The following are real, true, love stories that involve Cal. Note the difference between "true, love" and "true-love". Over the years Cal has had the fortune, or misfortune, of meeting some assorted women. These are their stories. Of course, the names have been changed to protect the innocent. In otherwords, protect Cal from lawsuits.

Click on a subject:
The cave woman
How I lost my mojo
Girls out for revenge
The unbelievable bullseye
A nice dinner date
Grease is the word
My vasectomy
Women's conspiracy

The Cave Woman

This story is graphic and gory; so take heed. It was Halloween 1994. I went over to Ted and Scott's and we drove to North Liberty, a small town between Cedar Rapids and Iowa City. Ted and Scott had a friend, Mike, that owned a condo in North Liberty. We were at his condo for a while then went to a small bar.
Soon as we walked in the bar my eyes met the eyes of this brunette dressed up as a cave woman. She had a large, plastic dinosaur bone in her long hair and a fur bikini. We were at the bar for quite a while and I exchanged many glances with the cave woman. After a while I went up to her and we both admitted we thought the other looked familiar. It was then I noticed she was drinking quite heavily. She told me she lived in Iowa City and was there with her roommmate. Eventually her roommate left and gave her the keys to the car. She was drunk and asked me to drive her home in her roommate's car. I said "sure" and she had one last shot with her other friend that was a waitress at the bar.
I still remember that her roommate's car was a new Ford Tauraus. I did not know where in Iowa City she lived so she was going to give me directions. As we drove out of town we came to stop sign. At the stop sign she turned to me and said, "Give me a kiss." So I kissed her. We drove a little way and came to another stop sign. She turned to me and said, "I think I'm gonna be sick..."
She opened up her door and started vomiting. Since I am such a nice guy (which really I am - always one with good intentions) I became the doting nursemaid. I went around to her side of the car, tried to cheer her up, tried to keep her hair out of her puke, found a place for her big plastic bone. I even took off my the t-shirt under my sweater and used it to wipe chuck off her face. The biggest problem was that we could not drive any farther because she said the motion of the car made her more sick. I stood there, in cold, late at night, beside a drunken stomach-discharging young woman for almost an hour. That's devotion.
Finally I got her to sit up in the car and drove to Iowa City. I left my trashed t-shirt in the ditch. The problem then was that she had passed out and I did not where her apartment was. I could not find a driver's license on her (no pockets in her fur bikini) so I dug out the car registration from the glove compartment. This gave me her roommate's full name. I used a phonebook at at gas station and had her address. When I got to the apartment complex I checked the mailboxes and got her apartment number. Always the detective. The cave woman did have keys on her and I was able to get into the apartment. I went back to the car, woke up the cave woman, and told we had arrived. She shot out of the car, as if chased by a wooly mammoth, hustled into her apartment and laid down in the bathroom to go to sleep.
I made myself at home in her apartment: ate her food, watcher her TV, read her Cosmo magazines. I even slept in her bed; she wasn't using it. As I went to sleep I tried not to think how screwed I was. I couldn't go back to North Liberty because my friends had surely gone back to Cedar Rapids. I wasn't sure where Mike's condo was, and in any event, I couldn't just drive her roommate's car where ever I wanted. I had little money and I had my contacts in (which I wasn't supposed to sleep in).
In the morning, cave woman was suprisingly healthy. She was happy she still had her big, plastic bone and she also asked me if we had done it (sex). She was having a difficult time remembering the past night's events. I answered "sorry, but no." She did tell me that she was a store manager at Westdale Mall and would get me a new t-shirt. Getting home was not too difficult. My mom was living in Iowa City at the time and she gave me a lift home to Marion.
I saw the cave woman a few times after that: at Westdale or at the bars. I eventually saw her in the "got married" section of the newspaper. She looked better with a big bone in her hair than a wedding veil. I never did get that replacement t-shirt.

Lost Mojo

I had a friend that had tried the personals in the newspaper to meet women and had terrible success. I always debated with him about the best way to pick up chicks. At work we had this temp, a woman in her 40's, who told me that both her daughters had met their husbands in the personals. I started scanning the personals in order to prove my friend wrong.
Cal, of course, likes big healthy women. Most of my girlfriends have either been taller than me or weighed more than me. Not too extreme though; I haven't exceeded the 170 lbs barrier. With this, the personal ad of a 6'4" young woman caught my eye. I called her ad number. Got a call from her a few days later, and we conversed back and forth for a few weeks. I had gotten to know her after a while and liked her personality. She was a nice person and fun to talk to. I was determined to go through with it and meet her except I was perplexed about one thing. She said she weighed 220 lbs. I knew this was an enormous amount but I figured this was evenly spread out over her 6'4" frame. I admit, I am no accurate weight guesser like one sees at carnivals. I just hoped 220 lbs was an exaggeration.
I went over to see her on my lunch hour. Later I would damn myself for being optimistic. I daydreamed that she would be attractive and that we'd have sex almost right away. After all, I wasn't a stranger; we had gotten to know each other and she was a nice gal. I have had sex with nice women before. A woman came to the door that was decent looking and not that heavy. I prematurely sighed relief. Unfortunately it wasn't her, it was her sister, and I was led inside. When I saw the young woman I had talked to over the past few weeks and got to know, the wind was knocked out of my sails. Without trying any feeble attempt to describe her, I met a hairless, female wookie. 220 lbs had been a conservative estimate. She had short hair and was about the most un-feminine woman I had ever met. I was stunned, shocked, horrified. I ate my sandwich, made some small talk, and departed.
Worst of all, I had lost my mojo. I had left it with Ms. Chewbacca. As I drove back to the office I realized I had no sexual desire in my body. Like every man, I think about sex once or twice a minute. Now, there was nothing. I tried to imagine playboy playmates, tramps from the bars, old girl friends, but nothing seemed to help me. I felt like I had been castrated and left with no reproductive hormones. My manhood had been taken from me, my mojo had been scared to death. It was like I had become an asexual person. A person without sex. I shuddered at the thought that I might never again look at a woman like a piece of meat.
Like any devastating bodily injury, I knew I needed help immediately. When I got back to the office I went into the office of one of our secretaries. Like any slacker, she had a catalog from J.C. Penney or where ever to read when she should be working. I fluttered through the women's bra and underwear sections. Staring for long minutes at the female model's breasts, hips, waists, and legs. Trying desperately to get back that sexual urge that had been stripped from me. For long minutes I concentrated and studied attractive women. In the end it worked. The visual lust of the women models returned to me that which had been lost. As a child I had secretly coveted the women models in catalogs (years later Victoria Secret would later become my bible). I had no idea that the same catalogs years into adulthood would save my mojo. As for the personals, I don't know what to say. There must be some cute girls using personals but after that close call, almost losing my mojo, I'm afraid to look further.


Would you believe it if I said that Cal had been the perpetrator of sexual harrassment in the work place. Thank goodness it was before such a thing became lawsuit material. This story has a picture to go with it. That picture is on the previous page and following tale is the events that led up to it.
I worked at the Marion public pool during the summers of 1989 and 1990. There were, of course, several young girls that worked there. If you can stretch your imagination try to envision Cal picking on these pubesent young women. Nothing too bad, just things like the posting of my annual "Big Hooters List" where I listed all the girls from first to last by their bust size. And I would say embarrassing stuff about them over the PA speakers, all in harmless fun. One girl, was working in the concession stand and I put a frog in the cash register. I would also steal their car keys and move their cars to a spot not easily found or park the cars on the front lawn of the pool. I refused to booby trap their lockers with such things as nudy pictures or rancid meat because it was too common and beneath a true artist such as myself. Years later one of the those women told me, "If I knew about sexual harassment what I know now I would have busted you so bad ..." Some scars take a while to heal.

Anyway, at the end of the season/summer all the employees had a pool party. Little did I know that vengence was being laid for me while I was innocently participated in the fun events. At the end of the party I found my car in the front of the main building wrapped in toilet paper, windows soaped, and full of balloons. My car keys had been frozen in a cup of ice. Then they read to me their own top ten list which had some topic like: "Top Ten reasons Mike is a loser." I was pretty shocked, I got one of the girls aside, she was the only one of the group I had had sex with (lucky her) and asked her why she had not warned me and she said, "Warned you? I helped plan most of this." I thought she had been an unwilling collaborator, not a major instigator. The worst part was that the girls put some kind of cheese casserol on my engine taht I did not know about. Which, of course, melted when I drove home and stank for the months that followed.
As most people know, teasing is often a disguised act of affection. There was one girl in the group that I had a huge crush on. She was one of the very few women I ever met that I knew I would marry if I ever had the chance. Immediately when I first saw her I know I was looking at one of the most beautiful women I would ever meet. I don't know what ever became of her but I thought about her often, many times and many years after my summers at the pool. Who was it? I'll never tell.


This story has very little love, but it involves a skirt I was chasing and it is unbelievable. Understanding of the game of darts, in particular Cricket scoring, helps in getting this story. In my last year in Iowa City I met a girl playing volleyball that was pretty cute. She had long, brown hair; dark complexion like I like; and a nice body. Her only problem was her attitude. She was pretty high on herself and had recently found God. This supposedly made her a better person than others. I could care less about her religion beliefs, although I did try to hide the fact I was an atheist but she got it out of me. She would then quiz me about my beliefs and I would try to dodge everything because I knew an argument would gain me nothing. I did get some satisfaction from the instance when we went out to eat at a fast-food place and the total cost $6.66. She tried to order more food to change the total but I wouldn't let her.
Our story begins on one of our few dates. We went to the Que in Iowa City. Some of her friends were there and we played Cricket in teams: me and her against her friends. Anyway, the game is nearly over. Our team is down by exactly 49 points. All the numbers are closed except for bullseye. Our team has 2 bullseyes already. The girl I'm with is up to throw. She's a pretty good athlete but what happened next I couldn't believe. Her first dart is a bullseye, opening bullseyes for us which means we can score in them. Her second dart is another bullseye giving us 25 points. Her third and last dart is yet another bullseye giving us 25 more points, eclipsing the other team by 1 point and ending the game automatically. We were playing on an electronic dart machine which lights up and beeps that we won. I was shocked and the girl is so happy she jumps into my arms from five feet away to hug me and when she does this her arm hits me in the mouth and gives me a bloody lip. Now that was an exciting night out on the town.
We didn't date long after that. She thought I was trying to get in her pants just to corrupt her christian values. Yeah, whatever. I'm just a red-blooded american male, not satan. I heard some years later she got knocked up and eventually married.

Formal Attire

After leaving Iowa City, the Cedar Rapids bars were a harsh reality. The women of Cedar Rapids are not as sweet, innocent, and non-demanding. However, one night I did meet a girl fresh out of college and hadn't been dimly transformed as yet. She had shoulder-length brown hair, great legs (she was a runner), and best of all - very tan. I got her to leave the bar and go hot tubbing. I worked at a local YMCA at the time which had a hot tub. I had keys to the building which made for late-night fun. She didn't put out right away so I knew she was not a tramp and worth dating.
We got along alright but soon the demands came. I was not earning a lot of money then, but none the less, she wanted to go out to eat more often. So I set a date and told her we would be going to a fancy restaurant. People that know Cal, knows he tends to procrastinate. The car I was driving at the time had a bad starter. In fact, the starter didn't work at all. But that was not a problem because the car had manual transmission which meant one could "pop start" it by putting the car in motion and popping the clutch. Putting the car in motion was not a problem if parked on a hill. However, this wasn't always possible and I would have to push the car, get it going 5-10 mph, jump in and pop the clutch. I should have replaced the starter back when it first went out but I was getting by with popping the clutch and I tend to procrastinate.
The night of the big date, I had on slacks and a tie and she's in a nice black dress. She asked me again if the people at the restaurant we are going to will be "dressed up". I assured her, yes, some of the people will be dressed up. First off, I couldn't get my car started. I pushed that car up and down the parking lot at her apartment complex and couldn't get it going. Dress shoes do not have much traction. I got a little frustrated, slammed one of the doors and shattered the window in that door. Now I'm fuming. My girl friend is watching all this and steps in and says she'll drive. But I have to drive because that is an essential part of the joke I'm trying to pull on her. I calmed down, got it together, and got my car started.
The restaurant I chose was Chucky Cheeze. A pizza place that caters to kids. There are video games, small mechanical rides, and a stage with mechanical animals that sing play instruments. There's even a person that goes around "dressed up" in a bear costume and plays with the kids. I was surprised to see my girl friend take the joke so well. We were the only tie and dress couple in the place. The place did serve alcohol of which she took advantage. That was our first and last big, formal dinner date. She eventually dumped me because she knew our relationship was going no where. She want to get married but I didn't. I don't know why she would want to marry me knowing how bad a boyfriend I was. She later married some tubby guy that she dated right after me.
I did replace that window in my car I shattered but most of the broken glass came to rest inside the car door. In the years that followed, every time I opened and closed that door, bits of glass would fall out onto the ground.

The Gift

One of my most serious girl friends, one I dated for 4 years, had kind of a romantic begining. We met on New Years Eve at a bar in a one-in-a-million chance meeting. She was only in town for that one night and I almost didn't go out that night. I saw her standing by the dance floor and I hit on her. At the end of the night I gave her my work phone number and she was gone. I didn't have her number or full name so she was gone forever if she didn't contact me. But she did and we spent 4 years together.
You could call me a creative person. I build weird things, have personal X-Mas cards, and am pretty clever. But every gift I ever gave this girl friend was very practical: a TV, a VCR, a clock radio, an electric saver, a couch, etc. So one birthday she tells me, "I want something personal. I want you to use your imagination and make me something special."
Being creative isn't always good; there is bad creative. I have this Cal jacket I love. It's a red satin baseball jacket with "CAL" on the back. So I decided to make her something similar; although she hated my Cal jacket. She was a Grease fan: she had the VHS movie and album. We had gone to see the movie when it was re-released on its 25th anniversary and I sat there and watched her, not the movie, and she had this huge smile on her face the whole time. Knowing this I set out to make her a Pink Ladies jacket. I immediately had problems. I contacted every sporting good store I could find; all the ones that embroider and silk screen baseball jackets. No one had a pink jacket. None of the catalogs had pink jackets. I quess pink is not the school color of many high schools and colleges. After a week of hard searching I had given up hope.
Then I got a call from one store I had been to that found a pink jacket in an old catalog from a company they don't order from often. So I had my jacket but another problem arose. The store did not want to stitch the Grease car and logo on the back because they felt it was trademarked. I had to plead with them for half an hour before they agreed to do it. I also had her name stiched on the front; it was her actual signature of her first name I had got off a check she wrote.
So I gave her the personalized Grease jacket on her birthday, and of course, she hated it. She refused to wear it and to this day, as far as I know, has never worn it. We broke up before she had another birthday but I had already decided her next present would have been a cordless phone.

Great Balls Of Fire

This is the story of my vasectomy. It's funny how people change. I remember filling out a form in college where one question asked: "What do you think you'll be doing 10 years from now?" I answered: Teaching my kids to draw cartoons. I certainly am not that same man as I was then. Today I am much more cynical, but I think that is a good thing for me. Someday I may have children, but they will not be my own. I would adopt a poor kid from South America or simply marry one of the thousands of single moms I run into every time I go to a bar. A few years ago I decided that I will never produce children; the world has enough mouths to feed.
Getting a vasectomy was more difficult that I thought. My personal physician in Marion would not give me one. He said I'd change my mind and want kids later in life. That really pissed me off. I called the clinic in Cedar Rapids that the hospitals referred me to, but when I called I asked if they had a problems with giving a vasectomy to a young, unmarried man. The clinic siad they'd call me back, and never did. I checked UIHC in Iowa City. There the doctor said we'd have to have a meeting, which I would have to pay for, and after that he'd decide if he believed I should have a vasectomy or not. Since there were no Do It Yourself Vasectomy kits available I knew I'd have to get tricky.
I borrowed a male friend's wedding ring and went to the CR clinic and told them I was married with 3 kids. It all went okay until they told me I'd have to have my wife come in and sign their consent form. Needless to say, I never went back and gave up on getting a vasectomy until I was over 50. Time passed. I started dating another college student. Unfortunately I was spooled. My last few girlfriends all used the pill. I hadn't used a comdom since high school. But this new girlfriend was forgetful. She'd tell me she forgot to take her pill for a few days or go completely off birth control because she was too far off schedule. After her third or fourth late period I said enough was enough. I needed control. I needed certainty. I needed finality.
I went back to the CR clinic. Much my surprise they said they'd perform the operation on anyone over 25 years of age. They prescribed me 2 valium pills and told me to shave my private parts. It was more difficult to get the pills than to shave down there. The nurse didn't call my prescription in to the Wal-Mart Pharmacy so I had to do some whining to get the pills; but the pills didn't do much for me anyway.
There was no gas to knock me out; only a local anesthetic for the cutting. I could have watched the whole thing but the sight of being disemboweled didn't turn me on. I put a magazine between my eyes and my balls. The surgery only took 20 minutes and I spent most of my time talking to the physician. We talked about how doctors hate lawyers and visaversa. I especially enjoyed the smell of burning flesh as they cautorized my tubes. The anesthesia was not much. I could feel my tubes being pulled on. I felt like turning my head and yelling "Freedom!" like Mel Gibson did in Braveheart. It was sore and bruised for a week but that all healed up. Six weeks later I had to give a "sample" which just proved all was okay. The sign was up: Road Closed.

The Conspiracy

It was a dark and sinister night. A conspiracy was going to be revealed to me that night, the truth of which would shake me to the core and change me forever. A conspiracy worse than UFOs, JFK assasination, or any airline disaster. Schlatter and I were at Bucks; we were playing pool. I noticed this girl standing there alone and asked her if she wanted to play with us. She said yes. She was about 5'7", 130 lbs with long black hair. Most noticably, she had very large breasts. Not that I was attracted to her for that reason. No, not me. She was not showing any nipples, but that is common for big tits. The nipple gets too spread out.
As we played pool she told me how she just lost her job, broke up with boyfriend, and just had her tongue pierced. Like a wolf, I found an injured lamb separated from the herd. Little did I know the little lamb had already pulled the wool over my eyes. Eventually we made it to the dance floor. I tried to push her in Schlatter's direction but she wouldn't take. I felt myself spirallying into a one-night stand, and to be honest, I didn't want that. Schlatter wanted to go home so I quickly drove him home. He asked me if I was gonna screw her I said "No, I just wanna see how big they really are." I had decided just to mash a little, get her top off, and view the mountains. I went back to Bucks, found her, danced some more, and we went to her car. As we talked every comment of hers was a green light. We left Bucks and went to her apartment.
At her apartment we went straight to her bed. Off went her shirt, off went her bra, and she said "Aren't padded bras amazing." I was aghast to learn that I had larger breasts than her. She was probably the flattest girl woman I had seen in person. I was socked, stunned, and felt terribly used. I had been deceived, misled, suckered, BAMBOOZLED! What made me most mad was the bra. She did not stuff a regular bra with tissue, she purchased this contraption at a store. Which means there are companies and stores selling these things. What kind of evil, corrupt corporation would do such a heinous act. It must be some kind of world-wide conspiracy. Does the general public know about this travesty? I wondered how many people were disappearing to keep this secret from coming out? Despite being cheated out of my prize I didn't want to think how deep the cover up was.
After my experience I never look at a blessed (big hooters) woman without some suspicion. In an episode of the X-Files TV show, an informant laid dying on a dark street and his last words to Agent Scully aptly fit me: "You won't know who to trust....."

Dirty/Funny conversations Cal has been a part of

Cal is in the car with Wilma and some other people.
A girl in the back seat calls Wilma a "cocksucker."
Cal buts in and says, "No, she's not that nice."

Cal is talking to Stephanie:
"You know, you do have roommates. Maybe you shouldn't talk so loud during sex."
Stephanie replies, "I talk during sex? What do I say?"
Cal shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

Cal and Slatter are at a bar. A masculan butch dike woman asks Cal to dance.
Cal lies and answers, "Sorry, I don't like to dance" and the dike walks away.
Slatter says, "What's wrong with you?" and he chases after her and asks her to dance.
Slatter dances a few songs with her then he comes back over by Cal.
Cal asks, "Was it a good dancer?"

Holly is feeling Cal's scrotum and asks, "What else is in there besides your testicles?"
Cal replies, "Hmm ... guts."

Cal is in bed with a girl he met at the bar.
She says, "I am gonna do something to you that you've never had before."
Cal answers, "I really doubt that."
She replies, "You're not supposed to say that!"

Cal talking to this petite woman on their first date.
Cal says, "Your hands are really small. My penis is gonna look huge in them."

Brad was talking about the new movie: The Day The Earth Stood Still.
Cal replies, "The day Holly missed her period, that was the day the Earth stood still."

A guy friend of Cal's goes up to a woman to ask her to dance.
The friend comes back and says, "She said 'Maybe later.' So should I ask her again later?"
Cal answers, "Yes. 'Maybe' means she wants to turn you down twice."