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The nice thing about coming from a family where both parents have good paying jobs is that you don't have to live in the dorm unless you want to. I spent my first two years in college living in a dorm, but in my junior year I wanted to be able to party and I talked mom and dad into spring for an apartment. They were leery until I used the argument that I needed to start learning how to live on my own against the day I graduated.

It wasn't party, party, party - I did work hard at keeping my grades up - but I wanted to be able to "get down" on Friday and Saturday nights, bring ladies into my bed and not have to worry about being caught. I wanted to be able to drink and not have to sweat getting a DUI while driving home from a party or have the asshole campus cops stop me for staggering across the quad. I wanted unsupervised freedom.

The worst thing about my apartment was that it was too damned close to my big brother. Far enough away from mom and dad that I only saw them once every three weeks or so, but Barry was only two blocks away. When he had graduated he had taken a job locally and set up housekeeping. As a result I saw Barry two or three times a week. But Barry wasn't the problem. The problem was Barry's wife Mindy and the problem had nothing to do with what Mindy said or did. The problem was what she was. What she was was everything that a guy wanted in a woman. She was beautiful. She was sexy as hell and built like the proverbial brick shithouse. She was smart, she was funny and it killed me to be ...

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