It starts out as just another random hookup. You’re drunk off your ass and she seems smoking hot. After a little sweet-talking, you realize she’s not the brightest Crayon in the box, but she’s obviously down to take her pants off. Part of you thinks to yourself “Man, this is almost TOO easy,” but instead of taking that thought as a warning, you take it as an ego-boost.
Your game is obviously just spot-on as of late, and you couldn’t screw this up even if you tried. A few corny pickup lines and drunk dance moves later, and you’ve got her in the sack. It’s a done deal.
The morning after is pretty standard. She wakes you at an unnecessarily early hour, asks for a shacker shirt, and is quickly on her way back to her house with heels in hand. Nothing to see here, right?
You’ve finally made it through that boring-ass accounting lecture with the help of your good friend Adderall, and SportsCenter on your laptop. You pack your bags and start heading back towards the fraternity house to plan the weekend’s debauchery. On the way back, you see a girl in the distance who looks…familiar.
“No way, can it be? There’s fifty-fucking-thousand students on this campus, there’s no way it…shit, it’s her.”
You instinctively start to weigh your options on how to handle the situation. Has she seen you yet? Is it too late to change routes and take a different way to the house? Shit, she just made eye contact. Now you have no choice but to talk to her. She walks right up to you, and instantly starts blabbering. You try to give the shortest possible answers, and tell her you’re late for class so she’ll let you leave already. Just as you think you are home free, she drops the bomb:
“One last thing, I uh, kinda left my phone in your room last night. You guys are having that big theme party tonight, right? Awesome, I’ll just grab it later tonight! See you there!”
With a few short, unimpeded sentences, this former one-night-stand has not only stamped her ticket to your next party, but also your room and inevitably, your pants.
The party is amazing, as expected, and there are hot girls everywhere just begging to be hit on. You realize that the girl from last night will be here any moment, and you start searching for new targets so you’ll seem occupied. Slowly, you start to realize your game is just a little off tonight. You’re striking out worse than your drunk ass did during softball intramurals. Constant “I’m not drinking tonight” and “I’ve got a boyfriend” lines are thrown your way, when suddenly, you hear her voice…
“HEYYYYYYY! I’M SOOOOOO DRUNKKKKKKK!”
She sprints towards you and leaps into your arms. Before you can even think of a cop-out, she grabs your hand and starts dragging you to your room to “get her phone.” By this point, you have no choice but to accept your fate. You have sex again, and like any self-respecting man, instantly pass out after you finish.
You wake up and start feeling around for the boob your hand fell asleep holding. Then it hits you: she’s gone. Another shirt is missing from your closet, the room has been cleaned a little, and it smells way too nice. You wonder if this is too good to be true. However, after about five seconds of intense thinking, you stop caring.
“Maybe Sarah just wants to be a slam after all…”
You chalk it up to your smooth-talking and devilish good looks, and start getting ready for the football tailgate. Right as you’re leaving your room, you step on something. You look down to see what it is, and then you realize…it’s her phone.
You’re at tailgate, belligerently drunk as usual. There’s a sea of sorority talent in game day dresses as far as the eye can see, and all is right with the world. Suddenly, a complete dime approaches you with her friends.
Her: “Hey, I think I know you!”
You: “There’s a chance…sorry, my memory’s not the greatest on the weekends.”
Her: “No, I totally do! You’re that guy that’s talking to Sarah!”
You pause for a moment and contemplate murder. TALKING? What the hell? Fucking doesn’t mean talking! Hell, we don’t even really talk that much, it’s mostly just fucking. Body language doesn’t count, does it? Shit…
You muster up the best response you can give:
You: “Uh, yeah….I guess…”
Her: “OH MY GOSH! You guys are sooooooo cute.”
You: “Well we just met, to be honest.”
Her: “YOU SHOULD TOTALLY TAKE HER TO YOUR DATE PARTY NEXT WEEK!”
You: “Oh, that is coming up. I’ll…think about it.”
You pause again, and start to realize that this isn’t all a coincidence. Something trickery is afoot, and it’s not just your devilish good looks this time. These girls are wing women.
You guys just destroyed the other team in that football game, and it’s time to celebrate at the house. You know that Sarah is going to be back, and might even have a wing-woman this time. You get some bros together, tell them whats going on, and set up a few diversions in case this girl tries anything crazy. After a few minutes of planning, everything is in place and you finally get a chance to scope out some new talent. A few hours go by and everybody is completely obliterated. You can’t even mumble a coherent sentence, when suddenly, she emerges from the wild again.
She starts that same sprint towards you, just like last time, and your mind starts to race. FUCK. You had a plan for this, right? Where are your pledge brothers to tell this chick that your dad died and you need some space? You scan the room as fast as you can and see your pledge brothers passed out against the wall, as useless as the drywall holes next to them. Fuck.
You: “…He….hey *Burp*”
Her: “Ohh look, somebody’s drunk as a skunk! Here, follow me and I’ll get you to your bed. This party’s over anyway.”
You can barely even walk, and you’ve stopped giving a fuck yet again. Who cares? You’ll just get laid one more time and call it quits. You guys get in bed, have sex again, and all is right in the world. However, this time, she has the nerve to talk to you after sex, knowing damn well that you can barely speak.
Her: “God, you’re such a dork when you’re this drunk. I looove it!”
You: “Ha..I love it..you…it too.”
You instantly sober up the moment you realize what you just said. Chills race down your back as you see an accomplished smile begin to form on her face. You fucked up big time, and you know it. You just cross your fingers and hope that she forgets the atrocities that accidentally slipped from your lips by morning.
You wake up around noon with one of the worst hangovers of your life. A quick scan of your surroundings tells you that she’s gone, and there’s no left behind phone to be found. Thank God, you seem to have gotten yourself out of this shituation cleanly. You’re free. You breathe out a deep sigh of relief, and start to convince yourself that you were never in any real danger. You’re too smooth to let something like that get out of hand. With your ego fully stroked, its time to catch up on some more sleep. Just as you roll over though, the door opens.
Her: “Hey! Sorry, I decided I’d take a shower after last night. Things got kinda messy hehe. Here’s your towel and shampoo. I’ve gotta go to some dumb philanthropy event right now, but I had a blast! I’ll just come back for all these clothes later. See ya!”
You can’t bring yourself to words. Really, you can’t. This chick has practically moved in with you after knowing you for THREE FUCKING DAYS. You simply nod, look at her as she’s leaving and catch that twinkle of crazy in her eyes that screams “I already know your entire class schedule by memory!”
(To be continued…)