Just before leaving for winter break freshman year, Hurricane and I decided it would be a great idea to go out hard the night before we had to fly home. Our flights were at 9 a.m., so we figured it would be no problem to go out, come back, pack, and make it to the airport around 7:30. Admittedly, this was not one of our best laid plans.

We went out to the local bars and commenced getting blacked out. At some point, we came home, with Princeton and some random guy in tow. Hurricane and Princeton headed upstairs to his room, leaving me and the random in our dorm room.

Now, some people may think that sitting in your dorm room with a total stranger might be slightly awkward. I am not some people. We started taking shots of warm, cheap vodka and eventually began hooking up, like all classy people do. I have no recollection of the sex itself, so I imagine it must have been missionary.

Around 5 a.m., I woke up to find random rolled on his side, head propped up in his hand, just staring at me. While this was a little off-putting, I was still wasted and wasn’t that concerned.

“What’s up baby?” he smiled as I tried to rouse myself from the haze of the blackout.

“Um, hi.” I murmured. Baby? Okay, now this was awkward.

 “I just want to thank you so much for last night, you have no idea how much it meant to me.” Obviously, this idiot was also still wasted.

“You’re … welcome?” I was confused. I certainly did not remember doing anything especially meaningful with this person. How drunk had I been?

“That was my first time and it was really … special.” He let out a sigh as he uttered that word: special. Oh Jesus fucking Christ.

I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the fact that this kid just told me I was his first. I didn’t even know where I met him, let alone his name. What kind of a fucking person just lets you take their virginity randomly during a drunken stupor? Apparently this asshole did. And what was worse, he thought it was “special”. I immediately decided I would never be speaking to this person again, and began formulating a plan to get him out of my room as quickly as possible.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it. But hey listen, I have to catch a flight and I haven’t packed yet – do you live close by?”

“Uh, yeah. Can I get your number though? I’d love to take you out some time.” What a pitiful little optimist this guy was.

“Yeah sure, here, I’ll put it in for you.” I quickly entered my name and Hurricane’s number into his phone– she could fucking deal with this maniac, I had no time for leeches in my life.

“Alright, well thanks again baby. I’ll see you when you get back from break then I guess?” His tone was so hopeful, I almost felt badly for him.

“Yeah, maybe, I guess so.” I tried to sound enthusiastic, but this guy was really throwing me for a loop. Why he thought I’d want to wake up with a recently deviriginzed random and then make plans for the future is beyond me. Frankly, the fact that he even got to sleep in my bed with me for a little after we hooked up was pushing the envelope for me. I had boundaries, and an emotional connection was well beyond any of them.

After he left, I considered actually packing, but decided it’d be much better to wait for Hurricane so that we could be as chaotic as possible. I won’t bore you with the details, but we each wound up barely catching our flights, with only one shoe out of a pair, no underwear, and no hair products when we got home for break.


About a year later, Hurricane and I were playing ruit after hours at the local dive. Typically, we don’t make great partners, mostly because I’m awesome and she has the attention span of a hummingbird. That night however, we had won eight in a row, and were setting up the ninth game.

“How do we know this guy?” Hurricane whispered to me, glancing at our challenger.

I looked him over, he seemed kind of familiar, but nothing rang a bell. He was generically good looking, but forgettable.

“We don’t know him.” I said back.

“Yes. We. Do. I know I know him. Is that that guy I made out with at the Pike party last week?” I could tell she wasn’t going to let this go.

“Sorry, I don’t keep track of whose mouth you stick your tongue in. Maybe he was in one of your classes? I don’t know … but can you focus – we’re trying to win a fucking game right now. Who cares if you made out with him, he’s not bringing it up and neither should you.” I couldn’t care any less about the identity of this guy. All I cared about was beating him and his partner.

“FINE. But you’re a real bitch sometimes.” She was right. I still didn’t care.

The game began. It was a good one – it went to double overtime, and in dramatic fashion, we won by Hurricane and I each hitting last cup simultaneously like the champions that we are.

After our win, we walked over to the other side of the table to shake hands with our opponents.

“Good game.” I said offering my hand out to the kid we couldn’t quite place.

“That’s all you have to say to me?” He asked, incredulously.

I was taken aback, I frantically grasped for some sort of connection to place him, but I was coming up empty.

“Um. Great game?” I said, opting to go for the dumb blonde routine.

“Are you serious that you don’t know who I am?” He was laughing now. “Wow.”

“Sorry. I really don’t.” This was embarrassing.

“I’m the kid from the night before winter break last year. You know, the one you gave the wrong number to? Thanks for that.” Oh shit.

I had two options at that point: run for the hills, or try and laugh off the fact that I was such a slut I didn’t even recognize this person I had devirginzed. I went with the latter.

“OMG HEY! I knew I knew you from somewhere! How’s it going?!” It was my best effort at cheerful aloofness.

“It’s going good. Can I buy you a drink?”

It was really the least I could do to let this guy buy me a drink after completely forgetting who he was after our special intimacy that had meant so much to him.

We wound up talking for the rest of the night and, of course, going home together to rekindle our romance that night.  I guess this second time wasn’t that special for him, because he left the next morning without asking for my real number. His loss.

{previous} {table of contents}