The Virgin

Chapter Nine - College

We make our way out of the city and into New Jersey. Apparently, the college experience I missed out on and Lacy was acquainted with is aptly portrayed in classics such as Animal House and Old School. Walking up to the dilapidated Victorian frat house, I feel my energy drop.

"I can't do this," I say, stopping in my tracks. College co-eds are allowing fraternity brothers to spray them with whipped cream while they dance on the lawn in bikinis. "I'm depressed and exhausted just watching them."

Lacy pulls a caffeinated beverage from her bag and opens it for me to drink. "I get it. This kind of debauchery is behind you for so many reasons. I realize that you can't get behind women objectifying themselves for male attention, nor men objectifying women because these young ladies allow them to in the first place."

"Great," I tell her, handing her back the untouched beverage. "Then let's go."

"But that doesn't mean we are leaving," she says, stepping in front of me and placing the beverage to my lips. "Drink it."

"I'm not letting them spray me with milk product," I protest.

"Neither am I," Lacy adds, scoffing as she tips the drink toward my mouth. I take a big gulp. I hate these drinks. They taste like chemicals mixed with the sole of a dirty shoe. But I'm here and I'm apparently not leaving anytime soon, so I drink it down.

After a satisfying burp, I adjust my boobs, which are roaming freely inside my push-up bra, and reapply my lip-gloss. "What is the objective?"

"Your objective is to have fun and flirt while staying sober."

"I can do that."

"Yes, but the difference between high school and college is you are more mature, but the guys are not. You have to be on guard and make sure you locate the guys who aren't in a fraternity just to get laid and drink. You have to find the one who is here to further himself, the one who joined a frat to network. When you find him, he's the guy you can go to second base or home base with. It's up to you. And that's the point."

"High school and college are vastly different."

"For you they are," Lacy says, applying her own new layer of gloss. "For the rest of us, it's high school on steroids."

I watch Lacy casually move into the crowd, which is covered in whipped cream and beer. I guess I'm on my own. She is letting me off the leash so I'm ready for tomorrow's date with Bodhi. I have tonight to prove to myself that I'm not a bumbling idiot when a man shows interest in me. I can be confident and sexy without vomiting or physically hurting anyone. I hope.

Winding my way through the couples making out and the stacked kegs, I look for my guy. I scan the crowd and find an array of choices, but none are right for what I'm here to achieve. I catch a glimpse of Lacy riding on a football player's shoulders, and I have a sudden pang of recognition. I know how that feels. I did that just this afternoon. Wow, her plan is working. I already feel more seasoned. My confidence skyrockets with every step I take. With every couple I watch, exchanging drunken conversation and tongue slobber, I relax a little bit more. Been there, done that, and that, and that.

And then I see my guy. He is standing on the front steps, grooving to what looks to be his own beat. In one hand he holds a bottle of amaretto and in the other hand he holds two cordial glasses. He wears a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and a school logo t-shirt that looks about two sizes too big. His Nike shorts hang low and long, and he is wearing shower shoes. This guy isn't looking to bang a bunch of drunken college chicks and pass out in his own vomit. This guy is looking for someone to have a conversation with over a few glasses of almond-flavored liqueur, and he's about to find her.