It was four days before New Year’s Eve, and I was doing the yearly scramble to find plans. I was the only one of my home friends who was 21. It was hard for me to find plans for all of us in the bland, boring hometown that we live in. I was complaining about my struggle to one of the girls in my sorority, Amanda, and she happened to be visiting guy friends at a college less than an hour from my house. She extended what I assumed to be a pity invite, but she really wanted me to come. I was very hesitant about sleeping on the floor of a house that belonged to a bunch of dudes I had only seen in her Snapchat stories, but one of them was cute so I decided to go.
I packed my glittery shoes and too much champagne, and drove to the house. On the way there, I had two initiatives in mind. 1. Don’t be the drunk friend. 2. Don’t be the slutty friend. Once I got there, the first thing we did was take shot. Mission one: aborted. Second thing I did, lean over to Amanda and tell her that I thought her friend was really cute. He was tall, tan, and tantalizing. Mission two: aborted. Luckily, she was all about it. She stood up and marched right over to work her magic. She is the wingwoman of the year. She came back over to me with a little smirk and I knew it was totally going down.
We were drinking and dancing so much that I had completely forgotten about the guy, until I saw him stumble over to me. When he was finally standing in front of me, I couldn’t say a word. Mostly because his tongue was already inside my mouth. No names, just necking. I liked his style. His first words to me were, “You’re sleeping with me tonight.” Fine with me, big guy. For the rest of the night, we could not keep our hands off of each other. More Moscato and making out led to me dancing on him like I was the love child of Nicki Minaj and Rhianna. (Rhicki? Minanna?) Right before the clock struck midnight and I gently slipped into a blissful blackout, he whispered in my ear:
“I have to tell you something. I’m a virgin.”
I woke up the next morning feeling like a devirginizing vixen. I also was feeling like I was going to throw up for sure. I needed a shower, a gallon of Gatorade, and my own bed. Morning afters aren’t awkward to me, and I was awake before he was, so I poked him in the ribs to say good bye and left. I felt different though. For my entire college career, I was able to give a one arm car hug after a ride home and pretend like I meant it when I said I would see the guy again. I was crazy attracted to this guy, so I did the only sanely insane thing I could think of and added him on all social media outlets. His Instagram bio had his Snapchat in it, so after asking for my little’s advice and then ignoring it, I added him.
Seconds later, a snap. Hours later, a text. Days later, a Facetime call. Weeks later, a school visit. He came with one of Amanda’s friends to see her, but we all knew he was coming to see me. I was so nervous. I had this strange mix of catfished feelings. I had spent time with him before and we had been talking every day, but what if it was weird? But when I saw him, I felt like everything was normal. Like this was the way things were supposed to be. And I felt like that all weekend. And even more so the next time he visited by himself. It was as if I had known him for years, and the way he looked at me, I could tell he felt the same way. We did all the things normal couples do. We shared chasers. We took showers together just so we had someone to talk to. We went out to dinner and made fun of the other couples at the restaurant, and afterwards split a pint of Ben and Jerry’s while we watched The Office. He loved my friends and my friends loved him. It was only natural that we made it Facebook official to proclaim our relationship to our extended (read: estranged) family and everyone from high school that we hated.
I did the impossible. I turned a one-night stand into a relationship. I took his V-card and then his man card. And we lived happily ever after. Well, I mean, for the foreseeable future..