For the rest of the evening, you and cutie partner boy tell the tales of an awesome game…while rubbing each other’s backs and making flirty/inappropriate comments between beers. Before you know it, you’re outside on the driveway eating his face like he’s a giant slice of late night pizza. (Mmm, pizza.)

“Wanna go somewhere?” He asks.

“Obvi,” you answer as he’s grabbing your hand and leading you back to his place. You stumble down the street, making out at every stop sign and red light you encounter.  Soon you are back at his dorm which, thankfully, is a single. Also a single? His bed.

As you are setting your stuff on the floor, he grabs you and you make your way to the bed. There’s kissing, groping and a nearly unsuccessful go at your bra hooks. Things are going fine (great, even) until he attempts to get on top of you. You roll on your back when – SMACK – you hit the wall. You try to shimmy to your right a little bit but there’s nowhere to go. If you move another inch you’ll send him flying onto the floor.

“Ok, you go left and I’ll go right,” you explain. It takes a few tries (which look like something out of Circ-De-Soleil), but it finally works. He’s on top. You decide to stick in this formation for awhile to keep things simple, but as things heat up you forget about the spatial issues. Mid-passionate kiss, the boy makes it clear that he wants to switch things up a bit and before you know it, you’re grasping on his bicep so as not to fall out of the bed.

The boy pulls you back up, you laugh, and then things resume. Eventually (too soon, in your opinion), the lust-sesh is over and you doze off. He’s spooning you, which would be cute if your face wasn’t pressed into the wall. Or if your arm weren’t totally asleep with no opportunity of moving to wake it up a bit. You stir a bit, hoping to wake the boy up so you can both roll onto your backs, but he doesn’t budge. Not that there would be room for that anyway. You contemplate an escape plan.

There is no way you’re getting up and going home. But rolling over – thus becoming the big spoon – isn’t an option either. That would just be weird. But you have to do something; your arm is starting to tingle and you’re pretty sure your mouth is thisclose to what is surely lead paint on the walls.

When the boy lets out a loud snore, though, you realize you are stuck between a rock (hard body) and a hard (lead) place. So you close your eyes and wait for the booze to kick in and knock you out. If your arm can fall asleep, why can’t you?

—
Yeah, we’ve all been there. That is why we’re officially sticking to older men – they’ve got the big beds.

Want more typical tales of a college coed? Get ‘em right here, right now.

You’re in a sweaty basement playing beer pong. You and your partner – who you happened to pick up next to the keg – have finally been taken down. You chug the final four beers from the other side of the table and let the next team take their spots.

For the rest of the evening, you and cutie partner boy tell the tales of an awesome game…while rubbing each other’s backs and making flirty/inappropriate comments between beers. Before you know it, you’re outside on the driveway eating his face like he’s a giant slice of late night pizza. (Mmm, pizza.)

“Wanna go somewhere?” He asks.

“Obvi,” you answer as he’s grabbing your hand and leading you back to his place. You stumble down the street, making out at every stop sign and red light you encounter.  Soon you are back at his dorm which, thankfully, is a single. Also a single? His bed.

As you are setting your stuff on the floor, he grabs you and you make your way to the bed. There’s kissing, groping and a nearly unsuccessful go at your bra hooks. Things are going fine (great, even) until he attempts to get on top of you. You roll on your back when – SMACK – you hit the wall. You try to shimmy to your right a little bit but there’s nowhere to go. If you move another inch you’ll send him flying onto the floor.

“Ok, you go left and I’ll go right,” you explain. It takes a few tries (which look like something out of Circ-De-Soleil), but it finally works. He’s on top. You decide to stick in this formation for awhile to keep things simple, but as things heat up you forget about the spatial issues. Mid-passionate kiss, the boy makes it clear that he wants to switch things up a bit and before you know it, you’re grasping on his bicep so as not to fall out of the bed.

The boy pulls you back up, you laugh, and then things resume. Eventually (too soon, in your opinion), the lust-sesh is over and you doze off. He’s spooning you, which would be cute if your face wasn’t pressed into the wall. Or if your arm weren’t totally asleep with no opportunity of moving to wake it up a bit. You stir a bit, hoping to wake the boy up so you can both roll onto your backs, but he doesn’t budge. Not that there would be room for that anyway. You contemplate an escape plan.

There is no way you’re getting up and going home. But rolling over – thus becoming the big spoon – isn’t an option either. That would just be weird. But you have to do something; your arm is starting to tingle and you’re pretty sure your mouth is thisclose to what is surely lead paint on the walls.

When the boy lets out a loud snore, though, you realize you are stuck between a rock (hard body) and a hard (lead) place. So you close your eyes and wait for the booze to kick in and knock you out. If your arm can fall asleep, why can’t you?

Yeah, we’ve all been there. That is why we only date older men – they’ve got the big beds.