My Love Affair with Raymond John Wean
Dear Reader,
It started as most romances do, with a meet-cute in a coffee shop. La Prima Espresso at the entrance of Wean Hall has always been one of my favorite places to grab a drink between my life-threatening engineering classes, but I had no idea just how important this place was about to become to me. I meant to look up at the clock and see how much time I had before my midterm when my eyes fell on the plaque instead. There he was, inscribed in fake gold—the stoic face of Raymond John Wean. I was, suddenly, very attracted to him. His shiny cheeks, his piercing gaze. He has a wisdom about him that only a dead man over 130 years old could have. I slid out of my seat, closed my laptop, and approached the plaque with a quiet curiosity. What could come from just one touch?
Turns out, I could, so I pulled away quickly. The cafe buzzed around us, but it still felt quite intimate. I let my fingers run down the embossed letters, dangerously low, before sliding up and dusting off his shoulder. “The things you could teach me,” I muttered, but I had run out of time. I had a midterm to take. With a shy smile in his direction, I was on my way.
The plaque of Raymond John Wean did not leave my mind all day. I returned that same night, desperate to be alone with him. I pulled up a chair to stand on so I could better look him in the eyes. “Did you miss me?” I asked, finding his lack of a response tantalizing. He was such a tease. I chuckled and slid my hands up his sides. “I missed you so much. I just want to be close to you.”
It was that night I found out just how close we could get. I will not explain in detail what we did in the throes of passion, but I will say I could feel Raymond speak to me. It was absolute filth, describing how he wanted everyone to know I was his. “What if we did this again,” he asked, “when La Prima was open?”
Oh, reader, you must know that I have never felt pleasure quite so extreme. I kissed him goodnight and was off on my way, promising to see him again.
Since then, the plaque of Raymond John Wean has broadened my sexual horizons beyond what I ever thought possible. This, CMU students, is what the plaque means by his “humanitarian” work.
Thank you, my beloved Wean.