Catching Crabs

Catching Crabs

By Keith Wiley

Copyright 2012 Keith Wiley

Smashwords Edition

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Chapter 1 - Changes

Nah, Nah, I'm serious, I really like her. I said laughing while lying on the couch, tossing a ball up, hitting the ceiling, taking turns catching and throwing with left then right hands.

Dude, when have I heard that before? You just like the fact that, when you're both drunk, she'll drop everything, including her panties, for you if just glance in her general direction.

No, come on, I struggled to hold back a huge coughing laugh as a big grin spread across my face. I like her and she asked us to come to her dance class today, so let's go. I jumped up quickly off the couch in the common area of our dorm and smacked Jason hard on the back of his head, who then took a swing at me that I deftly avoided knowing that it was coming.

As we walked across campus I noticed a warmth in the air as a breeze blew through the quad and stirred the leaves in full bud on the trees. I was still slightly drunk from the night before when I'd gone home with Lori and had subsequently decided that I might actually like her more than a late night hook up. Then again, maybe it was my ego influencing my thoughts and the fog of my hangover clouding my judgment, but it was still a nice thought. Deep down I knew that Jason was right, I liked the attention but why did that have to matter? We could both enjoy ourselves in our own way. At least that's what I was telling myself today.

When we got to the dance studio Lori's class was already underway. She looked over when we strutted in letting the door slam loudly behind us. Lori didn't hide the fact that she was happy to see us as she waved and smiled, looking around to make sure the other girls in the class knew that we were there to see her.

My gaze drifted up and down her body, which was clad in a black leotard, nude tights and a gauzy pink skirt that barely came to the middle of her thighs. Yeah, maybe you're right, it was just beer goggles that made me go home with her. Her legs are a little heavy aren't they?

Dude, you kill me. You just finished convincing yourself that you liked her and now you're trying to find reasons not to. Which is it then?

I don't know, I'm not so drunk anymore, I admitted. Plus she is way too eager. I like to think that it takes some skill to hook up with the girls that I bag. Look at her; she'd probably go to bed with you if she thought that I'd watch!"

Fuck you shitbag, I wouldn't touch that with my virtual dick, Jason laughed.

Yah right, that's why when I was on your computer the other day I saw a virtual girl you were creating named Lori. You wish you could be as good with the women as I am.

Yeah that's it, you got me, you're a stud, can you please teach me oh Zen master?

We spent about fifteen more minutes watching Lori's class and mimicking their dance steps to the entertainment of everyone but her instructor who finally made it clear with frequent backwards glares at us that we should go.

Crew practice was starting soon, so Jason and I headed down to the river and the boathouse. Rowing was how we met in the first place. We both joined crew that Fall of our freshman year, and were addicted to it from the start. Practice was in the mornings at 5am and a few afternoons. The morning practice was a problem for Jason. He couldn't seem to get himself out of bed that early and since I lived down the hall from him, he asked me to wake him up. Our friendship grew from there.

So far that Spring, Jason and I had had some success in our boat. We'd been lucky to be placed into a freshman boat that had the attention of the coach and as a result we'd won a few races. Our expectations were high for a good showing at the upcoming Dad Vail Regatta in a few weeks.

The Dad Vail Regatta is the largest college rowing competition in the country with hundreds of schools from all over coming to Philadelphia to compete on the Schuylkill River for the coveted Dad Vail win. That year, based on other races, our boat had a good chance of making the finals to compete against five other top freshmen crews.

I loved rowing, the freedom of it, the feeling of a boat in perfect timing. I didn't even mind getting up in the morning to head to practice. I loved the feeling of my shirt as it started to stick to my body when I began to sweat from the effort of pulling the sweep oar through the water. I loved the feeling of eight rowers with oars moving in perfect unison and how the boat jumped in the water when it was really moving together in one fluid motion. It is truly a beautiful sport.

When we got to practice our coach pulled our boat aside. Guys, the Varsity team wants the boat you've been rowing in. They hit a boulder up above Strawberry Mansion Bridge with theirs and can't row in it, he paused and sighed heavily looking at the ground avoiding our questioning and panicking eyes. So, since they're Varsity they get their choice of boats.

Jason and I looked at each other incredulously. No way, that's bullshit! I yelled glaring at the varsity rowers as I said it. They're doing this because they're jealous of our success. There are other boats here! Why can't those fat lazy asses use them? How are we going to get a new boat rigged for us in time? Why should we pay for the fact that they went above the bridge?!

At that point I knew in my heart that my dream of getting a medal at Dad Vail's was over. I knew there was no way we'd all get it together in a new boat in time, we were too green.

A boat is typically called a racing shell with attached rigging holds the oar. The rigging is a triangle made of aluminum or carbon fiber that is connected to the shell. At the point of the triangle at its further most tip over the water is the oar lock which is a square piece of carbon fiber and metal that has a hinge on it to allow the oar to be locked and placed inside. The hinge mechanism tightens onto itself to keep the oar from popping out. The oar lock is loose on the oar and shaped into a rounded square. The oar has a collar on it to keep it in place preventing it from sliding down the oar lock into the water; the collar rests against the oar lock. When a rower lifts their blade and turns their wrists so the blade of the oar travels over the water with the blade facing up it's called feathering. The square shape of the oar lock accommodates the flattened part of the oar so that when a rower feathers their blade out of the water the flat part naturally rests on the oar lock. Feathering allows the blade to travel over the water without hitting the water as the blade and rower travel back preparing for the catch portion of the stroke when the oar enters the water again for the start of the next stroke.

Each rower has a specific setting on their rigging which enables the oar to enter and exit the water at the optimal depth and height respectively. The setting is achieved by a combination of adjusting the rigging where it attaches to the boat and using spacers on top of and under the oar lock to raise or lower the angle of the oar. The rigging is adjusted based on each rowers rowing style and upper body height. The objective is to have the blade of the oar be completely submerged in the water on the stroke with very little of the oars shaft in the water.

Our boat was upset because we were very inexperienced rowers and we'd grown comfortable with the boat we were in. Coach tried to calm us down explaining that it shouldn't matter what boat we rowed in because we were good rowers. But, it didn't do anything to alleviate how upset we all were. If we'd been more experienced rowers we'd have known this to be true. My frustration and disappointment mounted and the fact that the Varsity rowers kept looking over at us and smirking all served to cause our anxiety to build to a crescendo as we got our oars and new boat ready for practice.

The result of our frustration and panic was what amounted to the worst practice that I could ever remember. We hadn't rowed this poorly since we'd started rowing. Balancing the boat was next to impossible; it just rocked from side to side, never settling in the center.

At one point I yelled, Coach you have to get us another boat, we can't row in this tub! Everyone laughed, but it was a bitter laugh, born out of frustration.

Dude, calm down, it will be all right, said Jason, who sat behind me in the boat, in a futile attempt at optimism.

There were more crabs caught in this one practice than most of the season put together, it was a crab fest.

Catching a crab is a rite of passage for all novice rowers, and happens as a result of lack of concentration in oar technique and timing. It's when the oar gets caught in the water and is thrust back at the rower with the power of the forward motion of the boat. The force of the oar coming back as the boat moves forward is usually too much for the rower to stop especially in eight man sweep boats so it usually results in the rower leaning all the way back flat against the bottom of the boat to avoid the oar hitting them. Rowing legend has it that rowers have been knocked out and gotten cracked ribs from catching monster crabs.

Walking dejectedly home from practice I couldn't help but think that we were screwed. My dreams were shattered, now what?

Chapter 2 – Groupies and Vails

In an attempt to forget the upcoming race and simply because it was what we did, Jason and I got some weed and a bottle of vodka. My preferred brand of vodka was Stoli, of course. I always ended up with a huge hangover after drinking the less expensive brands, plus it just seemed to taste better with a good bag of weed. We had made plans to go out to a frat party later in the evening and wanted to be good and wasted for it.

We opened the windows and soaked a towel from the dorm kitchen, rolled it up and shoved it under the door ensuring no smoke would escape from our room out into the hallway.

Hey, break open the vodka while I roll the doob, said Jason. Jason was an expert roller and I watched with anticipation as he packed the paper tighter and with more precision than anyone I knew.

Jason lit the joint and passed it to me as he finished a long toke and lolled his head back to look at the ceiling, slowly letting the smoke drift out of his mouth.

I took the joint from Jason and exhaled first, starting with no air in my lungs, wanting to get as much sweet smoke as I could into my body. As I finished, I struggled to hold in a cough as the smoke burned my lungs, letting loose short puffs of smoke like a steam engine. I leaned back enjoying the feeling of the pot as it started to work its magic. We had turned on some soothing jazz music wanting to start the night on a smooth and mellow note. It would eventually turn into a more frenetic mood with music to match.

By the time one of our favorite tunes came on we were feeling like the music, cool and slick with a bit of style thrown in. As was typical, at this point in our pre-party ritual, the vodka was more than half way gone and we'd finished at least two joints. It was also time to up the pace with some college rock. We'd eventually end up, right before heading out, with some fast paced punk or indie band depending on the night. There would be no dance music tonight, it never sounded good after smoking. It was a fine line, we were drunk and stoned which meant that the jam bands were too complicated but we couldn't completely dumb down on the music which is why an indie band was usually a good choice.

I was in an alternative mood, one that had me not looking forward any longer to being in a hot crowded room with a bunch of people pressing in on me that I didn't know, and decided when getting ready that I was going to wear some eyeliner on my left eye and carry a cane as an homage to my favorite character, Alex, from the film and novel A Clockwork Orange. I didn't dress in white or wear a bowler. My outfit was more subtle. But on nights like this, when I felt particularly irritated with people in general, I liked to play the part.

I carefully painted the eyeliner on the interior ledge of my lower lid. It was a good look; it darkened my already dark eye and allowed for a distinctness that went unnoticed by everyone but the most careful observer. The cane on the other hand was useful to push through the crowds to get to the beer and it also served as a crutch to hold me up when I got too drunk to stand on my own.

As we headed out I knew it was going to be a wild night. People were milling all over campus, coming and going to parties. The girls were all wearing tight clothes showing ample amounts of skin in all the right areas, knowing full well what they were doing to the male population, a sure sign that Summer was almost upon us.

Once we were at the party, things became a blur. Jason and I found a room that wasn't as loud or as crowded as the others and stood by ourselves in a corner, double fisting beers for a while, talking about our favorite author, Ayn Rand and doing our best to be intellectual.

Pete Keating is a commoner, he just builds what he thinks people want to see and on top of that he steals ideas, he never had a unique idea of his own, said Jason between huge gulps of beer.

Yeah, I'm with ya. Howard Rourke, on the other hand, is everything I want to be. Doing what I want, how I want, the world be damned. He does it for the love of it and that's all, I said, furtively looking around to see if we were impressing anyone. As I glanced around I noticed a unique looking girl with curly, chestnut colored hair and not to be missed enormous breasts, smiling coyly at me over her beer. I gave her a quick, unsure smile and turned back to Jason and our discussion.

The floor seemed to start moving under me as I slurred, I'll never bend to anyone's desires but my own. Anything worth doing is worth doing your best and I don't care if anyone agrees with me or not. Plus how about HR and HR? Hank Reardon and Howard Rourke! How about that!

Yeah man, you and me. Neither Jason or I were making any sense anymore, but it didn't matter, we were making sense to each other. By this time I was leaning heavily on my cane for support when there came a quick flash of movement to my left. My cane was gone and I hit the floor like a sack of potatoes, my beer splattering everywhere.

The girl with the curly hair had swiped my cane which was all that had been holding me up. I looked up from my position on the floor to see her laughing hysterically, while holding my cane like some kind of prize.

Hi, I've seen you down at the boathouses haven't I? My name is Jen, she said walking over to give me a hand and my cane back. I like your eyeliner, it's cool. Clockwork Orange, right?

I was still pissed from the fall and the beer that was wasted, noting that surprisingly little had found my clothes in the fall, but nodded, looking at her. She had bright blue eyes and an easy smile that revealed a small gap between her front teeth.

Hey man, I'm starving, let's go to Jimmy's, said Jason's voice as if coming out of a fog, hitting my arm at the same time.

Jimmy's was a local cheesesteak joint that we'd hit pretty regularly after parties for the greasy steaks and fries both smothered in cheese wiz. It was the one true remedy we found for preventing a hangover.

Now that I had cheesesteak on my mind, I'd quickly forgotten Jen and turned my attention to Jason. Hey, that sounds cool, I'm in, said a startling voice from behind. My focus turned back to an enormous chest straining tightly against a blue t-shirt. I nodded dumbly in response and the three of us headed out to Jimmy's. My mouth began to water just thinking about it.

Jimmy's was packed, as usual, and as we waited in line to order, I learned that Jen was from New York but came down regularly for the regattas. She had friends in Philly that she could stay with. Jen was a crew groupie.

A crew groupie is what egotistical rowers like to call the few girls that hang out at races with a goal of meeting rowers. It may have been a small group, but it was an extremely devoted group. I had more than my share of experience with girls that were obsessed with rowers. Some people, not in the know, might have thought that this groupie devotion was the result of the typical physique and muscle development of rowers, which was well rounded with strong legs, arms and back. But, my personal belief was that it was an attitude. Rowers tend to be very focused and driven to achieve a goal at all costs. They will suffer all kinds of cruelty to win a race including rowing in weather so cold that water would freeze as soon as it touched skin or holding an oar so long and so tightly that when they let go of the oar skin would peel off with the oar or just the sheer pain of rowing in general. They exude self-confidence and they show that in their interaction with others. This is most likely what attracted the groupies. Or so my theory went.

When we got up to order, the uninterested guy that was taking the orders said, yeah? Looking at Jen.

Jen laughed and said, Oh, I guess I'll have a steak sandwich.

And?

Isn't that enough? Jen giggled somewhat nervously.

Ok, whatever. And he proceeded to chop up a big chunk of steak and stick it into a crusty roll.

Here's how you order a steak, I said turning to Jen. I'll have a cheesesteak and crisscut fries with wiz.

Coming right up, said the cook winking at me and looking at Jen out the corner of his eye.

You're not from around here, are you? I said to Jen nudging her playfully.

No, how'd you guess?

No one orders just a plain steak sandwich. You have to get some kind of cheese if not onions as well. Plus, we don't call it a steak sandwich anyway.

Oh, well excuse me for being ignorant of the local customs, she said nudging me back playfully and rubbing her chest softly against my arm. I felt myself stir but that quickly disappeared when my cheesesteak and fries appeared on the counter.

So, where are you from anyway? asked Jason with a mixture of cheese wiz and grease dripping down his chin.

I'm majoring in Liberal Arts at Columbia.

Oh, wow, why are you slumming it with us this weekend?

Oh, a friend of mine, who I seemed to have lost at the party, goes to Drexel and invited me down for the weekend. Plus, I like to come down to watch the rowers on the river. I think it's such a beautiful sport. I go down by the river sit in the grass and watch the boats row by. It's peaceful.

Jason and I both gave each other approving looks.

Jen looked at me, Can I try your steak with the cheese on it?

I handed her the rest of my sandwich.

Oh! Umm!, now I know why you ordered that she exclaimed licking the orange cheese from her lips. The grease, steak and cheese wiz complement each other perfectly.

See, now you know why Philly makes the best steaks. There's nothing like them anywhere else.

Now that I was done my steak, I started to become interested in Jen's chest again which she caught me looking at a bit too long, and proudly arched her back, as she explained what she wanted to do after college with her degree.

Once we got back to our dorm Jason discreetly excused himself to another room allowing Jen and I to explore one another. We started to kiss and things got heated very quickly. As I excitedly undid her top and the clasp on her bra she stopped me.

I think I really like you and would rather that we take things slowly, if that's ok with you?

Sure, I agree, I've enjoyed tonight and would like to see you again. I was holding one of her breasts in my hand and was a little disappointed in how loose it seemed to be. It was my first opportunity to enjoy D size breasts and here they seemed to be saggy. I was pondering why they looked so much better when she had clothes on and then spotted the hot pink padded push up bra on the floor. Mystery solved. By her stopping the action it relieved me from explaining why I was suddenly not as excited as I should have been, caused by a combination of