“You mean, like Chapstick or your Visa card?” Carly jokes, earning a dirty look from Jen, who apparently takes this particular topic seriously. I hide the bottom half of my face in my pillow to cover my growing smirk that would put me in the hot seat like Carly.

“A B.O.B. is a battery operated boyfriend, also known as a vibrator.” Jen sits up straight like she is going to lecture us on something of grave importance. And from the sounds of it, she finds vibrators to be of the utmost significance. I haven’t lived in a cave my entire life. I have heard of pleasuring yourself; I’ve even tried it a time or two. When I had sex for the first time, I figured one or both of us were doing it totally wrong, and I’d needed to figure it out ASAP; yeah, it was him. In a town the size of mine, I didn’t want rumors of my abilities–good or bad–floating around. I initially had sex to see what the fuss was about, and as it turned out, there shouldn’t be such a fuss. I have never used a vibrator, but as I tune in and out of Jen’s lecture, I’m starting to think maybe she has a point; I’ve been missing out. Lit education for a little sex education doesn’t seem like a bad tradeoff. I zone back in for the last bit of her rambling to catch probably the most significant piece to her oration.

“They have been saving girls from romantic dry spells since the late 1800s, and in the last decade orgasm engineers have managed to perfect the design of those wondrous little mechanical love sticks. No girl should go without. Don’t worry, Vivian, we will fix you up beautifully.”

I nod and smile instead of verbally responding. All words have truly escaped me. What does one even say in response? ‘My favorite color is purple, so make sure it’s a big ole lavender thing.’ Yeah, I think not.

Feeling proud of herself, Jen snuggles back into her blanket and pillow to finish our girls’ night. We start Girls Just Want to Have Fun, but none of us makes it through; we all fall asleep. Carly is on the couch, and Jen and I sprawl out across the floor.

Brooks

“Dude, the room is so far; why does the room have to be so far?” Will slurs as he stumbles into the dorm elevator.

“Shut up, Will. We are almost there,” I say, holding him up against the wall of the elevator as the doors close. “I swear if you throw up in this elevator, I will leave you in it.”

My roommate Will and I thoroughly enjoyed our Friday night. I’ve decided college is definitely the place for me. We started at a few dance clubs on College Avenue, but it didn’t take long to realize that Will has about as much rhythm as a three-legged dog, so his wingman status was demoted. We left and made our rounds at the house parties off campus, and from there, our night took off. The alcohol flowed, and no one cared that we were underage. Will was hilarious, which brought invites to more parties, and my looks brought the ladies. I know my strengths, and a pretty face happens to be one of them, so of course I play it up. It’s helped to get many girls in the past, and I look to increase those numbers here.

We both had our fair share of drinks; I’m feeling the dizzy fuzzy feeling that lets me know I’ve reached my limit, but Will, on the other hand, is apparently having trouble handling his liquor. Helping his drunk ass is no easy feat; the boy is large–not tuba player in the band large either–I mean linebacker, rugby player large. I can hold my own, but Will…well…he’s scary. We got to know each other pretty quickly though, and he is just a big teddy bear. He really is just an all-around nice guy, the kind that all the girls would love to bring home to their mothers, and the kind that their fathers’ wouldn’t threaten and/or kill.

Will’s definitely not like me. Maybe one day I’ll care about actually being with a girl long enough to want to know her last name, let alone meet her parents, but that time is not right now. I’m interested in one thing—pussy–any way I can get it. After tonight, I realize there is certainly an abundance of it for the taking, and Will is the perfect guy to help reel them in.

The ding of the elevator signals our stop and the doors open, giving me a brief moment to muster my strength to carry Will down the hall to our room. We live on a co-ed floor, which is evident from all of the fluffy door decorations and white boards saying ‘I heart whoever’ on them. Having beautiful girls around all of the time is fantastic for collecting images for the spank bank, but I know better than to shit where I eat, so the girls on this floor are off limits. I may be a man-whore, but I’m not stupid. There is nothing worse than a crazy obsessed woman, who knows where you live.

We stagger to our door, barely making it without falling. Thankfully, it’s unlocked, and we walk right in. It’s pitch black, so I drag Will as best as I can down the tiny hallway to our bedroom. The dorms are small, but I was adamant that I get the apartment-style dorm; we have more people in the rooms, but we get a living room and our own bathroom. There was just no way I was going to share some tiny living space with some other guy when I wanted to ‘entertain’.

The door is already open, so with every bit of strength I have left, I heave Will onto his bed on his side of the room. Completely out of breath from lugging Goliath the fifty feet to our room and still feeling my buzz, I slip off my shoes and crawl into bed. I let the spin of the room and thoughts of young naive co-eds ready to experiment lull me to sleep. Yeah, this year is going to be epic.

Brooks

“Ahhhh!”

“Oh, my God, call security!”

“Shhh, we can take care of them ourselves.”

The high-pitched screams and threats of ball removal rouse me from my blissful sex dream. I moan, but the shrills continue, only making the throbbing in my head worse, and forcing whatever I drank last night to rise to the base of my esophagus, ready to spew out at any moment. I’m totally hung-over, and whoever left the television on will die.

“Turn it off,” I hear Will grumble. “My head feels like it’s going to pop off.”

His words are met with more screams, prompting me to open my eyes. Staring right back at me, no more than an inch from mine, are the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. They are this funky combination of hazel, brown, and green; it’s like they just can’t make up their mind. I’ve never seen anything like them, and they instantly pull me in.

“Carly, you were wrong; he’s absolutely alive,” she says, backing away from me. I lurch backwards on the bed to gain control of my surroundings. I take a look around to see pink plastered everywhere, except for the purple zebra-print blankets that Will is rolled up in–a far cry from our simple blue and grey comforters in our room.

I scan the room, taking note of each angry face until I land on the girl with the eyes. Now that I get the full picture of her, the eyes are no longer what I notice; it’s her complete package. She is absolutely gorgeous. She has chestnut hair but it looks like there are streams of fiery red tones woven throughout. I swear the girl is a walking contradiction, like her features couldn’t make up their mind, so she was blessed with a little of everything. It’s piled on top of her head, and she doesn’t give two shits about it, or that she has no make-up on. Really, neither do I; she is a stunning creature just the way she is.

I know I’m in the wrong room for sure; I just hope to Christ that I didn’t fuck any of them. And if I haven’t, then hopefully this isn’t my floor so that I can have a go at Red. I can feel myself just staring at her, but she looks away, like I’m making her feel uncomfortable. Considering the circumstances, I can understand her discomfort, but still, I usually get at least a small flirtatious smile back from the opposite sex. She’s giving me nothing, zilch, nada; I’m gum under her shoe that she stepped in and fucked up her morning.