I think we can all agree that it’s exciting when you run into someone wearing your university’s logo/mascot/colors when you’re far away from campus. You instantly wanna give them a “Go [insert team name here]!” before high fiving them and talking about all the wonderful things you have in common.
Or, in my case, going back to their dingy sublet and cab-of-shaming it home the next morning.
I’m currently living it up in Chicago, doing the whole summer internship thang. Last weekend, a few of my college girlfriends came to visit and I planned a big night out for all of us. OK, so maybe I just bought a handle of Skyy and figured we’d stumble to whatever big-city bar was closest to my studio sublet. Whatever. Details.
So we drank some vodka, did the obligatory “Party in the U.S.A.” dance (twice for good measure), then drunkenly navigated our way to a new sports bar that had opened up down the street. We were making our way to the bar (“SHOTS!”) when I spotted a boy wearing a hat with my school’s logo on it. Nevermind the fact that said hat was perched on his head at a 45 degree angle (read: he was a bro) or that he was was way skinnier than me, I approached him and gave him a hearty “Go team!”
Fast forward an hour and we’re making out in the corner.
When the lights came on at 2 a.m., Bro asked me if I wanted to go back to his place. Obvi I did, but I had to take care of my guests.
“Gimme your number. I’ll text you. Just drop the friends off at home and come meet up with me.”
And that I did. Well, that and a quick stop for a slice of deep-dish. I had to carb up for the night ahead!
I met up with Bro on the corner of my street and we walked back to his place. We weren’t even through the door and my dress was already unzipped, exposing my bra and underwear to his night-owl neighbors. Bro’s mouth tasted like vodka and Red Bull (and his heart was racing from the 6 or so he consumed at the bar) and I feared quite a few times that I’d break his frail little body. But he didn’t seem to mind, so I let it go and we got frisky on the couch, had a little moment on the floor, then we made our way to the bed.
When it was all said and done, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. I started scouring the floor for my undies, but to no avail. Bro, being the gentleman that he was, hopped out of bed and grabbed me a pair of his boxers.
“Here,” he said. “You can sleep in these.” I thanked him, carrying them to the bathroom to slip them on.
Only “slip them on” isn’t quite what happened. Instead, I shimmied into those XS boxer shorts like they were a brand new pair of Spanx. By the time I got those bike shorts over my thighs I was beat red and sweating from all sorts of unsightly places. I swear I lost feeling in my feet as the blood flow was cut off by the taut elastic band at the waist. I never felt less sexy in my life. I mean, I knew homeboy was skinny, but I didn’t realize I could have eaten him in one bite.
I clearly didn’t want to wear those to bed (or in front of the Bro), but I also didn’t intend on sleeping naked. So I sucked in my belly, walked back into the room and dove under the covers before Bro could see.
I woke up before him in the morning and tip-toed to the bathroom with my dress and shoes. When I finally shimmied out of the boxers (breaking out in a sweat once again), I felt was wave of relief as the blood and oxygen started flowing through my lower body once again. Then I looked down and noticed a giant red ring around my waist. I quickly got dressed, dropped the boxers on the bathroom floor, and snuck out of the apartment without saying goodbye.
That was the last time I saw the boy. The last time I wore those undies. And most definitely the last time I ever hooked up with a skinny kid.