Requital

I, at birth known as Caballero Spscavish, am going to be honest about my strengths and weaknesses right from the get-go.

I'm good looking, purposeful, and smart.

I'm socially inept (I'm probably somewhere on the autism spectrum but have never been diagnosed), completely un-athletic, and have a penchant for vengeance that isn't healthy.

Because of my social ineptness and lack of athleticism I was bullied somewhat in grade school, especially since I skipped a grade, and my freshman year in High School. In fact my freshman year Dipshit (not his real name, but if names were descriptive would have been), a senior on the football team, beat me up because he was a cretin and I showed him up in chemistry class. He was the last person who bullied me.

Two weeks after my beat down I was standing about twenty feet away from Dipshit's locker with a big grin on my face when as he opened up his locker he snarled "What the fuck are you grinning at Cab?" "Cab" was what everyone called me because almost no one knew my complete first name and no one – and I mean no one – could pronounce my last name.

Three seconds after Dipshit's locker opened up he found out what I was grinning about. A plastic bag of putrid moist cow dung exploded from inside his locker knocking him backwards while simultaneously covering him from head to toe with clingy smelly shit, as well as virtually every square inch of his locker. He was too disgusted and preoccupied – as was everyone else in the area – to try and go after me. Continuing to smile I simply went to my next class – which happened to be Advanced Placement Chemistry, the class I had with Dipshit where I had shown him up two weeks early.

Surprisingly Dipshit never showed for chemistry class that day.

Later that day I was called into the principal's office.

"Cab, what do you know about the cow manure incident in C-corridor earlier today?" Principal Preston asked.

"I saw it happen – seems like someone doesn't like Dipshit," I replied with a smile.

"Well some people, including Dipshit, think that you did it. I'm going to have to do an investigation."

"How thorough will the investigation be compared to the one you almost ran when I was beaten up by Dipshit two weeks ago? That incompetent, or even more so?"

"I told you at the time, Cab, that everyone around there said that you fell on your own and that Dipshit didn't hit you."

"All of Dipshit's football player friends you mean? Great job, Principal Preston, you should work for the FBI."

"There's no reason to get sarcastic – I did the best that I could. Now I ask you again what do you know about the most recent incident?"

"Pursuant to Paragraph 5:20 of the school Student Code of Conduct you can't interrogate me about something that could be considered criminal – and I assume that exploding cow shit in Dipshit's face could be considered criminal – without my parents present, and if they choose their attorney; so I won't be answering any of your questions unless the three of them are here."

"This looks like your work," an obviously flummoxed Preston replied handing me a piece of common notebook paper in a plastic covering, the paper spotted with cow shit.

"Let's see," I responded, pretending to be expending great effort to read the paper, "Hey Dipshit – youse most bettre re-formulate youse conduct; nextic times it'll bees dynomite." After pausing for a while I asked "Is that what it says?"

"That's what I understand it to say."

"So in other words you think that I, who got the highest grade in a class of all juniors and seniors in Advanced Placement English last semester, can't write any better than that? Looks like some cretin on the football team wrote it, maybe one of the guys witnessing Dipshit punching me out two weeks ago."

"You obviously were trying to disguise your involvement," Preston huffily responded.

"Tell you what Principal Preston. You find some fingerprints, DNA, video, purchases of materials, key to Dipshit's locker, or any other evidence that I had anything to do with the cow shit bomb and I'll talk to you. Otherwise, don't bother me," at which point I got up and walked out of his office.

"You can't talk to me like that..." I heard him say to my back as I exited, but I didn't acknowledge him.

Two cops came to my house that night. My hand-wringing mother and milquetoast father were going to let them interview me but I made it clear to all "I'm not talking to anyone without a lawyer – and if my lawyer doesn't tell me not to answer any questions I'll fire him or her and get a new one. I have studying to do," and walked upstairs to my bedroom with the cops calling up "This doesn't look good for you, you should talk to us." I ignored them.

Obviously I was never linked by any evidence to the incident, and never was punished or arrested.

After that incident all the stoners, geeks, and nice kids, male and female, would give me high fives, fist bumps, or big smiles in the hallway, while the assholes simply sneered. My Advanced Placement Chemistry professor – himself a nerd like me – gave me a smiling fist bump and a note that said "You have an A+ for the year." Even though there were some stupid people in my High School no one ever fucked with me again, not only because of what happened to Dipshit but because of what the note threatened, and the fact that no one could find even the slightest evidence linking me to the incident even though there was no doubt in anyone's mind that I had done it.

The incident also got me my first dates of my life. Several cute girls were so enamored with my cleverness – and because I was cute – that they asked me to movies and dances. I was too socially inept to get more than a few kisses out of the dates – and one almost accidental feel – but I did develop socially at least somewhat.

*************

I graduated High School after my junior year and on an academic scholarship went to Johns Hopkins University, which was the #1 rated school for the field of study that I was interested in, biomedical engineering. While there the best and worst things ever to happen to me in my early life occurred. The best thing – I fell in love.

Her name was Christina L. Bronte. She was a year older than I was but she looked younger, and I looked older, for our ages. She was beautiful, sexy, and smart. Her intelligence was what most attracted her to me, and which allowed me to overcome my social ineptness enough to establish a relationship with her. She and I had a class together – my only non-engineering elective – economics (she was a business major), and we bonded when we were randomly assigned to a four person team to do an economics research project.

I was head-over-heels in love with Christina and she seemed to be just as enamored with me. We celebrated my 18th birthday naked in her dorm room when her roommate was out of town. While I had no real actual experience at the time I did have Internet experience, and she was a very willing teacher. She convinced me that no condom was necessary because she was on birth control and neither of us had any possibility of being infected with an STD. I found out that night that I had another thing going for me that I didn't previously recognize – a very energetic and quick-recovery cock. We fucked ourselves sore that night, and made a point of mating at least one night a week – multiple orgasms each session for both of us – the rest of the school year.

I found out that Christina lived only one suburb over from where I grew up – just twelve miles between our houses – in a very modest enclave. We both got summer jobs near our home towns and saw each other every Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday. Even though I wasn't good at talking on the phone I made sure to call her at least once every weekday, and to text her often.

I got to know Christina's family too.

Christina's mother Brit was a true MILF; she had had Brit when she was 18 and looked more like her older sister than her mother. Plus, Brit Bronte was even better looking than Christina. In fact I do believe that Brit was the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen. She may also have been the kindest. She was warm to me from the first minute that we met, and never said anything bad about anyone. I enjoyed her company so much that sometimes I'd get to Christina's house an hour beforehand and either chat with Brit or play gin rummy with her (which she loved, especially since she won 80% of the time, half the time due to her own skill or luck, and the other half because I let her win because the smile she got when she won made me feel much better than if I had won). In fact one Saturday when Christina and Bea had plans and Brit's husband was out of town I took Brit to lunch, shopping, and then a movie that night. It was as much fun as being with Christina.

Christina's little sister Beatrice was a younger (by five years), though pudgier and less self-confident, version of Christina. Beatrice liked me a lot – in fact I think that Beatrice developed a crush on me during the summer.

Christina's father was a big hard-nosed no-nonsense guy appropriately nicknamed Rock. My social ineptness was an advantage in dealing with him because I didn't know enough to be intimidated by him. He apparently appreciated that – especially since I helped him with a home mechanical project that had stumped him. Christina said that he also liked me, although he never showed it.

My sophomore year at JHU, Christina's junior, we were almost inseparable, and made plans for the future. I was on track to graduate a year early and we both wanted to go to graduate school in the same city. We left school for the summer with stars in our eyes.

We didn't get to see each other as much our second summer because I got a summer job in biomedical engineering in a city about 100 miles from home, and Christina got a summer internship in her field about 100 miles in the other direction. However, we did see each other several times over the first month of the summer, our meetings including mind-blowing sex.

Going into the second month of the summer, Christina canceled on me one weekend when we were to get together due to some business obligation. The next time that we did meet she seemed detached – although with my social ineptness I couldn't really be sure because I can't read body language or cues that well. We did have sex but it didn't seem to have the same spark that it had every time before – although it was still very good.

When I tried to call Christina after that weekend I only got voicemail. She never returned my calls or text messages. After about two weeks her phone was even disconnected. I called Christina's parents' house; little sister Beatrice answered.

"Hi Bea; is Christina there? I've been trying to get ahold of her but her cell phone is no longer in service."

"Uh...I'm so sorry, Cab. I don't know what the hell is wrong with her, but she said to tell you if you called that she doesn't want to see you anymore," Bea replied, obviously distressed.

"What! Did she give you any reason?" I frantically responded.

"No...honestly, Cab, I don't know what is going on. She just called Mom and I and left that message. She isn't coming back here before the summer is over as far as I know, and she said that she's transferring from JHU."

"Oh God...tell me this is a sick joke, Bea – please tell me."

Bea started crying – I was still too struck to cry. Obviously Bea handed the phone to her mother because Brit came on the line.

"I'm so sorry, Cab. Christina never gave us any explanation, she just left this message. I tried to talk to her about it, but she was short with me. If I can ever get her to talk to me about it, I'll call you; I promise."

"OK," I mumbled.

"I'm so, so sorry, Cab; our family really adores you..." were Brit's final words before one of us – I really don't remember who – ended the call.

I was in no shape to work the next week, and was virtually an automaton the week I went back. Then, just to make sure that more shit was piled upon me, my parents were killed in an auto accident the week I went back to work. Obviously, I then quit.

I was hoping that Christina would come to my parents' funeral – I really could have used some support, and an explanation. She didn't although Beatrice, Brit, and Rock all came and were very sad for me. Brit and I cried on each other's shoulders. I didn't ask them about Christina, and they didn't offer anything. I didn't even get a sympathy card from Christina.

I was left with just some distant relatives. Fortunately one of them – a second cousin – was an attorney, and she handled all of the estate matters.

I tried to go back to school, but had a hard time. I spent most of the time in my room feeling sorry for myself. I essentially never attended classes, or opened the books for the four courses that I was taking in my major. I did at least take the midterms – without studying at all.

I had become closer to my adviser that most students are, and after the midterms he actually showed up at my apartment to talk to me.

"What's wrong, Cab – you got Cs or C-s on all of your midterms. If you don't keep a B average each semester you can lose your scholarship," Dr. Farmer told me.

"Sorry, Doc; I didn't attend any classes or even open the books; I've been depressed," I mumbled in reply.

"You got Cs without even opening up the books? How?"

"I know lots of shit; but I'm not sure if I can finish out the semester anyway."

"Why?" he asked, obviously concerned.

Without elaborating I told him about both losing Christina and my parents' deaths. He was very concerned.

"Walk with me right now to the Health Center – they'll recommend a psychiatrist for you," he said.

I was too worn out emotionally to argue with him, and did as he said.

Apparently the people at the Health Center were very concerned, because they got me in to see a private shrink the very next day. After two sessions with the shrink she had some bizarre advice.

"Tell me, Cab – do you like your name?"

"Hell no – I'm afraid to tell anyone my full first name, and no one ever has been able to pronounce my last name. I think that my grandfather – who from what I hear was a total ass – gave Immigration Officials that name when he immigrated to the U. S. just to be a difficult."

"Do you ever exercise?"

"I stay in shape just by normal activities – I'm not overweight; but I'm not really athletic, and I don't exercise just to exercise."

"What you need is to reboot yourself, just like a computer. I'll give you some anti-depressants for the short term, but I only want you to take them for a month or so. What I recommend is that you legally change your name, and start regular exercise with a purpose. Specifically I suggest that you take up a martial art like tai chi, karate, or Krav Maga. A martial art will appeal to your sense of science and order and you won't get bored with it. Also, I'll write you a letter excusing you from classes this semester, and you can start anew next semester."

I was stunned. After thinking about it during a minute of silence where we just looked at each other I replied "I will, Doc; I will."

She smiled widely, hugged me, gave me a prescription for an anti-depressant, had the letter already written and printed out a copy for me and emailed it to my adviser and the dean of students, and even gave me the name of a Kraw Maga studio and her attorney's card.

I suddenly had purpose. Within three days, having taken three pills, I had the paperwork started for changing my name to Tom Wilson (what could be simpler and more all-American than that?), had signed up for Kraw Maga for three-four sessions per week, met with my adviser and the dean, and went to see all of my professors to explain the situation, all of whom received me well.

I stayed on campus even though I wasn't attending classes and even though I had to pay for room and board out of my pocket (I had no financial worries; even though my parents weren't rich they did have significant assets and I was their only heir) since my scholarship was on hiatus until I returned to classes.

Within six weeks I was feeling good and went off the anti-depressant pills. The major hole in my life was lack of intimate contact; while my love for Christina had turned to hate – or at least animosity – I had gotten used to intimacy and really missed it. I also missed talking with her family, especially Brit. Then I overheard a conversation in the Student Union that gave me an idea. I would not have had the guts to act on my idea – because even I knew that it was not really socially acceptable – except for my desperation.

A junior by the name of Brenda was bemoaning to her friends how she had badly fallen behind in her schoolwork, and was about to flunk out. She had been partying too hard, had taken courses more difficult than she anticipated, and had self-confidence issues, believing that she never should even have been admitted to JHU. Brenda was not a raving beauty, but she was slim and attractive – and had a marginally slutty look.

The day after I overheard the conversation I was waiting outside the Student Union to hopefully see Brenda. She approached by herself, so I headed her off. Like I said at the start of this story I am very good looking and people don't find out about my social awkwardness immediately, so I can make a good first impression.

"Hi – you're Brenda, aren't you?" I said with a big smile, walking by her side toward the Student Union.

"Hi yourself," she replied with a big smile. "Do I know you?"

"No, you don't; but I'd like to get to know you; I'm Tom Wilson," I replied with an even bigger smile.

"And why do you want to get to know me Tom Wilson?"

"I want to get to know you since I think that we can come to a mutually acceptable arrangement to make sure that you not only stay in school this semester, but finish out the year with a bang and graduate on time."

"How do you know that I have some issues in that regard?" she skeptically asked as we walked into the cafeteria area.

"I'll be honest – I overheard you talking with your friends yesterday; are you interested in hearing me out?"

"Will you buy me lunch Tom?"

"Whatever you want," I grinned.

She found a booth in a remote corner of the room, gave me her order, and I bought our lunches and brought them to the booth. When I got there she was all smiles.

"You've really got me intrigued Tom; what arrangement do you think we can come to?"

"My girlfriend recently dumped me without explanation and my parents were killed in a car crash, all within the last few months. I was depressed for a while but now am completely with it. What I lack, however, is physical intimacy – not necessarily sex, but hugs and compassion."

She looked a little uncertain but at least she was eating and not bolting so I went on.

"Even though I'm smart – actually I'm told that I have a genius IQ and I do have a 4.0 grade average in biomechanical engineering – I'm socially inept and don't really know how to approach women, and don't really want another girlfriend at this time even if I had the social skills to get one – which I don't. Therefore, I'm willing to trade grades for intimacy."

"You think that I'm a slut or whore?" Brenda asked, although in a surprisingly calm and non-accusatory voice.

"Certainly not; I think that you're an attractive woman who has a problem at the present time that I can solve while you solve mine. I ask for your companionship, not sex, and if it ever turns into sex you will have to initiate it because I don't have the social skills or ability to read cues that would allow me to do that."

Brenda continued to eat her lunch looking at me with a perplexed expression.

"You got any references that you're not a pervert?" she asked.