At the onset of her fourth year in college, Eve has learned quite a few things about sex. Eve, The Hatchet’s anonymous sex columnist, will share her observations and (sometimes dirty) thoughts about sex at GW with the population that fuels her fire.
Editor’s note: names have been changed to protect the naughty.
The first time my current boyfriend, Pink, asked me on a date, I turned him down. It wasn’t because I found him unattractive. On the contrary, I thought he was too good-looking and that dating him would prove to be disastrously distracting.
The second time Pink asked me on a date, I caved in and agreed to have coffee with him. I liked his persistence but was still decided on not having a boyfriend. After coffee, he asked about my weekend plans and I claimed I was booked solid, thinking I was off the hook.
Fast forward to that Friday. While out at a party, as luck would have it, I unexpectedly encountered Pink. Polite chatting turned into an engaging conversation and six cocktails later, his cock and my tail were pressed against each other in the elevator of my sorority house. We clumsily fumbled our way to my room and proceeded to clumsily fumble our way into my bed. Thankfully, my roommate had a boyfriend and she frequently crashed at his place.
He kept saying how much he wanted me, how hot I was and how he watched me all the time. Clothes were coming off. It all felt right, mostly because it’s hard to think about how bad something might feel the next day in the light when it feels so good in the dark.
So, in my drunken state, I decided the best way to satisfy Pink would be a blowjob. I thought to myself, “No, I will not go on a date with you, but I would be happy to put your genitals in my mouth.” It makes sense, as many things do, when one is six cocktails deep.
But then a funny thing happened. For all of our heated horniness and sexy sweet-nothings, he was taking forever to finish. It was like the filibuster of fellatio.
About halfway through the blowjob, the alcohol started to wear off and I began thinking, “What is wrong with this guy? If I actually DO date him, will every sexual encounter last until dawn?” Right then and there – penis in mouth – I decided to not go on a date with Pink ever. I was too busy for a boyfriend, much less some sort of marathon man.
Eventually (we’re talking 40 minutes eventually), Pink did finish. And he said, “Thank you so much, you were amazing.”
I would have responded with, “What the hell took you so long?” but my jaw was locked and I really just wanted him to leave. As I sobered up, I closed off. All the passionate possibilities of a relationship with Pink faded into my own drunken hook-up pool of regret.
Later that day, I had a late lunch with two of my guy friends, Blonde and Brown. As we were rehashing our weekends over burritos, I decided to ask them about my never-ending blowjob episode.
“Well,” Brown said, “maybe you were doing a bad job?”
I hadn’t thought of that … but I had it on pretty good authority that my oral sex skills were on, if not above, par, so I discounted that notion. Blonde just shook his head at both of us, laughing.
“No, Eve, I’m sure you were doing a great job,” he said. “But if the guy was drunk he’s lucky he could even get it up!”
Brown nodded emphatically, taking a big bite from his burrito before saying “Oh, yeah, total whiskey dick.”
I had heard of whiskey dick before, but never actually encountered it. And I suppose I thought the powers of alcohol over the penis would be surmounted by the powers of attraction.
“Nah,” Brown said matter-of-factly. “The first time I was with my girl, I couldn’t even get hard. And it sucks, because usually the only time you can get into a girl’s pants is when you’re both drunk. Alcohol makes you emotionally firm, but physically flaccid.”
Blonde agreed, telling me that the worst part is working so hard for a hook-up, only to go soft once you actually get there.
“Drunk lust is always weird, Eve,” he told me. “Give the guy a second chance.”
Even with that advice in mind, when Pink called me to go for sushi and a movie that night, I hesitated. What if my oral sex had actually been bad? What if he always drank that much? What if he was only asking me out because I had been slutty enough to go so far after so little time?
But then I heard Blonde and Brown in my head, my so-simple-they’re-insightful friends, telling me just to ignore it all and give Pink a second chance. So I did.
No matter what, alcohol blurs first encounters, especially sexual ones. Who we are wasted and naked has very little to do with who we are sober and clothed, as I came to find out.
So I went to sushi and a movie with Pink that night. And he did prove to be a true marathon man – he held my hand through the entire thing, and hasn’t let go since. Although, once he finds out I chose “Pink” as his alias, he may re-think that decision.