When I moved into my college dorm I knew I was in trouble. Not in trouble like “it rubs the lotion on its skin” but in trouble like Monica Lewinski had just become my intern and I was for sure going to have sexual relations with that woman. One of my roommates was a BABE. I think I even told Courtney the first night after we moved in that I knew I would hook up with her and I believe that Courtney’s response was some sort of noncommittal shrug. Why was I so certain about this? I mean, I had only slept with one other person (okay two, but we don’t talk about the second one because we all have those people we aren’t so proud of) and I would hardly consider myself a player of any type. Maybe like a fantasy player but not someone who could handle real life game-time minutes.
The tricky thing about this roommate (other than the fact that she was straight) was the fact that she had the same name as my current long-distance girlfriend (Let’s call her Shmashley 2 for the sake of clarification). It’s not cheating if you hook up with a girl with the same name as your girlfriend, right? Okay, so I know that it totally is cheating but I didn’t know that it was going to happen… I just totally hoped it would.
*Theme music and opening credits play*
The night that we finally kissed was a pretty bizarre one. We were at one of our usual parties, AKA weird theatre kids and then me and Courtney, the two queer jocks sticking out like sore thumbs. Okay maybe we didn’t actually stick out all that much because theatre kids are also generally pretty queer, but I can guarantee that 98% of these kids had never played a sport in their life. Okay maybe they had had their asses kicked at middle school P.E. dodgeball, but I’m talking like electively ever touched a ball. Okay now we are getting into the territory of penis humor and I must back away s l o w l y . . .
Anyway… So we are at this party and I remember joking around with Shmashley 2, quoting some SNL skit we had watched the previous night. She was a little buzzed and a lotta flirty, which was nothing new. We often held hands, hugged too long, and laid all over each other during Dexter marathons in our shared living room all in harmless gal pal-ery. Shmashley 2 had never kissed a girl which was astounding to me. No offense but if Shmashley 2 were to be cast in a film she would hands down be in a teenage comedy as the slutty friend — this was something we liked to tell her a lot, which was probably totally offensive since she was an aspiring serious actor. She had big boobs, long hair, a girl next door’s hotter older sister’s face, and a strong need to be the center of attention. That night at the party she had my entire attention, she was leaning on me, whispering against my neck, and looking at me like I was a corn dog on the Fourth of July. When Shmashley 2 was ready to go home she was catching a ride with a friend of ours and me and my other roommates were riding with another friend (we surprisingly always had a DD because we were responsible underage drinkers), but she came up to tell me goodbye like we wouldn’t be seeing each other at home in t-minus 10 minutes.
She looked at me with her big blue eyes and kissed me straight on the mouth. Not romantic, not awkward, not weird. It was just … normal? Like your mom might kiss your dad. Or like you’d kiss a boyfriend as he drops you off at work. Like we were a couple. It wasn’t making out, it was a closed lip, soft but speedy peck on the lips. She smiled, flipped her hair and bounced out the door.
I felt the eyes of Shmoebe on me and I just laughed and finished my beer. Okay who are we kidding, I wasn’t drinking beer. 18-year-old me hated beer. I was probably drinking a classy as fuck smirnoff ice.
Little did I know that was just the very beginning of what would be the Shmashley 2 saga. When I got home I climbed into my lofted bed and heard my sister and her girlfriend at the time, Shmellen, giggling in her bed across the room. Shmoebe made her way into our room (a not so uncommon drunken occurence, though usually she was accompanied by her mandolin) and laid between Courtney and her girlfriend.
“Just don’t have TOO MUCH sex on top of me.” She said, completely serious, and was out like a light. I can’t vouch for how much sex was had on top of Shmoebe that night, but I do know that she’s a champ and sleeps like a dead person.
I rolled over in my bed as Shmashley 2 cracked open my door and walked toward me. “Mind if I join you? Seems like we’re having a big slumber party.” She said, and so I lifted the covers and she climbed in.
Though we had cuddled countless times before this felt different. It was electric, something had changed between us and I wasn’t sure when, how, or why but I knew that things were about to take a step in a romantic (or at least sexual) direction. I won’t rehash all the details but soon we were making out, and getting heckled by the others, which if you’ve never had a first time sexual encounter with a peanut gallery, I suggest you try it.
The next morning I remember getting ready for class (miraculously not hungover, a part of my “youth” that I miss ever so dearly) and seeing Shmashley 2 in the living room brewing some coffee.
“So.” I said.
“So.” She replied.
“I guess this changes things…” I said, and she shrugged.
Game on, I thought.
*Tune in next time for the worst (best?) Valentines Day ever*