The Morning After: The Late Night Walk of Shame

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One night in the beginning of the semester, my roommates and I decided to drink tequila (read: my clothes would come off). A few hours in, I started to get the itch and texted the last boy I made out with. He was at a party and I was so desperate for some lovin’ that I walked there by myself. When I got there, he was making out with another girl.

But that didn’t stop me.

I hung around the party for awhile, drinking and mingling, until I finally decided this was bullsh*t and I was going home. As soon as I grew a backbone and walked out the door, he texted me to wait for him, and of course I did. He came out to meet me after 15 long minutes and we went back to his frat house.

Once in his room, things started getting hot and heavy, so I asked if he had a condom. He got up, walked over to a drawer to put one on, and then came back to continue…well, you know.

After a few minutes (seriously, like 3) we were done and I excused myself to use the bathroom. Had I had my wits about me I would have slipped my shoes on before walking into that cesspool, but I didn’t. And it was gross. Anyway, I finished my business and tip-toed back to his room. I got back into his queen-sized bed and tried to go to sleep.  As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was met with the oh-so-polite response of “um, yeah, you could either walk home or stay the night.” I was obviously staying, dumb ass. Hence the whole “getting into bed” thing. He continued:

“But if you stay over, you can’t sleep in my bed. I have personal space issues.”

Umm, EXCUSE ME!?!? This guy whose “personal space” was just inside my “personal space” was now telling to sleep on the futon? I stared at him, dumbfounded.

“I seriously have issues, you can ask my mom,” he said. Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do. Call up the mother of my one-night-stand to confirm deep-seated psychological problems.

Instead, I threw the covers off, put my dress back on (sans panties, but I was not about to stick around any longer looking for them), and walked right out the door. All the way back to my place, alone, in the middle of the night. It was cold, it was shady, and my feet hurt like a mofo, but there was no way in hell I was spending a second on some jerky frat boy’s dirty futon. There was not enough tequila in the world to make me do that.

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