I think that it is probably best to start from the beginning—the beginning of college, that is and the beginning of my adult promiscuity.
Ahh….freshman year. I arrived on campus in the summer and had just separated from my high school boyfriend of just over a year. About 2 days before arriving on campus, I had participated in my first (and only to date) threesome (I will touch on being a girl kisser and how the 4th of July basically equates to me batting for the other team). So, my wild streak had reached an all-time high at the ripe young age of 18 and it was roaring and ready to go as I went off to my prestigious Ivy League university.
My first day of the summer program that I was in was mostly all athletes (jackpot!). I remember looking around the room to see so many hopefuls, but there was one that I had already had my eye on. It took until the 2nd night for me to already have blown a basketball player (let’s call him Fuckhead, which is what he is in my address book) to which he replied with “if this is what college is like, I definitely chose the right school.” Oh don’t you know it baby.
So Fuckhead and I had begun our almost-love affair before even arriving on campus…2000 miles away, we were from the same city and had met through mutual friends who knew we were both going to the same school. We first met (after hearing about one another) at a formal alumni event welcoming newly admitted students—a few knowing glances and I knew I’d eventually fuck him. I’m a firm believer that you can tell if you will fuck someone within 10 seconds of meeting them (a self-fulfilling prophecy maybe? Either way, I haven’t been wrong yet). After that, we met a few more times in sketchy places like a dog park after dark (?) with no dogs involved. He told me how he had broken up with his girlfriend yada yada blah blah blah. This should have been the first clue to his fuckheaded nature, but I was young and naïve.
I even caught him in Lie #1 and still I overlooked it. Later that week I attended a graduation party for someone at his school and I mentioned how I had hung out w/ Fuckhead. To that news, some of their mutual friends replied “Does she know about it?” Naturally I replied with “I thought they broke up?” Oddly enough—none of their friends had even the slightest inclining that there was trouble in paradise.
Fast-forward to July 2003. Mistakenly, I became slightly attached as the summer progressed. We did everything together—went grocery shopping together, weekly Friday night pizza dates, editing each other’s papers—you name it, we were together like glue. The only really irritating thing is that we never slept in the same bed together—his room was right down the hall and we had twin beds, but there is something so very cheap about hooking up so much and being almost a couple yet never slumbering together. Irritatingly cheap.
Let’s start with the good things…there are always a few good things to keep you interested and those good things are what make the separations sting so badly. There was a huge thunderstorm one warm summer night and we explored our new campus together in the pouring rain…holding hands and running through gothic arches and modern landscape sculptures. It sounds so cheesy that it could be out of “The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants” but it wasn’t. This past June I had a long talk with him after not seeing him since graduation and he brought it up….prefaced by “remember when we were almost in love?” F-U-C-K Y-O-U. (BTW, I’m totally not bitter….nor am I bitter by the fact that I am smarter than him and he is going to a top law school this fall. Yeah…it must be full of a bunch of fuckheads who can recognize one of their own).
One Friday night instead of going to our favorite pizza place, we decided to make our own pizza. I had said something along the lines of him just using me for summer company and Fuckhead replied with “Why would I put this much effort into something if I didn’t think that it would be worth it for longer than just a summer?”
Then it got sour. I was hanging out with a football player down the hall who had one of those nerf basketball sets. Somehow, we started playing strip horse. At first I was like, sweet, I’m gonna beat this kid and he’s going to be awkwardly standing there in his skivvies. I win the first game—pumped, I’m still fully clothed. To make a long, predictable story short—I ended up in nothing but my thankfully very cute hot pink lace boy short undies, somehow with him on top of me on the bottom bunk, making out profusely and petting like virgins. He said something about getting a condom—a bit presumptuous, I would think, we were just making out and groping above the undies!!!—and at that point I realize…hmm, this is probably not the greatest idea. I was in for maybe some fondling but I did not anticipate any oral-to-genital nor any genital-to-genital contact. So I got dressed and left, without telling a soul as we had agreed upon. Shortly after I realized that I had lost these panties along the way—I still wonder if in my haste I left them, or if he stole them out of my perpetually unlocked dorm room as sort of proof to my basketball player that he had gotten some goods.
Funny how that whole “let’s pretend this didn’t happen” thing works out isn’t it? All of a sudden, Fuckhead was mysteriously distant from me. I was told eventually and ‘accidentally’ by a mutual friend that he was back together with his ex. I couldn’t figure out for the life of me why he wouldn’t have told me to my face and why I had to find out from someone else.
Not until 2 YEARS later did I find out that he had someone tell me that b/c he was so pissed off that I kissed someone else while we were ‘together’. I’m sorry, but guys should know that girls are VERY big into labels—and I don’t just mean when it comes to our clothes. If you have not explicitly defined our relationship or whatever it is that we are doing with you, we will treat it like nothing. If we never cuddled in bed and fell asleep together, if you never gave me a good night kiss before heading back to your own bed, if you never let me know how you really felt about me—then we were definitely not together.
So, I still maintain that I did nothing wrong—and that he was the huge dick (too bad he didn’t have a huge dick). Every action has a reaction—and my reaction was a revenge fuck. A very public revenge fuck. (This would not be my last revenge fuck, although it was definitely my first).
On the last night of the summer program, I slept with a lacrosse player (nicknamed ‘Legend’….seriously, I couldn’t make that shit up)—my first one-night stand and revenge fuck—I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone. The next morning I even got to meet his mother—surprise!—conveniently right after I had thrown up in the bathroom after taking the morning after pill because the condom broke. “Great, nice to meet you Mrs. Legend….btw, I just threw up because of some emergency contraception that was necessitated by your son’s wangbone.” Great first impression—cross her off the list of potential mother-in-laws-to-be.
So, even though Fuckheads may have their romantic moments, they are still fuckheads. Even if in hindsight, my revenge fuck was probably more like pouring salt into his wounds. Lesson to all nice guys out there who don’t want to turn into fuckheads: treat your girl right while you have her, or else she’ll go run off with the next potential fuckhead who shows interest.
