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The Time My Brother And I Used Tinder To Pass A Girl Around Our Pledge Semester

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The Time My Brother And I Used Tinder To Pass A Girl Around Our Pledge Semester

Tinder was gaining steam in early spring of 2014 and every brother had a profile. My pledge brother, a man on serious-relationship hiatus, took to the app to fill our parties with average-to-below-average looking girls, all of whom he met through Tinder. He truly believed in quantity over quality. Worst yet, he had a propensity for double-booking his hook-ups. He’d invite several girls to a party, hedging his bets that at least one would show up. My pledge brother bent these girls over in every corner of the house. He got some in the keg room. He was wont to sneak a girl into active’s rooms. He even got dome on the roof of the house during a day-long.

I was reluctant to adopt the swipe-to-hook-up lifestyle. I refused to admit to the world that, with my full head of hair and sense of humor, I needed technology to get laid. Seeing the fruit of my pledge brother’s swiping, I, like everyone else, finally caved and made a profile. I scanned leagues of Pitt, Carnegie Mellon, Carlow, Duquesne, Chatham and Point Park girls who all said they didn’t “know what they were here for, were “fluent in sarcasm” and would “do anything for a Sorrento’s pizza with ranch.” A fan of brevity, I kept my profile terse: Just my letters and a pithy rhyme about my nefarious intentions. Mind you, this was before Tinder’s developers added a swipe limit to the app. I matched with north of 40 girls within the first 90 minutes, many of whom knew a few brothers. One girl in particular, a stunning Brazilian girl with an ass that sailed 1,000 ships, opened the dialog, asking if I was close with a particular brother she had met the week prior.

A few days later, once my kavorka led me to the promised land, she lay next to me, catching her breath in my cramped, twin-sized dorm bed. The next week or so followed a similar script: She’d walk to my single on the west side of campus a couple days a week and we’d make superficial conversation before delving into the business side of our encounter.

Days later, I stood in three inches of week-old snow, amidst single-digit temperatures, in the dim light of our chapter house with my pledge class, awaiting directives from the sergeant-in-arms. The same pledge brother who used Tinder to explode his body count asked if I knew the aforementioned South American girl with the spectacular ass. As soon as I proudly told him I was taking the D train to Brazil every other evening, he revealed that he’d done likewise at a similar frequency. At an instant, our relationship as pledge brothers was at a crossroad: Should we be angry with each other? Is all fair in love and Tinder? Do we fight?

Before I could even conjure a response, he asked me what I thought of her ass. “I’d stick my dick so deep in that ass, the next man to pull me out would be crowned the King of Merry ‘Ol England,” I answered. He smiled, as did I and we high fived over a slice of Brazilian pie.

The sharing continued for another month and a half with both of us chasing an elusive three-way. We were Jake Arietta and Jon Lester and we seemed to take turns with this girl by the day. As the weeks passed, she grow fonder of me, just as I was growing fonder of a tall, redhead sophomore I was determined to bag by semester’s end. My semester finished with a literal bang when she came to return a couple shirts she’d swiped and we separated for summer with my ride home not even five minutes from campus.

By July, I was dating a different girl, an engineer from Penn State with an incredible ass, and the girl from the spring completely cut contact with me and my pledge brother. Some girls have a statue for hookups before an implied relationship takes hold. I was oblivious of the social construct and heard from her only a handful of times in the following months (even though each time was a subsequent hook-up).

By October, she cursed my name with everything I did. I was worse than Germany’s national soccer team to her. She sat out mixers between our organizations. She was sure that every sister in her sorority knew what kind of person she perceived me to be. Despite fucking an innumerable amount of fraternity guys the preceding spring, she still viewed my cavalier attitude toward her as inadmissible. Some girls are just crazy like that: They’re so accustomed to getting any guy they, it’s unacceptable for someone else to take on the roll of rejecter. Still doesn’t matter; had sex.

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Kramer Smash

Unabashed Pitt alum with an affinity for brown girls and Manhattans. Send lovelies to

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