Chapter 4

It took me a while, but I kinda forgot about Camryn after Freshman year. Okay, I didn't forget about her; I forced myself to try to forget about Cam. Not having a class together in the second semester of that year was a rough transition that made maintaining a friendship with a girl who was in a relationship with a douche boyfriend next to impossible. I knew Cam wanted to continue being my friend, but It was challenging for me to desire only that. Though I'd held out hope, it was clear that she wasn't interested, already had a boyfriend, and was going to leave me in the friend zone. That's when I began pushing away.

After our macroeconomics class together the first semester, I texted her less and less, eventually losing touch. Partly because It was painful to see her with someone else and partly because I'd heard her boyfriend didn't seem to like that I was texting Cam. No one wanted to get on Drake Callister's bad side, so I disengaged, making sure I didn't give him the wrong impression. Cam was a goddess, and giving up on that deity was hard for me. Half of me considered getting back on social media so I could Instagram stalk her, but I knew that was a kind of drug I didn't want to prescribe.

As my Sophomore year and Junior year came and went, Cam faded into relative obscurity in my life. My friends stopped hounding me about how I never managed to f*ck her, and I never saw her on our (rather large) campus. Quite frankly, I was too busy to care about what Cam was up to. Not to brag, but I was doing pretty well for myself with a lot of Freshman and Sophomore girls on campus. Girls like Emma with amazing legs from my Freshman year dorm. Girls like Olivia, a feisty redhead Freshman I bagged in my sophomore year who was just as crazy in the sack as she was outside of it. And, of course, girls like Sofia, a laid-back fit lacrosse player with an hourglass figure who I dated for a few months. Sometimes I was single, sometimes I wasn't, but I usually had college girls coming and going from my life, and I didn't have much attention span to pay Cam any mind.

In my Junior year, I studied abroad for my second semester in Italy and got into a relationship with a local girl I met playing coed pick-up soccer. She could speak English just as well as I spoke Italian, but we spoke a common language in the bedroom. Then in my Senior year, I partied my ass off while nearing the end of closing out the rest of the credits I needed to graduate. There wasn't time for any serious relationships, but I bounced around a few flings and one-night stands while focusing the lion's share of my effort on my college capstone project. By the time my senior year was getting close to ending, I was getting to a point where I knew I would reflect on my time as a college student with pride.

Two weeks before graduation, I was halfway between buzzed and drunk, coming home from a friend's party that I'd dipped out of early. I'd left the party early due to a crazy ex of mine, Olivia, showing up, so I'd given the excuse that I wanted to get home before it started to rain. My friends called me out for being 'lame' and tried to get me to stay, but I had no intention of sticking around. My crazy red-headed ex still had the hots for me and probably wanted to get her claws back in me before I graduated, but that ship had sailed. Despite how hot she looked in her jean shorts and crop top combo that she'd worn to the party, I wasn't willing to risk staying.

Even with the threat of a nighttime rain shower, It was a warm spring night, so I had a collared t-shirt and shorts on and was taking my time, enjoying the fresh air as I headed back to my apartment. On my way home, I walked past a burger joint I used to sometimes frequent on drunk weekend nights back in my Sophomore year. I had the slightest bit of nostalgia to go in and grab a road burger, but given my gym lifting routine, I opted to hold off on my protein intake until the following morning. Despite the gravity of that neon 'open' sign and the greasy smell coming from inside, my willpower prevailed.

Of course, coming out of the restaurant as I was about to walk by was a large girl. It took me a moment, but that over-bloated form was, unfortunately, easy for me to identify. I recognized the big girl as Alana Lexington, the fat girl who used to have a crush on me years ago and who was now in my social deviance class this semester. A class I needed for a mandatory psych credit to graduate. Why an economics major needed a psych credit seemed stupid to me, but I was happy playing ball in that blowoff class.

Let's back up a bit to the start of senior year, spring semester.

The social deviance class was a 200+ lecture hall class, where we spent the whole semester taking notes and partnering up for an end-of-semester 15-minute presentation on the psychology of specific sexual fetishists. Luckily, I had partnered up with one of the most attractive girls in the class, Alison Zelinski, a yoga-obsessed Sophomore captain of the college soccer team with an open mind about sex. We'd chosen to do role play as our focus for the project. Suffice it to say Alison was a very hands-on academic. About a week into our research, Alission showed up to our study sessions as a slutty student, then a French maid the next week, and then a naughty nurse. Alison seemed to have a limitless number of costumes and characters that she slipped into, and I considered myself the luckiest guy in class.

Maybe all the months and months of working out in the gym had earned me this moment, but it at least helped give me the confidence to be with someone like Alison, who dripped sex appeal. We were mostly fuck buddies, which suited me since I'd come to enjoy playing the field. My years between the end of Freshman year and Senior year were pretty fruitful once I dropped Cam from the pedestal I put her on.

Back to Alana. That first week of my social device class, I recall this big girl in a blue zip-up hoodie and rose-pink yoga pants who had come up to me on the day we were picking partners. Though it had been a few years, I suppose I was able to recognize that it was Alana Lexington, the fat chick from my freshman-year Macroeconomics class. That blue zip-up hoodie and pink yoga pants combo were still, unfortunately, scarred into my brain from all those years ago.

The landwhale had obviously put on weight and should've retired it, seeing as her bare stomach was shamefully and repulsively spilling out the bottom of it. At least her tits had grown a bit from what I remembered about her, but I'd hardly call them a redeeming quality. If she'd been 270 pounds Freshman year, Alana looked like she was pushing at least 300 and, unfortunately, didn't update her wardrobe in all that time. Alana somehow remembered my name and quite forwardly asked if I wanted to pair up with her. Just like my relationship with her Freshman year, I didn't pay her much mind, honestly. Some would argue that maybe I'd been too dismissive of Alana and should've at least looked her in the eyes before rejecting her. Yet I was too busy eying Alison's ass, quickly declined Alana, and moved in on the girl I wanted to partner with.

As the semester went on, I assumed that Alana still had a crush on me, trying to sit next to me on the first day of class, but I was far from interested. Don't get me wrong, I didn't mind a few extra curves here and there, but my ideal woman was a 36 bust, 24 waist, and 36 hips. Skinny Hourglass shapes have always been my thing. This girl was far, FAR below my lowest standards. Anyone over 160 was a hard pass by me, and Alana was obviously so far beyond that that she didn't deserve to even get the time of day from me. Frankly, I hadn't seen a fatter girl than Alana on campus. Given Alana had had nearly four years to fix the disrepair her hulking body was in, I couldn't find it in myself to pity her apparent lack of self-control.

Maybe it was cruel to treat Alana in the dismissive way I was, but there were people much meaner than me. Mainly Alison. On more than one occasion, I'd seen Alison and her soccer friends publicly make fun of Alana. I wasn't nearly as savage as Alison, but I wasn't about to stop them from picking on her, thinking that maybe a bit of tough love would motivate her to lose weight. Alison and her friends had even given the fatty the cruel nickname of 'Big Fat Cramming Pig,' and any of the rare times I heard about Alana from Alison, she was always referred to by her nickname. I felt bad that that's how I started to refer to Alana as well (at least out of earshot from Alana). Sure, it was mean, but honestly, I had little sympathy for someone that horrendously obese.

So, back to that drunk night... where was I? Stumbling home? Right, I saw Alana.