The first girl's hair is wet and smells like chlorine; he clumsily tries to push it from her face when she kisses him.
The last girl's teeth are yellow and half-missing.
There is a succession of women between: illicit under-the-bleachers fucks, quick dirty shags on the couches in the places where he buys his hits, a year of nothing but April with her dyed-black hair and her painted toenails and perfect slurring voice. A handful of easily-impressed nose-ringed hippie girls at whom he quotes Kerouac until they fall for it. A chubby girl with enormous green eyes, encountered at the bookstore. A zoned-out rich girl with expensive shoes, snagged from a party he wasn't qualified to be at.
The first girl takes his hand and pulls him into the downstairs bathroom when no one is looking, and when he realizes what is happening his heart races.
The last girl crawls into his sleeping bag and puts her hands into his jeans, and at first he tries to push her away, disgusted, ashamed.