I first met Angela when I was 21 years old at a fantasy RPG run by a friend of mine. There were six of us guys in the core of the gaming group--your typical game dorks into Tolkien and other fantasy authors--but we figured the group could benefit from more players, so we posted fliers around the campus, and that was what eventually brought Angela to us.

To say that Angela was beautiful -- and peculiar -- would be an understatement. She was about 5’7” with curly brown hair and glasses, and cute as the cutest nymph or pixie you could imagine; nothing peculiar there, but there was definitely something odd about her clothing -- a plain pink sweater and an ornate white lace dress buttoned all the way up to her chin. The sweater, purse, and dress might have seemed mismatched except for a pink purse and a pair of high-heeled pink sandals she was also wearing, that somehow tied it all together well.

“Pardon me, gentlemen,” she said, standing in the door of the dungeon master’s dorm room, “but is this where I might find the fantasy role-playing game?”

All of us just about fell out of our chairs because none of us expected a cute young girl like her to join our group. We all promptly moved our chairs over to make room for her and invited her to come join us at the table. Inwardly, I wondered if she would quickly blow us off as soon as she realized what profound dorks we were, but she explained that she’d played the game before at home with her brothers and even had a character already rolled up: Mithra’il, a female Elven magic-user.

Before we knew it, the game was underway, and Angela almost seemed like just another one of the guys; she seemed to have uncanny luck for dice-rolling, and Mithra’il soon supplanted Valorus (our paladin) as the party’s effective leader since her decisions seemed less likely to get my cleric and our other characters maimed by orcs and trolls and such. Whenever there was a quiet moment, though, I saw the guys checking her out, and I won’t lie; before our second session was over the next weekend, I was fervently fantasizing about seeing what was under that white dress of hers and fucking her brains out.

Of course, I doubted anything would come of that; I hadn’t had much luck with girls up to that point, and I’d only had sex with one girl so far. (A girl who was drunk at a party and who probably didn’t actually remember much about it.) But all that changed one night about a month later, after our latest dungeon adventure had wrapped up, and I was heading home to my own apartment around midnight.

“Bobby!” I heard a voice whisper from the trees near the dorm building. “Can you help me?”

“Angela?” I asked, turning to look for her.

Luckily, it was a moonlit night, and I soon caught sight of Angela’s white dress; ironically, it was only then from a distance that I realized just how curvaceous she really was.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“I feel like such an idiot,” she said; “I locked myself out of my car! Do you think you could help me?”

“Well, I guess,” I said; “I’m not much good with mechanical things, though. Journalism major, you know...”

In the event, Angela’s beat-up old Toyota wasn’t quite as hard to get into as I’d thought it would be; although the doors were locked, some forceful jiggling of the passenger’s side door actually opened it up.

“My hero!” Angela said, giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Actually,” I said, “you shouldn’t be able to jiggle a door open like that; you really ought to have that fixed.”

“Oh, I know,” she said, “but I don’t have a lot of money...”

“Can’t you borrow some money from your parents?”

“My parents died a long time ago, but you’re right, it’s not safe to drive like that.”

Angela’s words struck a chord with me since my own step-parents had died in a car crash before I came to college, and I was now likewise alone in the world, dependent on myself to work and look after myself.

“Angela, look, I don’t feel very good about you driving alone in this car like this; why don’t you let me ride home with you, and then I’ll walk back to my apartment afterward?”

Angela looked at me with surprise, and I didn’t realize until afterward that it sounded like I was coming on to her.

“That sounds fine,” Angela said, holding my arm; “you’re such a gentleman.”

I wasn’t sure about that, but I got in the car, and Angela started the engine, which rattled to life with a racket that wasn’t too encouraging. We soon got underway, though, and I began to wonder how I could get the most mileage from this with my friends at the group. (“No, nothing happened, but she did invite me back to her place...”)

To my surprise, though, Angela ended up parking in front of my apartment building.

“You live here too?”

“Oh, how cool!” Angela said. “We were neighbors, and I didn’t even know it!”

Despite myself, I felt a rush of excitement at the prospect of new possibilities: casually running into Angela on the way to wash clothes, casually asking Angela for a cup of sugar, casually being invited into Angela’s apartment.

“I live on the third floor,” I said, as we took the elevator together.

“Me too! How wild!”

“Yeah,” I said. “You aren’t stalking me, are you?”

Angela laughed her good-natured laugh and put me at ease. She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that; and somewhere, no doubt, there was someone good enough for her. But for just one night alone with her, just to be inside her one time.

Before I knew it, we were at my apartment door, and I figured it was time to be a gentleman about it and bid her good-night. I fumbled with my keys, mentioning offhandedly that my roommate was working the late shift at a gas station right now, then got the door open and thought to say good-night...