Chapter Three - Rene

Rene was Emmitt's best friend. It was Rene's house where I first met Emmitt in the first place. I don't remember how we ended up getting together, but we did. I guess that's when they quit being friends, I suppose. We really had very little in common. I was pretty heavy into the local music scene, but he was into the club scene.

There was nothing about Rene, looking back, that was good for me. Oh, who am I kidding...I knew that then. He was a drug dealer and owned his own house at only 18. He had two GT Mustangs. He wasn't very careful about keeping his profile low-key. Maybe that was part of the attraction.

I had just started attending a private school that was extremely lenient on rules. It was a work-at-your-own-pace kind of structure (if you could call it structure), and we were required to attend classes for a certain number of hours a week, taken as we saw fit. It allowed for two hour lunches if that's what we wanted. I did that a bit too often with Rene.

What I remember most were the days he'd pick me up from school and we'd spend that time in his car, 98% of the time in the backseat. I usually had to stay at school almost all of Monday just so I could make sure I had enough spare hours to waste having tawdry sex with a loser for a couple of hours each day for the rest of the week.

The bulk of everything I remember about Rene revolves around the different parking locations over that period of time. Sometimes we'd just pull around behind the school (which was actually housed in a church), sometimes we'd go to the city park by the creek (which was across the street from an elementary school), or do other crazy things like go park in the middle of the grocery store parking lot, just to see if anyone would notice.

Please remember, I wasn't always sober; I still had a bit of a drug habit myself, and often did things that make me shudder to think about now. Once, he came to pick me up and one of his friends (i hated the guy), was in the passenger's seat, reeking of alcohol. Passed out cold. Rene and I still had sex in the backseat. I can't imagine the guy stayed passed out the whole time - I still suspect that he was just fine but Rene was trying to prove a point about how much of a freak I was - and that he was watching instead. Given Rene's affinity for exhibitionism, it wouldn't surprise me too much. Given that I typically didn't give a shit, the fact that I did it doesn't surprise me much, either.

On the weekends, I'd usually spend the nights with him. Sex was all we did. There was usually pizza and beer involved, though. Sometimes, if we were feeling particularly skanky, we'd get a 4-pack of Everclear Purple Passion.

One of the most embarrassing and freaky things that ever happened involved his pit bull, Sandy. She was a sweet dog, but she would crawl under the covers after we were asleep. Rene had an oral fixation with me and would often wake up in the middle of the night and go down on me. Do you see where this is going? Yeah. One morning, I thought it was him, but it wasn't. I figured it out pretty quickly, and I made him establish a "no dogs in the bedroom" rule from there on out.

It wasn't the quality - that's for sure - but the quantity. Bobby's emotional involvement in our relationship had fooled me into thinking that most people who slept together cared for each other. I guess I made the mistake in thinking that because Rene spent so much time and money on me that he must've actually cared about me. I think that was probably where my ridiculous idea of sex = affection began.

Eventually, he met some rich girl with a Daddy complex who was rebelling against her family hard enough to proclaim her love for Rene. He couldn't help himself; she'd been Homecoming Queen at the local high school and she had great grades and a bright future. I told him I understood (I did), and that I was okay with it (which I really was, mostly).

We still got together for a weekend marathon every once in a great while, as our lives continued on and we moved on. He moved out of town but came into town every so often. He gave his grandmother his house, which I thought was kinda nice.

There's an interesting story about how I got him to help me buy a gun when I was 17, but that might be an entry for another time. It's a fun story to tell, though.

Where is he now? I have no clue. I haven't spoken to him in probably 15 years. I'm not sure how long he was in the drug game and I haven't done anything to try to find him. No need.

Next up: Chris D.
.