Watching Superbad with my teen boys the other night, I held my tongue when the drunk girl who was about to have sex with Michael Cera’s character instead threw up all over him.
I had pretty much exactly the same thing happen to me my Freshman year of college.
No teen wants to be scarred by hearing a parent tell a sex story, so, lucky Redditors, you get the story. You already know the punchline. But it gets even better.
For those who want to skip to the sexy parts, you can skip down to the [GOOD STUFF HERE] section. But I’ll share that this is one story that does not end with a bang. Well, there’s an explosion, but unfortunately, it’s not orgasmic.
Here’s a pic that’s the closest I could find to what the gal in the story looked like at the time: Lara
To set the scene, I came to college as an outgoing, friendly, lean, short, and pretty smart nice guy. I quickly made lots of friends and pledged a fraternity (not healthy for my GPA), and wound up making friends in my dorm and outside who I’m still close with 30+ years later.
I actually did okay with girls after I settled in, and especially I got elected as an officer of my frat before the end of Freshman year. But I’d only had sex once (which is another and horrifying story for another time) before coming to college, so I was more than game for making the second time happen. Oh, did I say “game”? Of that, I had none. I just tried being nice to everyone. Oddly enough, that often worked for me as time went on, as I took a leadership role in everything pretty quickly and was the guy organizing things on our dorm floor and in the student groups I joined. Being perceived as a leader gives ya some wiggle room if you aren’t tall, wealthy, fashionable or any of those other things that make a person conventionally attractive. But later, as a sophomore and junior more than one guy got pissed at me for how much action I was getting compared to them. They couldn’t figure it out. But I just mention it here as so many guys lately seem to be moaning about how you can’t get a girl if you aren’t 6/6/6. Well, I did okay. You just have to work with your strengths, and not bitch and moan in my opinion. But I digress.
Now, growing up, I was raised by a divorced, ultra-feminist alcoholic single mom. Some of my earlier memories are marching with her for women’s rights and the Equal Rights Amendment, and being the only boy in communal pot luck NOW planning sessions. I mention this because it shows I was a non-player guy, which might be good for some here to hear. I also never watched or played sports, and when I was pledging, more than one of the brothers said they thought I was gay until they got to know me better. This didn’t bother me… and actually is a testament to the group of guys in mid-80’s frat-dom, who were fine pledging a guy they thought might be gay. It was also funny that afterwards about every tenth guy did actually turn out to be gay, coming out after college. There was a lot of secretive stuff going on late night behind closed doors I guess. Then we also had some boarders to fill empty spots, and it was like a gay man magnet… for mid-80s gay guys, I think living in a frat house was like a wet dream. And no one really cared, and I just politely passed on going up to their room for a smoke, drink or whatever else they might have in mind.
Anyway, back to Freshman year, I had two roommates. One was a big Navy ROTC guy who was never there, mostly hanging out with his ROTC buddies, and another tall guy named Mike who had come out of military school and was a stoic manly-man who I liked well enough but with whom had nothing in common. He wound up dropping out after Freshman year and enlisting, and I understand then put 20 years in as a State Trooper afterwards. He comes back into the story later, thus my description of him.
I think it was near the end of my first semester, with exams finishing, and I’d been initiated and was coming back from some fraternity booze fest, probably not just half-lit, but fully lit. After stumbling off the elevator to our floor, I went from dorm room to dorm room as one did in those days, saying hi, chatting people up, just socializing. Then I found a girl I liked who was in one of the corner quad rooms. Given the distance of time and therefore anonymity, I’ll even use her real name: Lara. Now, Lara was a firecracker, exactly the kind of girl I liked. First, she was short, probably about 4’10”. I’m only 5’ 7”, so I find myself naturally attracted to short gals, and even get a bit of a rush when I look down at them. And she also had the other part of the equation that I liked: she was curvy as hell. Big boobs, big round butt, and an hourglass figure with a soft belly. I’ve never minded girls with extra padding, which is probably why I did better than most at hooking up: most other guys were focused on the tall, athletic girls. But I generally found the girls with strong personalities more attractive. And boy, did Lara have a personality. Most would say she was an out-and-out bitch, and that was fine with me. I liked the challenge.
To describe her more, Lara was cute as hell. Dark hair cut in a bob with bangs, dark eyes, round cheeks, full lips and a bit of a largish but bobbed nose. She was also loud, assertive, demanding, and just had this attractive spark of confidence. I seem to recall that she had –or had had until recently—a long-distance boyfriend, but memory fails me. Not that it mattered that night. In the distance of time passed, it may be that she had broken up with or was pissed at her boyfriend, who I suspect was the typical asshole that girls tend to like. Me being the opposite and her possibly on the rebound or angry at him, I might have been more attractive than usual.
Now, this was the era of the drinking age being 18, and drinking was allowed in the dorms. It was likely I’d had 8 or 10 beers, but I wound up hanging out with her in the doorway to the closet where she had moved her bed, and had found a fresh beer somewhere. She, I recall, had wine… maybe Boone’s Farm or a California Cooler… it was that era. And we’re talking and talking and getting more friendly and close, and her roommates kick us out because they want to go to sleep.
So, we wind up walking down the hallway to my room, and we sit in the carpeted hallway outside my dorm room for a while, talking and drinking more. We would have gone in, but my military school roommate was in there, trying to sleep, so I had us sit outside.
I have no idea what we talked about, but I’m chatty, and I tend to get into deep stuff pretty quickly… at least with girls. We were definitely connecting.
It’s all vague, but a few things from that night are still clear in my memory even after all this time, starting with the moment where Lara looks right at me from where she’s sitting on my left, leaning against the wall as I face her cross-legged, and says, “Show me your bed.”
Uh. Okay! It seems now as if was kind of a weird way to put it, but that’s kind of how things worked out in the dorms. People moved bed into closets, study nooks, built walls of milk crates around them if they were to slow to get a good spot… anything for some privacy. So, it wasn’t a weird question. And stupid me, I kind of thought the odds were she just wanted to see my bed. Haha… yeah, I was a bit naïve. Consider it charming if you would.
[Good Stuff Starts here]
So, we stumble in, no doubt waking up Mike, my roommate. We are both drunk as hell, and my bed was in the closet that connected the main room and the bathroom. I was wedged in there, but had a bit of privacy, and had hung an Elvis tapestry as sort of a fourth wall facing the bathroom. I shut the door to try to keep it quiet for Mike, lit some candles for us (Jesus, that was stupid in retrospect… I was using cardboard boxes as side tables… total fire hazard!), and she looked around my little area and posters I’d hung up, and she liked it. I seem to recall I had a foreign flag I’d stolen from somewhere, some sort of communist propaganda poster I’d found, can’t even remember what else. But it passed muster enough. On the other side of the wall my roommate was nominally asleep in the main room, but I’ll admit, my roommate was something I had put out of my mind, having other, pressing matters to focus on.
In no time we went from talking to kissing, and she felt good in my arms and then across my lap, and really, really interested. Our tongues twirled as we kissed open-mouthed, and I remember tracing her ear with my tongue, and then kissing behind her ear to below her earlobe, then down her neck. Her skin was hot and smooth, without a blemish, and oddly I remember she had a stud earring that I sucked on as brought her entire earlobe into my mouth, as she moaned and sighed in response.
I’m sure from a distance it was classic drunk, sloppy hookup sex that’s pretty common on every college campus. But at the time there was nothing else in the world but this sexy, beautiful girl who was into me and what I was doing to her. My hands traveled over her entire body, and I found and felt her large breasts over the fabric of her loose 80s sweater, and then up under the knit fabric where I found her underwired bra and explored her breasts, slipping my fingers beneath the silky cups as we kissed, finding her nipples rock hard and sensitive as I touched them with my fingertips.
It was a very tight space for two people, and I vaguely remember struggling to get her sweater off, but we worked it out with me winding up laying on my bed, head on my pillow, with her on her knees sitting on my hips as we ground into her and her sweater came off. She leaned forward and kissed me, as I –predictably—struggled to figure out the bra hooks from below. We kissed chaotically, and her hair hung in my face as we did. But she soon solved the bra hook problem for me by sitting up and reaching behind her and undoing her bra and shrugging it off.
Her breasts were everything I hoped they would be as they popped out. Large and barely contained by what were probably C or D cups, her nips were what I’d consider small now, sharp and hard on large, oval shaped nipples that covered the ends of her heavy, pendulous breasts. She was a short gal with a thick frame, and there’s something about such large tits on a smaller body that really gets me hard, even now 30 years later thinking about it.
My mouth soon was filled with her nipples as I squeezed her breasts, and she actually used both hands to press her breasts together so I could lick and suck both nipples at once.
Things were going swimmingly, and the whole time my brain was chanting, “This is going to happen. This is going to happen.” And it was!
More making out, and my hands moved to her ass, covered by her pants, which weren’t jeans but some sort of kahki or something, my brain fails me. But she was wiggling and grinding into me and my erection as I felt her up, and then when I moved my hands to her front, she sat right up so that I could undo the button at her waist and undo her zipper for me. Meanwhile, I had my hands on her breasts, looking up at her, rolling her nipples between my thumb and the side of my forefinger, and just generally enjoying myself.
Her pants undone, I slid the fingers of one hand below her navel and down her pelvis and felt the elastic of her underwear on the back of my fingers. I pushed my fingers further down, and felt the bush of her pubic hair and then, then even better the cleft of her pussy. I pushed even further down, my hand constrained by the tight fabric at the crotch of her pants, and finally felt just the soft swell of her vaginal lips on the very tip of my middle finger. Giiven our rather awkward angle, I couldn’t go any further with her pants on.
She moaned breathily as I touched her, and I put the thumb of my other hand into the waist of her pants and underwear, starting to tug down.
“Wait a moment…” she said, as she started to rise to help me get her pants off, putting one hand down next to my head as she started to raise herself up.
I was confused. “What?”
I didn’t have to wait long to find out what, “uh oh” meant.
A moment later, lovely, sexy, half-naked Lara was throwing up.
And not just throwing up, but throwing up on my bed, and on my pillow… but mostly on me. She managed to avoid my face, but got my chest and arms real well, and to either side of me. It was everywhere. Not her fault of course, but something in the way she moved to lean over me to get her pants off was the feather-light touch needed to get her hurling.
There was nowhere to go, and she was sitting on me, so I guess I just cringed off to my left to try to avoid the worst of it.
Then, for a few moments, there was absolute silence.
Until, explosively, came booming, howling laughter from my roommate on the other side of the wall. “Oh my GOD! This is great! I gotta tell everyone about this!” And he got up and I heard him race out of the room to find someone to tell.
Another moment of silence, then, “I am so sorry,” Lara mumbled.
As often happens in situations like this, Lara was suddenly incapacitated. I don’t remember her being any more drunk than I was, but she was just about completely down for the count now.
I somehow got us disentangled, and I vaguely remember getting both of us cleaned up. I must have thrown the sheets and stuff in the washer at some point, as I certainly couldn’t have slept in it. I really have no idea of those details anymore, but I do recall finding vomit all over everything in my little area for months to come.
Her clothes came through it mostly unscathed though, and I got her dressed, and half-carried her back to her room, all the while as she apologized and slurred over and over how horrified she was, and how embarrassed she was. I’m guessing it was maybe three in the morning at that point, but who knows. My roommate was gone, I had no idea where, and there was no one in the dorm hallway, it was just us. Thankfully.
I do recall clearly, though, telling her to not to be embarrassed, it could happen to everyone. And I remember getting her to her room and into her bed, then making her drink a ton of water and take a couple aspirin, trying not to wake up her roommates.
My last memory of her is looking up at me from her bed, her face lit up from some indirect light, as she continued on apologizing and saying how embarrassed she was. And I looked down at her from where I sat by her on the side of her bed, took her chin in my fingers, and spoke about as firmly to her as I’d ever spoken to anyone. “Stop. It happened, it’s no big deal, and I’m not bent out of shape. Tomorrow, when you see me, look me right in the eye, and pretend nothing happened. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
I’ll also admit, since as I wrote that it sounds gallant, that I was mostly hoping for a do-over again as soon as possible as I said it.
And with that, I left and went back to my room, and presumably slept on a bare mattress.
The epilogue to the story is that, to my disappointment, she took my direction a little too well to heart. When I said to “pretend nothing happened,” I meant, “pretend you didn’t throw up.” She, instead, took it a couple steps further and pretended the whole night never happened. I did try to strike something up with her a couple times after that, but she acted as if we didn’t know each other. Whatever bonding we had shared from our talking and projectile vomiting experience was not enough to make her acknowledge that I was more than some stranger who she sorta recognized. Perhaps she was too embarrassed to face me, or she just wasn’t interested beyond the alcohol pushing her over the edge into a one night stand with the first guy who was handy. Who knows, but I wish her well.
As a further epilogue, my roommate couldn’t find anyone awake on our floor, so went down to another friend’s room and wound up sleeping there, figuring it’d be loud as I cleaned up and he didn’t want to have to smell puke all night. He told folks on our floor what had happened and I got some shit for it, but mostly people were more interested in the fact that there was now evidence I wasn’t gay, apparently. And I don’t recall anything negative happening for Lara from it; either my roommate didn’t know who I brought in so didn’t say who it was, or more likely everyone everywhere was lit and it was just a blip on a sea of alcohol-fueled debauchery that made up Freshman year in 1985.
So, that’s my story, with appreciation to Superbad.
My sex life since has had ups and downs. College was great, then losing my hair and falling into depression led to a long dry spell. Coming through depression I had my first real relationship with a totally crazy gal, which was a ton of fun but lots of drama. But after that I met my wife, and we’ve been married for 20+ years.
I always wanted a marriage of equals, but found that a lot of the things I was taught about what male-female relationships should be turned out to be… optimistic. As a result, my gal and I have found a really good outlet to keep the spark alive and manage our male-female dynamic through D/s roleplay in the bedroom. I can share some of those stories another time. We’ve come a long way, baby!