When my Grandma Davis died in 1975, she left $5,000 to each of her 12 grandchildren, as a "wedding present," to be bestowed upon them on their wedding day.
In the spring of 1985, I was telling my mother about my difficulties making ends meet in Hell-fer-Sartain, Texas, and she said, "It doesn't look like a wedding is going to happen, so why don't we give you your Grandma's money now?"
The check came in February. The $5000 had become $12,428, the equivalent of $28,000 today. Enough to pay my rent for the next six months, get my car repaired, visit Europe, move to Los Angeles next summer -- and, right now, Spring Break to New Orleans!
The minute my last class ended, I got into my car and drove the six hours to New Orleans, and I didn't get back until an hour before my first class began.
It wasn't Mardi Gras, so guys weren't flashing their equipment to the crowd, but I still saw my fair share of penises.
On my first night, I went home with a hairy, muscular bear in his 40s. While I was going down on him, he talked nonstop about New Orleans' ghosts and hauntings.
On my second night, I went home with a short, compact University of Michigan undergrad on spring break, who loved the "fact" that I was from Texas.
On my third night, I somehow attracted the attention of a Cute Young Thing. I don't remember his name, so I'll call him Jasper.
Jasper was cute: fuzz-headed, blue eyes, long tan muscles, wearing a yellow t-shirt and tight jeans. He had a soft Southern accent that I found attractive. But I was 24 years old, too old for him.
"Bedtime snack for your boyfriend?" he asked.
"You're not my boyfriend."
"Trick, then. You have no idea how good in bed I am. Give you a hint -- I call it my one-eyed monster!" He giggled.
The rest of the story is too explicit for Boomer Beefcake and Bonding. Read it on Tales of West Hollywood.