I hate to break it to you gentlemen, but we are pathetic," sighed Roger Lamar, head of the Theater Department of the North Metropolitan Community College. "Look at us: six grown men on a Friday night, debating which Goddamned porno to watch. Back in the day, when fresh collegiate trim was a perquisite of our profession, guys like us would gather at the end of semester to share storis of all the coeds they'd bedded and cherries they'd popped. Nowadays, the best we can do is compare notes on which girls we'd like to bang, watch a few pornographic films and go home to jack off before bed. These are sad times, my friends. Sad times."
"And when exactly was this golden age of profs banging coeds, Roger?" asked Joel Weiss. He was in the Mathematics Department and was hosting the evening's festivities.
"Fuck if I know," admitted Roger as he took a long sip of his vodka tonic. "Certainly before my time."
"Pre Enlightenment?" said Kurt Williams from Poli-Sci with a shit-giving smile. He scratched at his chin with his mangled left hand: a memento from Afghanistan.
"With all the hair and that rangy beard, I'd say Neolithic," laughed Dr. James Basset - English Department - his smile flashing bright against his dark skin.
Martin Demarest, the new English Composition instructor, said nothing. He knew Roger was notorious among the students for being a dirty old man so his lament about the lack of teenagers willing to throw their thighs open for the faculty was hardly surprising. Personally, he thought the guy was full of shit.
Roger turned to Ernest Banyan - Economics - and cocked an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to take your dig at my age Ernie. I am over 40, after all."
"Naw. I agree with you," said Ernie. "Remember Sara Henjum?"
"Oh yeah, I forgot." Roger turned his large, shaggy head to Martin and explained. "Ernie here actually fucked a student a few years back."
Ernie nodded. "Yeah... Well, she had dropped out earlier that semester... And I had to pay for it. But it still counts, I think."
A few of the guys laughed at that.
"Oh, and none of this leaves this room, got it?" said James to Martin. "First law of Stag Night."
Martin nodded.
"So," said Roger to Martin. "You're a young guy, in good shape, moderately attractive, I'd bet some of the girls have been giving you the eye... you get any action this semester?"
"Um... actually..."
The room exploded in noise. "What? You did?!" - "Son. Of. A. Fucking. Bitch." - "Dude!"
"Cheers, rookie," said Rogers as he hoisted his glass.
"No! No. I didn't have sex with her, but... well, it's a long story."
"We are specifically here to share these types of long stories," said Joel. "Get the hell on with it."
Martin looked around the room. Every eye was on him.
"OK," he said. "She was a student in my Creative Writing section; not really what you'd call good looking although she seemed like the kind of person who really works at fading into the crowd: cheap glasses; straight, mousy brown hair; frumpy clothes; no makeup or even jewelry as far as I remember..."
"Name?"
"Jill Coode," he said, pronouncing it like the word 'could'. "Spelled C-O-O-D-E. "
"Oh shit," said James. "I had her in my English lit class last Fall and I mispronounced it as 'coodie' on the first day. Everyone laughed. I still remember how mortified the poor girl looked."
