My name is Dave. I'm a third-year Classics major, and a damned fine one according to my professors, at the biggest state university in California. I stay in shape, 6 feet tall, 180 pounds. I'm from a small-town high school where I stood out academically and socially...big fish in a little pond.

Life is different at the U. Money, beauty, and athletic celebrity rule the roost here. That sort of rules out a guy like me. Above average looks, some athletic ability, certainly not enough to get noticed, and very empty pockets.

That kind of resume doesn't cut it in the dating world at a big university. Pretty girls see thousands of guys like me every day and walk right past them. Except for my success in the classroom, I could change my name to "Mr. Anonymous."

Despite all that, my eyes had been on the prize from the first day I stepped on campus: Kristin!

Kristin was my female opposite. By consensus, she was the most beautiful girl on campus. 5 feet, 6 inches tall, about 112 pounds. Long black flowing hair, gleaming white teeth. And I swear, you could bounce a dime off her gold-medal ass!

Kristin was quite a blend of East and West. Her dad was this mega-rich Chinese investment banker, and her mom was a white California trophy wife, a former beauty queen. The result of their union was the biracial head cheerleader for the football team who effortlessly ruled the campus.  Everyone deferred to her and sought her favor — students, athletes, administrators, professors, every male, every female. Kristin was born to make tongues hang out.

So, one seemingly normal day, I was in the cafeteria line at the undergrad library, which is basically the central hub for every Tom, Dick, and Harry on campus. And Dave. I'm Dave. I spotted Kristin from a hundred feet away. There she was, the irresistible cupcake of the university, surrounded by her "crew" of beautiful and vacuous babes. They were all dressed in their designer workout gear, looking like they had just stepped out of a photoshoot. She was in the center of her adoring hive, holding court, and I was just Dave, mouth hanging open, the Classics nerd, armed with nothing but a tray of affordable, sad-looking salad and an armful of faded library books.

"You know, a faint heart never won a fair lady," I whispered to myself, trying to pep talk my way through the line. The cafeteria was a cacophony of chattering students, echoing the agitated state of my mind. So, I took a deep breath and decided to make my move. The move of my life! Suddenly, I was right behind her. I could smell her perfume—expensive but not overpowering. Tasteful, of course.

"Hey," I blurted out clumsily, falling a little short of the suave Casanova I had imagined myself to be only 30 seconds before. "Kristin, right?"

She turned around, her green eyes sparkling with surprise. "Yes," she said, a hint of curiosity in her voice. The conversations around us seemed to fade as if everyone knew some for-real shit was about to go down. Or maybe I was just overthinking it. That would have been per usual. Fuuuck, she looked perfect!

"I'm Dave," I managed to get out, sticking my hand out for a shake. "We haven't met, but I've seen you around."

Kristin took my hand, giving it a firm, brief shake. "Hi Dave," she said, with a smile that simply demolished me. "What's up?"

"Just grabbing some lunch," I replied, trying to play it cool. "How about you?"

Her eyes scanned the line behind her and then back to me. "Yeah, same. Just taking a break from the gym," she said, nodding to her entourage. They giggled on cue, like a pack of hyenas. "You're a Classics major, right?"

"How did you happen to know that? I asked, attempting to hide my shock.

"Oh, I've heard about you," she said with a wink. "You're the guy who can translate Ovid faster than anyone else on campus."

"Yeah, well, he is the love poet. That provides a lot of incentive," I responded. “I saw you in line, and I remembered he wrote, 'God himself helps those who dare.' So here I am.”

Her eyes widened with genuine interest. “Ovid? I’ve read some of his stuff in my humanities classes. It’s pretty steamy for someone who lived so long ago, isn’t it?”

I couldn’t believe it. Was this the opening I’d been waiting for? "Let's grab a table and compare notes," I suggested with my heart in my throat!

Kristin nodded, and the giggling brigade of cheerleaders and wannabes parted like the Red Sea for Moses, allowing us to navigate to an empty table in the corner. My eyes followed her every move as she settled into her chair. She had this effortless, graceful way of moving, and every guy in the room was fucking goggle-eyed. And that ass! To this day, I keep on wondering why a girl with an ass like that was willing to sit with me. Did she like me, or was she rewarding my chutzpah?

We talked about Ovid for a solid 15 minutes. Her eyes never left mine, and I felt like I was the only person in the room. We dissected the "Art of Love" like we were preparing a PowerPoint presentation. The way she leaned in when I spoke, the way she touched her neck when she laughed—it was all giving me ideas that were definitely not suitable for a public setting. In my mind, I was fucking her hard in fifteen positions! Maybe sixteen! And she was loving it!

Then Kristin said something that knocked the wind out of me. "You know, Dave, I've always found guys who are into that kind of stuff...interesting."

"What are the chances that I would meet up with a pretty girl today who likes 2000-year-old love poetry?" I asked her.

"Well, if you're going to ask me out, you'd better get to it before someone else does," she replied with a smile that cut right through me.

Her words hung in the air like a dare, and I took the bait. "Would you like to go out with me, Kristin?" I blurted out, feeling the color drain from my face. "Like, on a date?"

For a moment, she studied me, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. Then she leaned in closer, her breath hot on my ear. "I'd love to, Dave," she whispered. "But it's gotta be a date that's as... 'interesting' as you seem to be."

I racked my brain for something unique. Then it hit me. "You know, they show old movies at Forest Lawn cemetery on weekends. Tomorrow night is an Orson Welles classic, "Touch of Evil." We could take a blanket and have a picnic among the celebrity gravestones."

Kristin's eyes lit up with a mischievous glint. "A cemetery movie night? Now that's what I call 'interesting,'" she said, her voice low and conspiratorial. "But are you sure that's your best shot, Dave?"

"Trust me," I assured her, feeling a thrill at the challenge. "It's not your average date. The vibe is...different. It's like stepping into another world. It’s a very artsy, freewheeling crowd. And...yeah..I might be holding my best shot behind my back for after the movie!"

Kristin's laugh was musical, and it sent a shiver through me. "Alright," she said, placing her hand on my arm. "You've convinced me. I'm down for a night of culture and...whatever surprises you have up your sleeve, mister Classics guy!"

With that, she scribbled her number on a napkin, slapped it into my palm, and strutted away with her entourage, leaving me with a grin so wide it hurt my cheeks...and a half-eaten, sad-looking salad!

I was in seventh heaven. I couldn't believe it. The most incredible girl on campus had just agreed to go on a date with me, the guy who could tell you how Vercingetorix resisted the Romans but couldn't get a date to save his life, much less with someone on Kristin's level! She was waaaay out of my league! I knew I was outkicking my coverage with this girl, but WTF?

The next day, I scrambled around like a squirrel on meth, busting my budget and filling a picnic basket with what I hoped was rich-girl food. I hit the nearest high-end liquor store. The cashier looked at me like I was trying to buy a Ferrari with food stamps, but he didn't say shit as he rang up my bottle of Pouilly-Fuissé. It was the kind that had a fancy label with gold lettering. I figured that had to mean something good, right? I snagged a pair of glasses, some cheese knives that looked like they could double as shivs in a jail fight, and a picnic basket that screamed "I'm trying too hard" with its red-and-white-checked cloth and leather straps. I wanted this girl. To hell with my budget! I would eat bologna and pinto beans all quarter to get this girl!

Then I went to a fancy-ass grocery store, the kind where the cheese comes in wheels and the bread isn't packed in plastic. I threw in a round of brie, a wedge of something that had more mold on it than my studio apartment. I grabbed a couple of baguettes, because when in doubt, go French, and a bunch of grapes that looked like they had been picked by hand by nuns in a for-real fucking monastery. I even sprang for a little jar of something called fig jam, because why the fuck not? Brie? Pate? What-the-fuck-ever? Fancy ass sea-salt waffle-style crackers? Jeezus! I even began to think that I might come out of this with a little desperately needed sophistication!

Finally, the day of our date arrived, and I was date-day nervous. I shot Kristin a text. "I've got the stuff, you bring you and the blanket!" I tried to make it sound casual, like we were just two friends going out for a casual night of corpse-spotting and film noir. She replied with a simple, "Can't wait, Dave!" and a winking emoji that had me popping a porn-star boner!

I picked her up at her condo that Daddy had bought for her. I was in my 20-year-old station wagon, and it was burning a little oil...ya know…and the brakes squeaked. The sun was setting, casting a glow over the palm trees that lined the LA streets on the way across the city to Forest Lawn. I didn't breathe a word that my first job in LA had been mowing the grass there.

After we parked, we sat about finding a good spot to see the flick and nibble on what I imagined to be our rich-girl food. We passed by some eye-popping gravestones…Johnny Ramone, Bette Davis, Bogart, David Carradine. She strode past them like she was the one who belonged up on the screen, a red blanket slung over her shoulder, her eyes gleaming with excitement. This was the girl of all girls!

When we found a spot, she spread out the blanket and looked up at me, a twinkle in her eye. "So, what's our feast, Dave?"

I pulled out the basket, trying to play it cool as I arranged the spread. She gasped when she saw the Pouilly-Fuissé, and I felt a surge of pride that maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t completely blown it. "Wow, Dave," she said, her voice a mix of surprise and delight. "You really went all out."

I responded with, "It's a little embarrassing to say out loud, but what kind of fucking guy wouldn't want to go all out for you, Kristin?" I knew for certain that my face was beet red.

Kristin looked at me, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Aw, Dave," she cooed, "that's so sweet!" She leaned over to give me a peck on the cheek. Her hand lingered on my arm a moment longer than necessary. I thought I was gonna die! "But I'm not all about the fancy stuff, you know." She winked and sat down gracefully on the blanket, crossing her legs. "I'm actually kind of a sucker for a good time, no matter how unconventional it might be."

"Am I unconventional?" I asked with a slight tremor in my voice.

Kristin's eyes searched mine, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "You're about to be," she said, taking a sip from her plastic cup filled with the fancy-ass wine.

What did that mean? I didn't dare respond to that loaded comment!

The movie began, and we sat in the evening air, sharing cheese and crackers, sipping our wine, and trying to keep our eyes on the screen. The iconic three-minute tracking shot played out, and the audience murmured in appreciation. But it was hard to concentrate with her so close, her legs stretching out on the blanket, the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the scent of freshly mown grass. My mind kept wandering to what was under her yoga pants, and what she would taste like down there. That's where I wanted to picnic!

As the film played on, the tension between Charlton Heston and Orson Welles grew palpable. And when, halfway through the flick, at the point where Heston accuses Welles of planting evidence, the dialogue grew and accusatory, and something snapped inside me. Kristin and I turned to each other, and without a word, our lips met in a deep and soulful kiss. If bagging the date was first base, I was now rounding second!

Our kiss grew more intense as the plot of the film unfolded. Our bodies began to intertwine on the blanket. The picnic basket toppled over, forgotten. Fuck a fucking picnic basket! The unfolding evil on the screen provided a strange background to our sexy graveyard soap opera!

Kristin's hand found its way under my shirt, her fingernails lightly scraping my back, sending waves of pleasure into my soul. I felt my cock harden in response, and she didn't miss a beat, her hand moving downward to grasp my rock-hard cock through my jeans. My heart hammered in my chest, the excitement of this public romp making the moment feel more electrifying than anything I had ever fantasized.

I didn’t want to fuck everything up by going too fast. "Kristin," I murmured into her ear, my voice thick with desire, "are you sure about this?"

Her response was to push me back onto the blanket, straddling me and completely taking charge. This girl was a world of surprises! She kissed me harder, her tongue probing my mouth in search of my essence. Her hands roamed over my body, and she began to undo my pants. I was mortified as I imagined heads turning at the sound of my zipper lowering.

Onlookers? It was now completely dark. Fuck them! So, what if they could tell I was fucking my school’s head cheerleader in public!

My hands found her perfect breasts. Her skin was like velvet. She gasped into my mouth, grinding her hips down against my growing erection. I could feel the heat of her through the fabric of her yoga pants, and that was crazy-making!.

With trembling hands, I pushed her shirt up and over her head, revealing the perfect, perky breasts I had been eyeing for months. Her bra was a flimsy thing, easily dispensed with, and I took a moment to simply stare up at her in the glow of the projector's light. She was so much more than I had ever allowed myself to hope for.

Her eyes searched mine for a moment before she nodded, giving me unspoken permission to proceed. I kissed her again, my hands sliding down to the waistband of her pants. She lifted her hips, helping me pull them down her legs, leaving her in nothing but a black thong that I wanted to eat.

I pushed her thong to the side. It was a skimpy little thing, and it was soaked, and the feeling of pushing past it and penetrating her bare, shaven pussy was almost too much for my small mind to handle. I reached up to touch her, and she quivered under my fingertips. "Dave," she whispered, "I want you so bad, baby."

When she lowered herself onto me, I felt like my cock was imprisoned in the sweetest, warmest, tightest little jail on earth. She took me inside her inch by inch, her eyes never leaving mine. The spectators’ giggles grew louder, their whispers more pointed, but Kristin didn’t falter. When she was fully seated, she began to rock back and forth like some wild cowgirl, her movements gaining speed.

The whispers and giggles from those sitting and lying around us grew a little louder. We were giving them our own "Touch of Evil," and they seemed delighted! But we were fresh out of fucks to give as she tightened around me, her muscles contracting, and I knew she was close. Cheerleading little cowgirl bitch was mine!

"Dave," she panted, her voice a mix of pleasure and urgency. "I'm going to come."

Her words spurred me on, and I grabbed her hips, pulling her down onto me harder, pushing up to meet her with every thrust. The world outside the blanket ceased to exist, and it was just the two of us, lost in the moment, surrounded by embarrassed whispers and giggles.

As the movie climaxed with the dramatic confrontation between Heston and Welles, so did we. Our orgasms crashed over us like a wave, our bodies shaking from the intensity of our lust. For a moment, we lay there, panting, our hearts racing as the final credits rolled up the screen. The world around us had ceased to matter—it seemed like it was just us among the silent, approving gravestones.

We broke apart, both of us smiling a little sheepishly at what we had allowed to transpire. "Dave," Kristin said, her voice still shaky with passion, "Dude, that was...that was...wow, dude!"

"I guess this is a cemetery date I’ll never forget," I said, brushing a strand of hair from her angelic face.

Kristin looked down at me. "True dat," she murmured, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "But maybe next time, we should try something a little more...private?"

I nodded, my cock already hardening again at the thought of fucking her all over again. "I'm down. Where do you wanna go?"

Her smile grew wicked. "How about my place? We can watch the movie again, but this time, we can skip to the good parts."

With a laugh, I sat up, helping her to her feet. We gathered our things, the picnic basket looking particularly forlorn and forgotten. As we made our way back to the car, hand in hand, I couldn't help but feel like I'd just scored the winning touchdown at the Rose Bowl with her cheering me on!

The drive back to her condo was a blur, our conversation consisting mostly of breathless giggling about our public fuckfest. When we finally made it to her place, I was half-afraid the magic would wear off the moment we stepped inside. But as soon as the door closed behind us, she was on me again, kissing me with a hunger that scorched my soul.

We stumbled through the living room, knocking over a vase filled with fresh flowers. The sound of shattering glass barely registered as we made our way to her bedroom. A cat squealed and headed for cover. Kristin led me to a large bed, the silk sheets whispering to me that sweet fucking was about to be had.

We hit the mattress and explored each other, every touch and taste something new and intoxicating. We fucked furiously. We were on fire! Later, as we lay there, entwined in a tender post-fucking embrace, I realized that I had found something far more valuable than a perfect translation of Ovid—I was going to be Kristin’s guy! This girl knew me! I was Dave. I was her Dave! I was no longer Mr. Anonymous!