Gather ’round, kids, it’s story time. Today, I want to tell you the (unfortunately) totally true story of how I had my first one-night stand with a guy dressed as Abraham Lincoln. Since I can already hear the judgment you’re all obviously passing, he emancipated the slaves, okay? You have to admit that granting freedom to people who have been enslaved for more than 100 years is sexy.
Let me set the scene: It’s a costume party in a shitty, dirty bar. The music is loud, the alcohol is flowing. It’s hot, people are dancing, and I’m drunk. Not just drunk, but, like, words-slurring, kind of stumbling drunk. My roommate is ready to go by the time I see him.
“Oh my God. It’s Lincoln.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s ABRAHAM FREAKING LINCOLN. RIGHT THERE. HOW CAN YOU NOT SEE HIM?”
“Honey, that’s not really Abraham Lincoln. Seriously, you know that guy. He’s in our history class.”
I ignored her, of course. I’m kind of ashamed to say that I ran to him. Seriously, I ran. In cowboy boots. To a guy dressed in an Abraham Lincoln costume, complete with the fake beard. It was that kind of night. So I walked up to him, trying to think of some clever emancipation or Civil War joke to break the ice.
I came up with, “Hi.”
To which he responded, “Hey, how’s it going?”
Shit. I wasn’t prepared for a follow up. How do I answer this? What do I say?
“Good.” Oh, great. One word answers are what gets everyone’s engine going, right?
“So, what’s up?” Oh. My. God. He’s dressed as Abe Lincoln. I should totally ask him to semiformal. We have so much in common. We both go to parties. We both love Abe Lincoln. I need to ask him to semiformal.
“DO YOU WANNA GO TO SEMIFORMAL?” Okay, a little louder than I meant for that to come out, but it’s all good. Maybe he thinks it’s cute and endearing that I just screamed at him. Maybe he thinks I’m adorable. But sexy. Adorable AND sexy.
“Sure. Do you want to come over after the party?” What? Did he just say yes? I wasn’t expecting this. Now what? Do I want to come over later? He’s Abraham Lincoln. We could talk about history. Yeah, I definitely want to discuss history with Abe. My new friend Abe.
“Ummm, yeah. Sure. Whatever.” Playing it cool. Way to go, self. You’re a badass minx of a lady. Go you.
I gave him my number and he promised to text me when the party was over, and then I left. You’d think that, because I left and had time to sober up, I would have thought that maybe going to his house wasn’t a great idea.
I went to his house and I had sex with him. Then, the next morning, I left his house–after accidentally kicking him in the face and losing my favorite bra, which I didn’t get back for, like, four months. I learned something that night, though: having a one-night stand didn’t make me a slut. Sneaking out of his house kind of made me an asshole, but sleeping with him didn’t make me anything other than a totally normal college girl who’s oddly attracted to Abraham Lincoln. I realized it’s actually okay to have some fun in college. No one was judging me that morning on my walk home. (Probably because it was 7 a.m. and no normal person was awake that early.) I was just like half of the girls on my campus that morning: cold, tired, hungry, and normal. (Looking back, maybe if I had stayed, we could have gotten breakfast or something. My dorm room was fresh out of everything but butter.)
Maybe, in a way, I got my emancipation that night, because I was freed from the ideas that girls who sleep with guys they’re not emotionally interested in are total sluts. I had a good time, and walking home the next morning, I didn’t regret a thing. Except, maybe that he took off the fake beard first..
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