That first college hook up.

Let's call this young man...Lance.

Being a bit prude in high school, I really wanted to break out of my shell in college. Thus, the first few weeks of school were spent figuring out how to get as drunk as possible and which cute guys we would (attempt to) approach. I may not have been sexually active in high school, but let's just say that a player standing on the sidelines probably learns just as much about the sport as the MVP. It's just a matter of time before she gets in the game.

My girlfriends and I immediately noticed the athletes. Who wouldn't? They're young, dumb, and hot. I was a serious one myself at the time, so why wouldn't I look for the same in a mate? Between the dorms and the cafeteria social scene, we jotted down on our mental notepads which ones we thirsted for. Freshmen have that oh so squeaky clean slate, so why not dirty it up during the first few weeks at school?

Right off the bat (not to play with sports metaphors too much), Lance caught my eye. I have this weird photographic memory and a strange knack for noticing people in a crowd, so I noticed him pretty quickly and always knew when he was in the "caf". I think I read Where's Waldo too often as a kid. But don't get it twisted; I'm not some crazy stalker girl. I think it's just a natural female instinct. We are quiet, swift, and crafty hunters. We don't just barge into the first solid piece of meat that comes along. We think with our heads, not our genitalia (at least, at first).

Lance definitely held the top spot for guys I was dying to awkwardly run into at a trashy college party. The sex gods must have been watching, because only 2 weeks into school went by and I walked straight into the basement at the lacrosse house with Lance practically spread out naked on a silver platter. And by that, I mean standing by the beerpong table with a shiny red cup in his hand full of beer. Same difference. Seriously, if you've gotten laid in college, it's pretty much the same thing.

Granted I was preeetty belligerent at this point in time, my memory is tuning in a tad fuzzy about the process I went through to get Lance into the bathroom of the lacrosse house. Basically, all I remember is that it was unbelievably easy (weird, a guy, easy?) because only 20 minutes of conversation passed before we were making out in the bathroom upstairs. And then making out led to sex...on the sink...in the shower...which led to me not remembering what the F happened after that. Long story short, we didn't exchange numbers, and if we even exchanged names, neither of us remembered AT ALL.

I mean, go big or go home. Am I right or am I right?

Epilogue: Between my crazy memory and the strenuous process of reasoning my girlfriends and I went through, we figured out who he was...while Lance either pretended that he didn't know me or seriously didn't know that he had stuck his p in my v. FOR AN ENTIRE MONTH. I don't know what's worse...that, or the fact that I didn't really care? Eventually, with a small enough school, he figured it out. And we hooked up again, and again. For an entire year...and beyond. Thus, this little fairy tale is to be continued....