (I liked her word better) I'd been at the wedding. I quickly reminded her that had I not been clueless and timid, we'd never be together, that I had thus saved myself for her.  She said nothing, just leaned in close, giving me a warm kiss and a tender smile. Needless to say, I preferred her manner of criticism over Jiminy's.

While I told her pretty much everything, I discretely left out the physics insights. I thought I'd let her find out about that on her own. Not surprisingly, she came to love Cathedral physics.

Well, hows that for a Cathedral ring story mother-fuckers?

Again, if you think I'm lying. Take another look at that picture. Would I lie about those legs? Would I?

 

A Classmate