Monday, October 14, 2013

Dry Cool Wit, Pt. 2

One night towards the end of senior year, my roommate threw a party for all the people on his Global Outreach team. At some point, in one of those "no grace skill charm chemistry or common ground required" (NGSCCOCGR) hookups that are possible solely on college campuses, I made out with one of these team members, an Asian girl named Jill (not her real name). She was cute, and the next morning I felt good about it.

We slept with each other a week or so later. Again, no real idea how this happened. It was fun though, and, again, I was all smiles the next morning. 

Jill started booty calling me pretty regularly after that. Not a bad situation for a college boy to find himself in. But I had some concerns. 

The first was Jill herself. Lady had an iffy reputation. I heard whispers of unpredictable and irrational behavior whenever her name came up, and, good sex or no, I was wary of putting my penis inside her one too many times. 

The second issue was timing. There was only so much of college left at this point. Spending any of those last precious nights -- not to mention a large portion of the next mornings -- away from my friends in a strange (and potentially nuts) girl's bedroom just felt wrong. I'd slept with Jill once and gotten away clean. Rock lifted, itch scratched, mystery solved. I wanted to be with the people I loved now. 

(Beyond that, we were just hitting the start of the Senior Scramble, the brief and glorious window of time before graduation when you bounce around making out with all the people you've been meaning to make out with for four years. There were definitely a couple girls I wanted to lay one on, so I had even less interest than usual in getting entangled in any sort of "thing," in being beholden or obliged to another person.) 

So, Jill texted me suggestively a few times over the course of a week or so, and in each case I made up some excuse. Finally, one weekend in late April, we hosted a blowout party in the house, one with a guestlist large enough to pull Jill into my social orbit once again. I'd been diagnosed with strep throat on the Sunday of that week, and though I felt recovered by the time of the party (good looks Z pack), I figured it was probably best to take it easy one night longer. When Jill arrived we said hey and she proceeded to the basement with the rest of the partygoers. I stayed upstairs in my apartment. 

A half an hour later she came up to use our bathroom and sat down on the couch with me for a bit. I told her I was sick. She teased me about it. She went back downstairs. 

Twenty minutes later she was back upstairs. We talked some more. My general lack of interest in Jill as a romantic partner, compounded with the lingering effects of my illness, kinda took the zap out of the conversation. (It didn't help that she was getting drunker and looser and I was not.) I guess she eventually picked up a hint and returned to the party. 

The next time I saw her she asked me if I was gay. 

Me: Nope. 

The next time I saw her she was crying in a corner, surrounded by friends. When she saw me she flipped me off. 

I felt terrible. Jill was totally nice, very cute, pretty fun even -- and she was throwing herself at me. She'd done absolutely nothing to account for the cold shoulder I was giving her, and I suddenly realized how confused and hurt she must be. She deserved an explanation for my behavior. 

I got her away from her friends and we started talking. I apologized to her. I cracked a few jokes. We made out a little (are viruses contagious?). And then I got to the meat of my explanation. 

Her: I just don't understand. Why haven't you wanted to have sex with me? Was it bad? 
Me: No. Not at all. 
Her: Then why? 

Deep breath. 

Me: Well...ok. Imagine you went to the movies one night with your friend. And you sat down, and you saw a movie, and you walked outside, and you said, "Wow. That was great." 

She nods.

Me: And then imagine the next night, your friend calls you up and says, "Hey, wanna go see that movie?" 

Wait for it.

Me: ...and you're just like...

Drum roll.


I don't know if "stormed out of the room" really captures it. Homegirl burst through the wall like the Kool-Aid man. I remained in my seat, genuinely surprised at her reaction. Because I was a fucking moron. 

The funny thing is I can't even use booze as an excuse. That is, straight up, the analogy I felt would best illustrate my feelings. 

Jill and I had a few friends in common, and I saw them once or twice after this incident. Ever meet somebody in your extended social circle and get that "you know a story about me" feeling? Hooo doggy. 

Anyway, believe it or not she stopped texting me after that. And I had lots of time to hang out with those friends of mine. And that was a great movie too. With a lot less nudity.


Did not hook up with anyone else before graduation.

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