I am standing outside of Rick’s, the bar in the student part of downtown Ann Arbor, gone off a cocktail of drugs. Talking to some dude about New York city. He’s telling me about his internship there and how he ‘s moving there after graduation. I’m nodding my head, pretending I give a shit. It is the summer of the party pack so even though I’m close to blacking out, the Adderall I just took is saving me from slurring my words. I’m lighting a cigarette when the short girl in peripheral comes tagging on my sleeves.
“Can I have a cigarette, Brendan?” she asks coquettishly.
I must’ve just met her inside, because I really can’t put a name to the face and she doesn’t look familiar. The problem is that I just introduced myself to a dozen girls and a handful of guys, so their names and features are blurry, seeping into one another.
I do not respond immediately, so she’s just left there, looking up into my eyes. I notice that they are blue, I look her down once over deliberately to get a good look. She has golden brown hair, but probably describes herself as dirty blonde. Neither skinny or nor thick, but she’s got a fat ass. And she is tan – not in the natural Californian type of way, but in a New Jersey salon.
I turn around and sit in the ledge right outside the entrance. I pat the spot next to me, and she follows. I pull out my pack of Marlboro Lights. “Ooo, are those menthol? I love menthol” She purrs
“Nope”, I tell her, handing her one and then helping her light it. She’s such heavy contact that it downs on me there’s more to her approach then a cigarette.
“I’m Stacey,” she says, extending her other hand. “I could tell you couldn’t remember my name by the way you were looking at me.
“I’m sorry. I’m not good with names. Plus, it’s so loud and dark down there”. She doesn’t say anything; she’s looking up at me.
“That’s not what you really wanted, is it?” I ask shyly, pointing to the cigarette, half-forgotten in her hand. She shakes her head. I kiss her, tasting her lipstick and booze and a hint of a cig. She puts a hand on my shoulder, and I pull back.
“That’s what you wanted” I say. She smiles in affirmation. I lean in and kiss her again, passionately. I’m getting pretty hard so I pull back again.
“So, who’d you come with?” I ask, as if nothing had just happened.
“What do you mean?’ She giggles drunkenly. ”You were just hanging out with them downstairs.
I shrug noncommittally and then she starts listing names. I don’t recognize any save one. “Oh, Fiona . That is right… She’s cool” although I wasn’t sure if she was. I just threw knew she was hit and in a sorority with many other hot girls. This girl, Lexi, was probably in the same sorority as other girl, Fiona . I’m making these connections as part of some sexual calculus, calculating my chances of getting laid and any roadblocks I may face,
“How do you know all my friends but I don’t know you?” she asks.
“You have poor timing, I guess.”
“Shut up,” she laughs lightly hitting me in the arm. “Seriously, though.”
“Seriously… you must have been shy before.” The truth is I just found a fake ID I could use to go to the bars. And I must’ve met her friends in the previous month but forgot cause I was drinking on Xanax. I had been waking up with new names in my contacts and little recollection of who they were. “So what sorority are you in?”
“Why do you think I am in a sorority?”
“I can just tell… It’s just super obvious on you.” Which it was, from her skimpy black dress and heels and her general vibe (slightly slutty).
“I guess you’re right,” she admits. “Skrappa”
“Oh, I like skrappa. You’re a buncha cuties. Two of my homies are busboys there.”
She’s excited by this, asking who do I mean, and I tell her. I also let her know I work at Theta as a busboy, and my roommate used to be Evans Scholar, so I know a bunch of the caddie shack house.
“So, what frat are you in?”
I paused before answering. It’s weird; at Michigan, many sorority girls were so status-conscious that they’d dismiss you outright for being a “geed” ie not in a frat unless you were super connected to their friend group. I used to try to give a clever response to show that I wasn’t some ordinary, square – ass geed, but lately I had found a better response.
“None,” I said.
She frowned briefly before exclaiming, “What?! I could’ve sworn you were a Pike boy.”
I became suddenly aware we were holding hands this entire time, so I leaned in and we started making out again.
Pike was a frat full of jocks with a predilection for coke, but they were known at a top tie frat and for fucking many hot chicks.
“So, you thought I was in Pike, huh?” I said, weighing the implications in my head.
***
By saying this was the summer of the party pack, I mean that this was the era when I first started mixing drugs, not just booze and weed. Far and away, my favorite combo was a 30mg Adderall chased with half a xannie bar half an hour later. By some sort of pharmaceutical alchemy, it transformed me into a social beast. I simply just wanted to interact with everyone. N longer was I intimidated to approach a girl because of her looks (thanks Xanax!). I never ran out of things to say or lacked the energy to do something (hi adderall). This cocktail was only enhanced by the summertime vibe of Ann Arbor – many girls looking for someone new to hang out with, no longer feeling the social pressure to only hang out with certain guys in certain frats.
This was also the same summer the university banned smoking on campus. I was taking a 400 level Shakespeare class with Ralph Williams, who regularly delivered mind blowing lectures. My problem was that since I was I was going out so often and so late, I was either incredibly tardy or absent entirely, and now the midterm essay was due at the end of the week, and I hadn’t even read the plays. (I had read them, just a couple semesters ago.)
So that Wednesday morning, I popped an addie and a bar before heading to the library. I went inside to buy an iced tea, and went to smoke another cigarette before committing to some serious studying. I walked around to the side of the building, to where I wouldn’t be seen brazenly smoking on campus, and found a girl, dressed in the sorority girl uniform. (Yoga pants, gladiator sandals, tight white T shirt.) already there, smoking.
I walked up to her and calmly said, “You know you’re not allowed to smoke on campus.”
“Yeah, so?” she said, adversarially taking another puff.
“Good. Do you have a lighter?” I asked, pulling out a cig and popping it in my mouth. (What cigarettes detract from your health, they make up for in conversational starters.)
She’s visibly relieved and started laughing. “Thank God”, handing me the lighter,” I thought you were one of those anti-smoking zealots.”
“Yeah, hell no. It’s like ‘sorry for my secondhand coolness.”
“I’m stealing that… and I’ll be able to do that legally, too, once I’m a lawyer.”
“Really? What’re doing here?”
“Studying for the LSAT. You?”
“Writing a paper on Shakespeare that I’ve been blowing off.”
We both sit down on a bench next to each other.
“That sucks,” she commiserated. “I’m not looking forward to this, either.”
I’m digging around in my pockets for my phone when I grab what feels like a bag of weed.
“Jesus fucking Christ, guess what I just found in my pocket,” I said, holding up the bag of weed like it was a jewel.
“Oh my god. I think the universe is telling us something.”
“That we should smoke this instead of studying?”
“Yes,” she said, grabbing my hand and walking in front of me. Let’s go to my place,” Looking over her shoulder, flipping her hair flirtatiously. “And it’s Abby, by the way.”
****
Im outside of Rick’s with Stacey, holding hands, intermittently making out. We’re trying to find her friends, but after no luck inside she’s getting restless, and I’m trying to calm her down. We decide to walk around the block once, and when we got back in front of Rick’s, her friends are standing there with some dudes. Stacey runs over to them
“Oh my fucking God, Fiona, Where were you?” She says drunkenly.
“Inside, bitch. What’re you two doing?” Fiona asks, flicking a look at me. She’s clearly sober.
“Oh, you know,” She responds, wrapping her arms around me. “We were gonna go hang out somewhere else, can we just go to your place?”
She’s making a production out of this, as if she’s trying to make one of the dudes with her friends jealous. I’m cool with it. I’ll volunteer to be a pawn in someone else’s sexual intrigues. Fiona steps closer and whispers something in her ear; Stacey giggles and agrees.
“Let’s go Brendan” she says, leading me into the front doors of the apartment complex that resides right above ricks.
We make out, waiting for the elevator. I cup her ass and, feeling around, discovers she’s not wearing panties. She’s wet as fuck as I slide two fingers in her. She starts to moan so loud that I look around to see if anyone’s around, realizing that neither of us even pressed the elevator button. So I hit it. We get in and I bend her over. I pull my dick our and put it in her, kissing her neck. She’s moaning. “press what floor, you fucking slut,” I whisper in her ear. She almost slams the button for the top floor. As far as experiences go, it’s love sex then drug sex then elevator sex. The elevator is going up until it stops a floor before our destination, but I’m balls deep in her and not paying attention and she’s not paying attention either. The doors open and some old Mexican cleaning lady is standing there.
She starts babbling away in Spanish and turns her back to us. Mid-stare I lean over Stacey furiously hitting the close door button. Once it does, she starts giggling, going, “Oh my god, im so embarrassed.” Even as I’m still inside her. We reach the top floor and I put my dick away.
We go down a hallway, and she says, “Uhmm yep, I think it’s this one.
I’m so ready to fuck I don’t even pay much attention to the apartment. There’s few things on the wall, and generally lacking the colorful accoutrements of sorority girl life. There is a big screen TV and an Xbox. We walk straight into the first bedroom and start stripping. I go down on her, and she’s so wet there’s pussy juice in my beard hair. I didn’t normally go down on girls the first night but I’m trying not to come quickly. I make her suck my dick and see a bag of weed and a condom on the desk. I slip it on and we run through the three standard positions (missionary, doggie, cowgirl) In the middle of fucking her, I hear a bunch a dudes voices and just think, “Oh her friends are just sluts too” The condom breaks, but I have to piss anyways. I walk to the bathroom without putting on my clothes. After I piss, I hear her calling my name from the living room. She’s laying on the couch with her legs spread, playing with her clit. I proceed to fuck her all over the living room. Now, she has to take a piss. I slip the condom off and I stand there, slowly stroking my cock waiting for her return. When she comes out of the bathroom, I can see something has changed.
“Dude, where the fuck are, we?” she cries.
“What do you mean?” I stop stroking my dick. “This is your friends place.”
“No, it’s not” she says, increasingly hysterical and then everything click into place; the décor, the furniture, the dude’s voices. We’re in the wrong apartment.
We run back into the bedroom, throw on our clothes, and I take the weed. I toss the condom on the floor, as a sort of memento – We’re the fuck – and – free bandits.
****
I’m at Maria’s house, and hone of her roommates are there. We’re sharing with each other. I tell her that I grew up outside Detroit and spent the previous summer, driving around smoking weed with my brother to get out of the house. She’s from Miami, and although she doesn’t outright say it, her parents are loaded. She belongs to a sorority. She belongs to a sorority nicknamed Visa Visa Mastercard. She tells me she’s Jewish but she looks kind of Latina. She’s very hospitable, pulling out snacks, and asking if I want anything to drink. I stand behind her as she is listing off what’s in the fridge.
“Oh, I’ll try one of those BL patties out,” I tell her.
“You’ll try a bud light? Or you’ll have one?” She laughs.
“Same difference,” I reply, tilting the bottle back.
“Well where’s that weed at? That’s what we came here to do, after all,” She says. “I’m going to grab my bong” running off into the other room. She comes back with the bong and a little wooden box.
“This is my stash,” she explains, and sure enough, when she opens it, its filled with weed and a few Xanax bars.
“I love xannies,” I tell her. She offers me one and I take it. “Let’s try this bong out,” grabbing my weed and mixing it with hers.
“Oh yeah, we’re gonna try it?” she asks sarcastically, we each do a hit and I say, “yeah we’re gonna try it out. Just like I’m gonna try this xannie out.” I pop it under my tongue. “I love the gross taste.”
“Ew I hate it,” she says. “But you know what I wanna try?”
“What?” and she kisses me. Could you taste it on my tongue?
“How’d you know that’s what I wanted to find out?”
“Because” grabbing her hand,” we’ve got some special connection.” But I say it super cheesy, so she doesn’t know if I’m kidding or not.
Then her friend calls. Abby tells her about me, how we need to meet and hang out. When she hangs up, she asks if I want a tour of the house, since we’ve been in the kitchen the whole time.
I slowly follow behind her up the stairs. She points to the left,” That’s the bathroom if you want to try it out, she jokes. She lists her roommates as we pass by theirs until we reach hers at the end of the hall. I look up at the pictures if the wall, as she explains them. I turn around to find her laying back in her elbows seductively, in a tank top in lieu of a T shirt. And this is my bed… if you wanna try it out.”
This is so much better than Shakespeare” I say as I descend upon her, thinking, alls well that ends well, the tanning of the shrew.
*****
It turns out Stacey’s friend directly lived one floor below the one we were in. When she knocked, one of Fiona ’s friends angrily answered the door, evidently having not gone out.
“Well, we can just go to my place,” she sighed. I still wanted to fuck her, so I chewed up half an addie to stay up and a tiny chunk of Xanax to calm me down. We crossed the street, and I asked her where she lived.
“Zaragon,” she said, which was one block away.
“Why the hell didn’t we go there in the first place? “ I was fucking stroking my cock in a stranger’s home. Imagine if they walked in on us.” I was upset.
This time there was no fucking in the elevator or passionate making out. I just wanted to furiously dick her down. Unfortunately, by the time we were undressed and in her room, the addie had kicked in, and must’ve been too much for the day – I was having performance issues. Next thing I know, I’ve got a mouth full of pussy and apologies, blaming the drugs. She asked me what drugs I’m on and I tell her. She says she took adderal and Xanax too, that night, (which explains a lot) but is acting like, what’s the issue? Without breaking down male physiology and its reactions to drugs, I just eat her out to shut her up. She’s moaning, but she’s still talking shit, insulting my manhood. This, perversely, gets me hard as steel. I wrap a hand around her throat, and then just pound her out as powerfully as I can. I’m aiming for sheer force over rhythm and rubbing her clit at the same time. She cums, and then I finish, too, all over her tits. I pass out immediately.
****
The next morning is awkward. She brings me a cup of coffee. I hug her goodbye and kiss her on the forehead, like I’m a gentleman and she’s a lady.
Later she texts me, “Um, this is awkward, but did you cum in me? I don’t care but she need to know.”
I respond “No” adding a link to a $10 off coupon for plan B “but just in case”
Easy Trouble 