I was a prude. It’s pretty undeniable. In high school, the pool of eligible bachelors (if you can call them that) seemed exponentially smaller every year, so let’s just say the sex scene at college was a shock to me. Here I was, the same skinny long-haired brunette I had been four months earlier, but now boys were not just interested, they were pursuing me! Things moved rapidly: the second night of NSO I innocently asked an older boy where the bathroom was and five minutes later he was convincing me to come back to his apartment. Needless to say, my freshman year very quickly became an experiment in regrettable hookups.
Fast forward to second semester. I felt infinitely more comfortable in my skin than I had just months before. And after yet another relationship/hookup/arrangement/whatever-you-want-to-call-it fizzled, I had no qualms about going out with the intention of getting some. And that is exactly how the following story started.
It had been a particularly rough week. My first round of midterms was consolidated between Tuesday and Thursday and when my last exam was finished I was ready to go out hard. After my exam finished, I waited until a acceptable cocktail hour to start with the Smirnoff, but it seems that beyond that, I had little semblance of propriety. Conveniently enough, it was the night of my sorority’s crush party, so a pregame with some members of the male species had already been arranged—all I had to do was show up. Before I knew it, we were leaving the Quad in that familiar line of cabs and waiting for the coat check. Soon thereafter, the girls I came with started to splinter off: some into smaller groups of girls, others with a boy. I was one of the others. I had gotten the attention of a senior boy who, honestly, I didn’t think was that cute, but seemed very interested. I obliged. He bought me a drink. We danced. He bought me some more drinks.
Like so many other nights out, it gets hazy from there. The next thing I remember is waking up in his bed. We were both drunk and I was a willing participant in whatever happened, I just didn’t remember what that was. As I rolled over, my ruffling in the sheets woke him up. And that’s when he said,
“I guess we’re not having morning sex.”
I suppose we had had sex the night before. It’s one thing to try to make a move when you wake up—to pull me close or start to kiss me, but it is certainly another to be this bold. I suddenly started screaming in my head: “GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE!” I engaged him in some quick banter, but my mind was focused only on the fastest escape route.
Inexplicably, things actually managed to get worse. I had accepted my impending walk of shame, but I asked if I could borrow a t-shirt to lessen my embarrassment. I started to look through his drawer and found a Disney World tee that looked like it was my size. I grabbed it and put it on. It was so small it didn’t even fit me. In a sad turn of events, he proceeded to inform me that it was a sentimental shirt from his childhood, and I couldn’t have it. So he asked me to pass it to him, and he put the stupid t-shirt on. It was like fat man in a little coat, but an average sized frat boy in a baby tee. We both laughed: him sincerely and me out of awkwardness. Finally I decided to just get dressed in what I had worn the night before and head out.
To give you a picture, I was wearing the color-block American Apparel dress that every freshman girl in 2008 owned and wore on at least a weekly basis (mine was black and purple) and leopard heels. I felt very confident the night before, but in the light of day… not so much. I walked out of his house beyond the borders of Beige Block and I was lost. I actually had to ask someone on the street which direction the Penn campus was. Finally, I saw Allegro and I thought I was home-free. Just as I started to remember what it was like to have a shred of dignity, a homeless man yelled in my direction, “Damn girl! You just made my day!” I’m so glad this experience was positive for someone.