Date #2 Oliver September 28
Sometimes I wonder if I put too much detail in these entries. Granted, the details concerning dialogue might be a bit off, and I might add my own bias (this is my journal after all), but I try to make sure that I can get as much information in as possible. Then there is an occasion like this, when details fail to completely capture the moment, but you need to write down as much as possible so you will never forget. Hell, there are a lot of things that have happened that I can't forget, but I forget the details, what made it unforgettable. To think, I don't even indulge in mind-altering drugs which may end up destroying vital brain cels which store such memories, but I end up forgetting things anyway.
I met Oliver in my Classical Mythology class. He was a classics major, ever-obsessed with the good old days of empire and conquest. Perhaps it was the Brit in him, as he would often say to me. We would have conversations about the mythology, since it was the little bit of Classical Civilization that I could remember. Of course, we often talked about the amorous exploits of the gods and goddesses. I would have been uncomfortable with such an up-front approach to sex. Even though I was often like that, it unnerved me a little whenever I met guys as forward. Maybe it was that soothing British accent, or maybe it was because I was a bit enamored with him, but it seemed perfectly natural to talk about sex with him. I just don't think that the people in the library where we often studied approved of our conversations, or our impressions of the gods and goddesses during the throes of coitus.
One day, he invited me to his apartment to study for a midterm. I was a bit hesitant due to my parents' constant warnings about meeting males in their private residences. Still, I was entirely trusting of Oliver, perhaps a fault of mine since I'm a sucker for a British accent. That, and he had this warm, well...buttery is the only adjective I can think of to describe his smile, except that his teeth were not yellow as butter or crooked as per the stereotype. But sometimes, in our discussions, or even in class, he could be absolutely snarky. There was this sort of gleam that would get into his steel-grey eyes from beneath his floppy brown hair, as if he was saying "You left your knickers in my flat last night." Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if I didn't see him direct the same gaze at other girls in the class.
I figured that even if things were going to go where my darkest suspicions led to, it could be quite an adventure. So, I allowed him to write down his address...on my knee.
"Hello, luv," I heard his muffled voice behind the door, wondering how ridiculous I looked through the distorting peephole.
"Hi, I brought my notes," which was probably the silliest thing I could say. Perhaps I was just reassuring myself that we were going to study...and do nothing else.
"Good, let's get started," he motioned to his couch, which was next to a coffee table covered in notebooks, textbooks, and a rather interesting nude sculpture of who I presumed to be Venus.
I sat down, looking around the apartment. It was rather well-decorated for a college student's, with shelves filled with books and sculptures and other objects of art. There were posters on the walls of various ruins. It was good to know that he was into his studies. I wondered where he had gone to when I turned around and saw him in the kitchen, pouring two glasses of red wine.
"I don't know about you, but my studying ability is generally impeded by alcohol. Then again, I don't generally bring my books to keggers," I joked.
"Well, I happen to find that the opposite is true. I know that you are technically underaged, but I won't tell if you won't," ah, the snarky bastard had returned.
"How do I know that you didn't slip something into the wine like Circe did to Odysseus's men?" I asked, shrewdly examining the glass.
"It's not like I'm a goddess who lives on some island looking to ensnare men and turn them into swine, now am I?" his lips curled into a smile to match the glint in his eyes, "Now, perhaps you're just making accusations based on your subconscious desires."
"Since when are you a psychology major?" I swirled the wine in its glass and smelled it, "Besides, it wouldn't take much to turn men into swine, considering some of the displays I have been witness to."
"How about this as a display of faith," he took my glass, brushing his fingertips against the back of my hand, and took a sip, "See, no pink ears, no curly tail."
"Yes, but I see another sort of tail showing," I couldn't help but laugh when he looked down, as if thinking that I had made some sort of double entendre, but I couldn't torture him that much, "Soft, but bristly. Never trust anyone with the tail of a fox."
