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MEN AND SEX
What Would Pacino on the Second Floor Do?
I knew the Michael Corleone of lovemaking
Every guy wishes he were someone else. I wished I were Pacino on the second floor when I went to college. The charismatic twenty-one-year-old looked like Michael Corleone in The Godfather. He wore his jet-black hair slicked back with a full-length leather coat. He had his pick of the prettiest coeds on the Penn campus during the late 70s — and I was envious.
I never remembered his name, though. He never told me, or I never asked. I only saw him as a young Al Pacino, surprisingly sophisticated for a junior in college.
He always seemed to leave the house early and come home late with an attractive girl in his arms. I never saw him carry books.
In contrast, I was a gangly kid who ate nuts and berries on the first floor. I walked around with sweat socks and smelled like a dog needing a bath. No one taught me a damn thing about women—a country bumpkin from a hick town in upstate Pennsylvania. A freshman without an ounce of style.
Pacino had everything, it seemed. Most importantly, he had sex with a different woman every night. The coeds must have had a lottery to see which lucky girl bedded him. The young women entered with tan faces and left flush, drained of all…
