Two One Five: Rantan

The girl who's the heroine in this story sent me this a long time ago. It was one of the earlier emails we exchanged. She'd have been twenty-one at the time, still at university doing a degree in English Lit. We were involved in the rituals of getting to know one another and exchanging our first sets of emails. We'd talked about books and films and visions of escape from where we each lived.  She'd have been in a rented house in those days; I was living in a house that I'd inherited and kept briefly. We'd flirted just a bit, and I was trying to get a feel for who she might be involved with, and what her adventures and past had been like. One April morning I did find this in my in-box:

I have been on the rantan lately. In the space of 8 days I had sex in an alley, I had a threesome in a hotel room, went home with a Maori forklift driver and was generally drunk & debaucherous.

I'm not usually like that. I'm in a very, very close group and it's not usual that I'd stray from it. But something happened a few weeks ago that threw me off. It was a man. But of course. A man who I've never written back about, never really talked about. There's nothing particularly special about him, or about me. Except I think we might be in love. A tragic, doomed kind of love. He told me he loved me. And all I wanted to do was be with him. But I know we can never be together. So I ran. But I'm sick of sad stories.

Tell me about when you were 21...

Years later, we talked about her adventures again. By then I knew what rantan was, and what it meant. Years after that first email arrived, she laughed and remembered this:

I remember that so well! I remember sitting on the Maori forklift driver's face while I took swigs of Jack Daniels from the bottle. I remember breaking into the hotel pool with the two much older men I was with, and swimming naked after they had taken turns fucking me, bent over the hotel bed. And I remember the alley, the grazes on my hands and knees the next morning.

The two older men, yes, I'd like to know more about that. One I think was the (married) owner or manager of the little hotel where the threesome happened.  She did make one further comment on the event:

Wow! Good memories. Yes, I still remember that week! The threesome was actually with the married man I was talking to you about today, and a friend of his. Whenever I saw his friend after that, which was usually every Friday night, he'd give me one of those metal cigarette tins full of weed. I did sleep with him again, but never in a threesome. I think my married man liked the idea of it more than the reality. I remember the Maori forklift driver too...he loved me sitting on his face. The part I can't remember is whatever (really, whoever) inspired this particularly debaucherous week...I shall have to browse my old LJ to try & figure out who exactly had broken my heart.....god, 21.

There are still stories left unexplored there. I wish I knew more. I wish I knew more about her life at twenty or twenty-one. I wish I knew who in fact did break her heart and send her off on her rantan, her "debaucherous week". I want to know about the alley, too. Grazes on hands and knees--- I want to know about alleyway sex positions.