Gabe and I hooked up the first weekend of spring semester during my junior year of college (see previous post). I was in a particularly wild phase, and that semester was probably the wildest part of the phase. The night… I mean morning we had together was very good – and surprisingly, we were completely sober. I figured maybe we may do it again considering we were both very attracted to each other. Turns out, he wasn’t into random hook ups, and I wasn’t exactly ready for a relationship. Things got pretty awkward between us for the rest of the semester, and he lived right across the hall which didn’t help the situation.
Fast forward almost 7 months to the very beginning of senior year. It’s our first weekend back on campus and I’m feeling weird about things. Most of my friends graduated, including this guy who I unfortunately was madly in love with (see my other posts). I never actually admitted my feelings to anyone. Side note, his girlfriend was in my year and she didn’t like him being friends with any girls, especially me. She was still starting drama senior year with him gone (though he would come back for the occasional visit). Anyway, this story isn’t about him but the point is I felt weird that he was gone and so were many of my friends. So many people were upset about graduating, but I was so excited to be done with a full-time education after that year and had built up senior year in my mind to be an epic party. However, this first weekend back felt different and I just missed my friends.
Despite my mixed feelings towards senior year, I was still going out for our first Friday back on campus with some of my good friends who had not graduated. We went our usual college bar right off campus after some pregame drinks in our apartment. I still think the last fuck I ever gave about reputation lingers in the stale smoke filling that windowless establishment to this day. It mingles there with the last bit of my dignity, trying to hide from the spilled Fireball and wasted cocaine the surely remains caked into the cracks on the bathroom floor.
My friends found our way to the bar tipsy at about 12:30am. Fashionably late for everything as usual. I wore a spaghetti strapped black studded mini dress that hugged my body just right paired with very high black wedge peep-toe booties. I was killing it and I knew it, but most of the hot guys were off the menu – graduated, with their girlfriends, etc. My hot friend who I would hook up with on occasion wasn’t even around for our first weekend thanks to his brother’s wedding. How rude. Couldn’t he have chosen a better wedding date? Despite all this, the music was good and the drinks were flowing. I pulled my usual Houdini act and disappeared most of the night to chat up the guys who would buy me drinks despite never getting with me. The victim of the night was way too nice. This guy should have seen the red flags from me from a mile away. This night he bought me a couple drinks and a shot before I walked away drunk so I could reappear to my friends. When I found them, they were decently drunk and didn’t even ask where I was. They were used to this.
Next thing I knew, a song came on that for some reason had become part of the class theme. A friend grabbed my arm and pulled me to this crowded wooden platform which was a poor excuse for a dance floor. The bar was hot and the air was heavy – late August heat, and was there air conditioning in that place? Couldn’t tell you, but I’m sure I never felt it. Anyway, this “dance floor” was packed as my friends and I danced close together, one arm in the air, the other holding our drinks. I’m not sure how we managed not to spill our drinks everywhere, because you couldn’t move without bumping into at least 3 other people. This is how I moved a fraction of an inch back and bumped straight into First Weekend Gabe. I had no idea he had been right next to me this whole time. When I realized, it was him, we made that drunken eye contact you know is a wordless way hitting on each other. Basically, I wasn’t surprised when he texted me an hour later asking where I was living that year.
I was actually staying in my friend’s apartment that night – I can’t even explain why since I don’t even know. I tried to explain this to drunk Gabe, but drunk me didn’t get the point across so I told him where I was (not sure why we didn’t go to his place which was very close). He came over and my friends who lived there were both asleep at this point. I was staying on their couch, which was not particularly comfortable, nor was it long enough to accommodate someone who is 6’3 like Gabe.
How things started is a little hazy, but I remember us hooking up on the couch and it being horribly uncomfortable, so we moved to the floor. Then, we got adventurous. My mischievous side came out, and I suggested moving things to the kitchen table. He bent me over the table for a bit before deciding to pick me up and sit me on the kitchen counter near the sink and pound while standing on the floor facing me. In our drunken state, somehow I ended up sliding into the kitchen sink and barely catching myself before my ass went all the way in. We ended up pausing here and laughing at the sloppy mess this turned into, and during this pause, I heard the noise of a door open and close. I’m 100% sure my friend definitely caught us having sex in the kitchen but was blacked out and didn’t remember any of it. She would have definitely brought that up.
The door incident, however, lead us to the final place of sexual activity for the night – the bathroom. We made our way down the hall to the bathroom and locked the door before going at it every which way we could. This guy really was lasting forever, much longer than the standard guy’s 2-minute drill. I paused the action and got on my knees on the hard bathroom floor to get him as wet as possible before he bent me over the sink for a bit. Then, we laid on the cold, hard floor. Neither of these positions were doing it due to lack of comfort and the coldness of the ground., but eventually I felt myself getting close to climax. A few minutes later, the extra wetness from my orgasm helped put him over the edge too. At least the sink nearby made for easy cleanup. To this day my friends like to say I had sex in more places of their apartment than they did. It’s true.
Even though neither of my friends recall interrupting us in the kitchen, my more sober (read: not blacked out) friend did remember trying to open the bathroom door in the middle of the night and it was locked. She paused for a minute and figured out what was going down in there before going back to bed. There was a new rule established the next day – no more sex in the bathroom. It’s a one bathroom apartment, after all… But no one was mad at me, it’s another thing we laugh about to this day. There was one more semester left of school, and one more first weekend left in college but I didn’t end up getting with Gabe. We actually never hooked up again, and he’s now married to the girl he started dating the weekend we graduated.