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  A continuation of Chapter 2 in Suzy Soro's unreleased book.
Chapter 2 began with Suzy talking about Scotty, her first. She was 19, he was 20 and they were in college. Until Scotty she'd only been to 2nd base, "unable to chase a homerun and unwilling to risk getting tagged out." We continue now with more of Chapter 2.
All the Bad Sex I’ve Had, a very, very, very long book (Part 6) Scotty would be the graph over which I laid every ensuing relationship, the pattern I would trace over and over until, like a blind person, I could find it in the dark. I eventually came to recognize this as The Blueprint, and with each man, I added something to it until I had enough lines, crisscrosses, angles and arcs to build my house of cards on a long and isolated stretch of quick sand.
Scotty could have been the model for Michelangelo's David. He had sky blue eyes, blond hair and an amazing body in the days before six-pack abs were a requirement. I was not in love with him. I told him I loved him and I'm sure he said it to me. But the worst thing about love is that it isn't until the relationship ends that you realize it wasn't love at all.
Scotty and I moved in together three days after we had sex for the first time. He had a one room apartment right off campus that was so small, a good size sneeze hit the opposite wall in a little under two seconds. Even though we had minimal furniture, no curtains and two plates, I was happy and assumed Scotty was too. Anyway, he didn't say much about it if he wasn't.
Not much is required when you play house for the first time. You know nothing about boundaries or compromise and for a while it's fun. More importantly, you're not living with your parents. I'm sorry I didn't just major in Picking up Socks in college because I would have made Dean's List. I was constantly clucking after Scotty, making him clean out his ears and change his underwear. And then there was the sex. I didn't find it spectacular. Not that I was some big expert on the topic but I didn't see that his three minutes of frantic grinding on top of me and then flopping back on the bed while I lay drenched in his sweat and semen was considered a good time.
Since he was my first I naturally told him I thought we should get married.
"Z, I don't wanna get married, I'm only twenty." Scotty said, flipping absently through the pages of his Art History book. My real name was Zsa Zsa but all my friends called me Z, and I don't think that needs further explanation.
"Is it because I don't like sixty-nine?"
"You like one half of it." He was right about that. As soon as I figured out there was something in it for me, I didn't mind it so much. But I wasn't a fan.
"I'm not a whore, you know."
"What does being a whore have to do with marriage?" As it turns out, that was a question I would only be able to answer after I got into show business and moved to Hollywood.
"Well I just can't keep sleeping with guys for the rest of my life and never get married"; which is, of course, exactly what I did. "And I want to have a child Scotty; don't you want to have a child too?"
"Well, someday, yeah, I guess."
So Scotty and I got engaged. He bought me a diamond and emerald ring at a pawn shop, which was small and tasteful and totally disappointing to my mother. At the completion of that semester, we moved back to our respective states; him to California, me to New York. (to be continued) |
Suzy Soro
