The Circle Of College Life

Sorry for not posting yesterday. I was too busy revenge fucking an ex-girlfriend for making me sit through episodes of “One Tree Hill.” Not really. But I was considering it. And lately it seems like that is the closest I'm going to come to having sex for a long time.

Now on to matters at hand: drunk chicks.

I had a chill evening of working out, downloading some new porn (FYI, Tory Lane is AMAZING), and watching the Yankee game. So there I was: huge fluffy slippers on my feet, a ripped T-shirt, my “Back In Black” AC/DC boxers riding up, as I slouched in a chair shoveling cheerios from the box into my mouth. Then a drunk girl sat down on my desk directly in front of me.

Thankfully, my latest video acquisitions had wound to a profoundly gratifying close. I was just chilling out in what I assumed was the privacy of my own home, watching a little baseball and idly wondering whether getting up to floss would be a worth-while endeavor; then, suddenly, I was looking at boobs in a tight black tee shirt.

“Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” said my guest. “What’s your name?”

Now, it’s not like I had been caught doing anything widely inappropriate. I was at least nominally clothed, and not probing my ass-cheeks for lint, or shaving my nether regions. But there’s something so creepy about being burst in on when you assumed you were alone. I resisted the urge to shriek like a woman and make a desperate dive for my pants.

“I’m Ehren. What are you doing here?”

“Oh I know your brother. I’m Summer.”

Small side explanation here: I’m living in my parent’s house for the summer. My brother is home from college, and in between stealing my beer and sleeping, generally stays out of my way. I think I’ve seen him awake and walking around twice since June. My parents are out of town for the summer.

“Hi…Summer. So where is my brother?”

“He’s downstairs. Some of friends are coming over and we’re gonna have fun. I just thought I’d try to find a place I could sleep if I get tired later.”

“Ummm…”

“I’m not a slut, I’m just drunk.”

Honestly, I’m not 100% certain whether she actually knew my brother, or if he had just hired a prostitute. Either way, I grabbed her waist, pulled her into bed and banged her until the early hours of the morning.

Just kidding. See, this is why I get no respect: I’m too nice of a guy. Sure, I could have taken advantage of this drunk chick. But the next day I’d get that terrible, burning feeling deep down inside. And not just while peeing. And while both burning sensations are treatable, neither is ultimately enjoyable.

“That’s ok, Summer. I suspect you’re a slut even when you’re sober. So, how old are you? Judging from those crows’ feet, I'm guess that when you were a kid you watched Game Shows where the big prize was fire.”

“Whu?”

“What are you studying in school? Have you gotten up to ‘fetch’ yet?”

So instead of giving this girl a night that would teach her not to be a whore (read: anal fisting), I insulted her until she stumbled off in search of easier fun, and was, presumably, gang-raped by frat guys. And so the circle of college life continues.