BOYS (the avoidance of date rape the discovery of jerks)

I want to have a boyfriend, though I would settle for a one night stand, because I am a lonely little depressive virgin who bottles her lust within an air tight container of guilt inside her stomach. All my friends explain that boys are assholes. I explain that I just wish I could experience one of these assholes first hand.

“We’re getting you drunk tonight,” Marisa laughed as guests for her party funneled in through her door. She and I have been friends for three years now; I trust her to take care of me this evening, for tonight we find my alcohol threshold.

One margarita before Emile, the Dutch exchange student, shows up. “Tequilla, BOOM BOOM!” One boom. Two boom. “Watch her, she knows how to take a shot!” Emile exclaims. Three boom.

“Come on Annie! Please be my partner for beer pong!” Marisa pouts. One, two, three, four beers. “Tequilla, BOOM BOOM!” Emile asks me, the 5’3” 120lb girl who can down shots like Karen Allen in Raiders of the Lost Ark, to show how it is done. I do.
Four boom. The fifth boom ignites a short fuse. After the dust settles in my mind, my body begins to feel the aftershocks of the explosion. I rush upstairs and slam the door to the bathroom, turning on the sink and splashing my face with the hopes of diluting my numbness.

My muscles feel limp, but my insides are bruised.
Seth enters the room, he played me in beer pong earlier. He kisses my cheek. I have only been kissed once before so I let him guide my mouth to his. Voices of excitement trickle into my head whispering, “Someone finally thinks you’re beautiful, someone finally thinks you’re pretty.” I let his tongue and mine rub gently, then ferociously, then again in a docile manner. I am filled with the electricity of the kiss.

He tries to pull off my dress I stop him. “Come on,” I shake my head no. We continue to kiss; he gets a hold of my zipper, my hand isn’t able to move quickly enough to stop him and he is able to get down the top of my dress.

I am looking at the mirror. Seth, naked, holding my equally nude body, repeats the mantra, “But you’re so sexy, come on, you’re so sexy.” I repeat my mantra of “No,” feeling helpless and powerful at the same time. The door suddenly opens. “Oops!” Seth is startled. I slip away and begin to put back on my clothes. He keeps protesting, and I protest his protests. He tries to pull off my dress again, it rips along the zipper. I leave.

I roll my eyes at Marisa, agreeing to drive five boys who are still drunk home. I find my car parked backward, the driver’s seat adjusted for someone half a foot taller than me, the floor covered with litter, and sixty dollars missing from my wallet. Seth grumbles how he lost his phone as I open my car door for him and his friends. As the car speeds down the expressway the windows open and the boys begin throwing 50 dollars worth of tennis balls out the window, Seth hears his phone ringing underneath the driver’s seat, and someone pours a bottle of water on my head. Boys are assholes.