Pennetration, Edition 6: The Spring Break Booty Call

This year for spring break, I didn't go to the Acapulco or Cabo, like most Penn students. I didn't even do something "different", like go on Alternative Spring Break. Instead, I took the most boring possible route and went home for the last ten days, to my boring, tri-state area home and hung out with old high school friends.

Seeing high school friends brings back all sorts of memories—as a Junior, I've been away long enough to really lose touch with all but the most important people. One of the few people I do keep in touch with is my former boyfriend; let's call him Adam.

We dated, in a very high school sort of way, with lots of public break-ups and intense make-ups, the summer in between senior year of high school and freshman year of college. It was summer love at its best—very passionate, and based on very little actual substance. But if nothing else, Adam and I had a great physical connection. I decided to give Adam a ring (or, more honestly, an awkward text) to see whether he'd be home and what he was up to this Spring Break.

He was properly excited to receive my awkward text, and responded in the affirmative that he would be around, so the textual flirting began around Valentine's Day.

It started out innocently enough, but one too many Long Island Ice Teas at a Blarney's Sink or Swim and the dirty texting commenced. At first it was just the standard ("What are you wearing?" "What are you thinking about?" "I want you so badly," for those of you who do not engage in this kind of licentious behavior), but after a week or two, the real fantasies came out.

I guess Adam reached his passionate peak in high school, or perhaps he just doesn't have much of an imagination, but either way, his fantasy was pretty standard—hot girl, tall heels, trench coat, and nothing else, knocking at his door. Easily accomplished, and totally worth the night of hot sex I was bound to get from indulging him.

So it's finally Spring Break, and all my prep work is about to come to fruition, in fact I'm sitting in my car driving over (fully dressed, because I'm actually a horrible driver and live in fear of getting pulled over, and would prefer to be clothed if and when this happens) when I get the awkward text, "So my parents aren't actually out for the evening...they're coming home in like, an hour." I hastily reply, "OK, I can be there in 10.. make it a quickie?" Because honestly, I'm in the car, I have the trench, and I'm horny. "Sounds good!" he exclaims.

I decide that I should still probably make his fantasy come true, since its such a simple one, and I already have the trench. And the heels. Instead of wasting precious time by pulling over and preparing, I decide to strip myself of my sweats and my cotton t-shirt while still driving along (again, I'm an awful driver, so why this seemed like a great idea, I'll never know). By utilizing the abundance of stoplights in my town, I figured I could manage stripping down to my underwear and struggling into my coat without too much hassle.

But I was wrong. At most stoplights in my town, there are two lanes. Furthermore, 8 p.m. on a Thursday is a fairly popular time to be out and about, what with people coming home from work or going out to dinner. Not to be deterred, I managed to get my pants off fairly well by wriggling them down around my ankles then kicking them to the side while paused at a particularly calm intersection.

The shirt posed another problem entirely, as actually lifting something over your head (like a sweatshirt, for those of you less exhibitionist than I) is always awkward and can rarely be accomplished behind the steering wheel of a car, with one's seatbelt on, no less. At the final stoplight before Adam's house, I began the process and actually had both arms out of my sleeves, when a car pulled up next to me. I panicked and pulled it back on, naturally.

I managed to pull that pesky shirt off quickly after the offending car turned right on red. I garbed myself in my trench, pulled into the driveway, exchanged my Uggs for some heels, and walked confidently, if hurriedly, up to his door.

For those of you who are hoping that it was his mother answered, or something equally embarrassing, sorry—this is a sex blog, not FML. I was greeted by a very enthusiastic Adam, wearing only his boxers (not actually his best look, as he'd gained the frat boy beer belly, but it certainly made the trip to naked a whole lot easier). We managed to do very well in what short amount of time we had, and then we parted ways—mutually satisfied and, I like to think, remembering our brief relationship fondly.

Spring Break booty successfully accomplished, I'm back at Penn, hoping I won't have to text Adam to see what his summer plans will be.