I woke up as my alarm went off at 8am on a cold Tuesday morning in February. The large, deluxe space heater whirring in the corner of the room was fighting a losing battle with the fact this was a basement room in a 100-year-old house in the winter. The cold wasn’t any incentive to get out of bed. Neither was my looming organic chemistry lecture. And neither was the fact that I had raging morning wood and wasn’t alone in bed.
How did I get here?
I had recently celebrated my 18th birthday, caused a minor family scandal by getting a tattoo, and was ready to get on with my second semester at university. My first semester had been something of a mixed bag. Lots of fun college experiences, but my high school days as a science nerd had left me short on social skills and with a minimal sexual resume. I had resolved to loosen up and get out more to change that.
The 5’7, leggy, blue-eyed brunette in bed with me was Em, who was a year older than I was, and had recently transferred to my university to be closer to home after spending the previous year in Washington D.C. We had met a couple weeks ago at a party on the first weekend of the new semester, where we’d been introduced by a mutual friend.