Pan

Golden waves and wild curls. Scrawny beard, sinewy, tan, shocking blue-green eyes. Seemingly always tan, always effortlessly cool.

We didn’t run in the same group. Me always on the periphery of any group. We knew each other, and I slept with a few of his friends.

I was always attracted to him, but he had had the most beautiful girl in town when he was younger, and he was too wild to seem interested in me.

I think he fancied my sister a bit. They both had the blond curled crown and a wild charm.

I remember him riding mountain bikes and motorcycles and driving a cool old Jeep Cherokee that he had souped up and had for years.

Always a party boy. Always a party or incident where ever he was, pranks, and just seemingly endless parties.

Rumor had it that that crowd started having orgies one summer in our mid 20s or so.

The thought of orgies is fun, in the imagination, but something about it in reality always made me feel extremely prudish and fearful. Too wild for me.

But he was something to behold.

The drink, though, it started to get to him, and the beautiful girls became less beautiful and rougher and younger.

One of the last times I spoke with him, he was crouched outside the local bar, which I rarely frequented anymore.

I went out front to smoke, and my blood always rushed when he was near.