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The Path of Dreams by Eugene Woodbury
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The Path of Dreams by Eugene Woodbury
Excerpt from the book

Connor learned about the birds and the bees the novel way—by reading novels. Starting with the first half of Hawaii, he worked on-ward and downward from there, all the way to Anais Nin. He never brought Anais Nin home from the library. There were times when it was better not to test his parents’ respect for the First Amendment. Yes, his parents were supposed to be the ones leading him by the hand. But Connor was glad they didn’t try very hard. Bishop Hodgson was bad enough. His parents no doubt figured that if they could count on common sense and upbringing to impart the principles of good grammar and proper etiquette, they could count on parental osmosis to impart other lessons as well. They counted pretty much right. Not that he hadn’t been tempted by the dark side. There were the Playboy magazines his best friend Billy Bragg sneaked out of his grand-dad’s room. Perhaps the quality of smut in upstate New York was wanting back then. Or Billy’s granddad had dated tastes. But Connor couldn’t remember coming across anything half as good as what was in his mother’s art books, except that the Playboy nudes were markedly less corpulent. As far as he was concerned, Billy Bragg’s dirty magazines were another big coming-of-age nonevent. Leaving home didn’t change things much, even as a freshman in the BYU dorms, where sin lieth not only at the door but walked in and introduced itself. Or arrived courtesy of the United States Postal Service. Bart Lowe, who lived down the hall, spent spring break in Hawaii with his father (attending a Nu Skin convention). When he wasn’t surf-ing, Bart killed time catching rays on the beach and mailing postcards (in tightly sealed envelopes) of unclothed Polynesian lasses back to Provo, where the snowpack was still heavy on the mountaintops. Connor got ratted out. On his way to class, the dorm mother stopped him and gave him a “you ought to know better” lecture. That was one of the dangers of living in BYU on-campus housing: informants everywhere. Admittedly, Bart was leading them astray with pretty tame material. Bart might have been a gentile, but he was a conscientious gentile. He had taste, in other words. Howie Bradshaw had not so much. Howie was one of three guys Connor shared an apartment with during his sophomore and junior years. Howie worked on the janitorial crew, and said that when the crew was on the dorm rotation, they’d find a couple of Penthouse magazines in the trash every Monday morn-ing before room inspections. The dorms had apparently slid further downhill since Connor lived there. Trevor Phillips had just gotten engaged, and Howie thought he knew how to warm the waters a bit. So he snagged a Penthouse when his supervisor wasn’t looking and used half a roll of transparent pack-ing tape to fasten the centerfold to the inside of Trevor’s closet door while he was at class. obooko.