St. Louis Boy and Yankee Jew (Or, the First Weekend, Part Two)

(Continued from previous post.)

Standing outside of Jew-Fro's door, I decided to meet up with my friends who were still in St. Louis Boy's room (or so I assumed).

As it turned out, in the five or so minutes during which I was occupied with JF, everyone had left for the evening. I told SLB what had happened next door, and he for some reason found the situation absolutely hilarious.

After explaining to him that I had no idea how to get back to my dorm, especially in the dark, he asked if I wanted to stay in his room.

Name: St. Louis Boy
Age: 19
History: Met him the second day of school. Quickly became a close guy friend.
The Catch: St. Louis Boy appears innocent at first...almost like someone you think you can confide in...but the real SLB (SOB, perhaps?) is pure, backstabbing teenage girl. Can't keep a secret to save his life, and is a serial gossiper.

We watched television for a little bit until he informed me that he was growing weary. I was, too, and we decided to turn in for the night.

It was at that point that I realized SLB had no futon or couch in his room...not even an air mattress or a sleeping bag in sight. I looked around, wondering what the sleeping arrangements were to be like, when he answered my question for me.

"Here, I have an extra pillow. My bed should be big enough if you don't mind being a little close."

I was a little surprised, but not really fazed. SLB at that point was my best guy friend at school. Sharing a bed...albeit a single bed...wouldn't be that big of a deal, or so I thought.

As we settled ourselves beneath the covers, I could feel my body fading fast. I was almost in my REM cycle when I felt a warm hand on mine, although I was too sleepy to really pay it much notice. That is, until he kissed me.

What happened from that moment on is anyone's guess. While my body was technically conscious for most of the ordeal, my brain was largely asleep. It wasn't until I awoke early that morning to see him laying next to me that the event fully registered.

I opened my eyes to find SLB already awake, laying there, it seemed, waiting for me to wake up.

"Don't tell her about this, okay?" he mumbled.

The "her" SLB referred to was my best friend at the time...we'll call her Yankee Jew. (Note: I've got nothing against Judaism. It just seems that the shadiest characters in my life tend to be, well, Jewish.)

Name: Yankee Jew
Age: 18
History: Met at Freshman Orientation before school began. Decided to room together, until she flaked.
The Catch: If Yankee Jew and Regina George duked it out in a match after which the winner received the title of "Ultimate Life Ruiner" (not most popular, mind you), Regina would run away in tears before the second round. Yankee Jew spreads rumors like wildfire. YJ, believe it or not, was my very first frenemy. Ever.

In any case, I'd noticed a bit of chemistry between YJ and SLB. As expected, she asked me that evening what had transpired the previous one. The conversation went something like this:

YJ: So, what happened between you and SLB last night?
Me: Nothing at all. I needed a place to sleep, and we shared a bed. We're just friends.
YJ: That's not what he said.
Me: What?
YJ: SLB told me y'all hooked up.

At this point, I was utterly baffled. SLB had specifically told me NOT to mention our tryst to YJ, right? What gave?

But, now that she knew, there was little use in denying it. So I didn't bother to.

I didn't hear from SLB for days after my conversation with YJ. Finally, I took the bait and called him:

Me: So, I thought you didn't want YJ to know about what happened.
SLB: Yeah, I didn't. Thanks for that.
Me: What? You were the one that told her.
SLB: ...Why would I tell her something that we agreed to keep quiet?

In a state of complete confusion, I called Yankee Jew, who oh so casually admitted that she had, in fact, told me that SLB admitted to it all when, in fact, he'd told her exactly what I had. You know, not a big deal at all.

In case you haven't caught on yet, YJ essentially fabricated SLB's confession to coax one out of me.

Sneaky. Underhanded. And slightly brilliant. A true mean girl.

We forever hear these tales of the cold-hearted backstabbing that girls are subjected to, beginning usually around puberty and lasting until...well...forever. Why do girls play these games? How much satisfaction is there in seeing a frenemy squirm?

Whatever the case, from that incident until we stopped talking for good, I divulged few personal details to YJ. Anything that could possibly be manipulated and fed to the rumor mill was kept to myself. You might think that the kindest, most open people are the ones with the least worries, but after I made a personal promise to block YJ's information highway, things in my life became less complicated...at least, for awhile. I do believe that this is a life lesson of sorts.

Like an antelope in a sea of lionesses,
R

Have you ever had a frenemy? Who was your first? Whisper it to me in a comment.

Jew-Fro (Or, the First Weekend, Part One)

We all have sexual skeletons in our closets - that one partner at whose memory we cringe. We tried to hide the truth from even our nearest and dearest pals, not only because we'd rather save ourselves from supreme embarrassment, but because we'd rather not be reminded that it ever happened.

Name: Jew-Fro
Age: 19
History: Started talking on Facebook the summer before college.
The Catch: Short. Slightly pudgy. Half-black AND Jewish...not a great genetic combination. Socially awkward. Spoiled rich kid. Still hung up on his Shrek-esque ex-girlfriend from home. Full-on metal mouth...with a condescending attitude to boot. Is that enough of a "catch" for y'all?

It was the first weekend of school. Jew-Fro and I had hung out a few times that week, and while he seemed to be attracted to me, the feeling, I decided, was so not mutual.

My friends and I had spent the evening out on the town with Jew-Fro's dorm neighbor (who we will call St. Louis Boy and will be an integral part of "the First Weekend, Part Two"). As the night wound down, he invited us to his room, and we accepted.

I hadn't been in St. Louis Boy's room for too long before my BlackBerry beeped with a text from Jew-Fro.

"Wherer are yoiuut?" (Obviously drunk.)

"Actually, I'm next door to you. Come say hi," I replied.

Jew-Fro informed me that he was on his way back from a party. Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on St. Louis Boy's door. 'Twas Jew-Fro, of course, drunker than David Hasselhoff when he ate that hamburger.

He lingered in SLB's room for a few minutes, until I received another text. It was from JF.

"Letse make babires."

I looked up at him, trying not to laugh.

"We're going to hang out in my room next door," he told SLB and our other friends, gesturing to me. "Come on."

Once in his room, JF leaned in to kiss me. I pulled back.

"Are you kidding me? Please, let's get it on. You look amazing tonight. I want you so bad..."

Before I could say anything, JF threw me down on the bed, ripped my underwear off (I was wearing a dress), and got down to business.

I'm won't beat around the bush here...his audacity kind of turned me on for a millisecond, which is probably why I let it happen. Ew. Pretend I never said that, okay?

As quickly as it started, it was over. (And I mean quickly. Think under a minute...poor guy.) He rolled over and grew quiet.

I awkwardly sat on his single bed, wondering what to do next. If I returned to SLB's room, I knew I would surely be greeted with jeers from my friends for even going with JF in the first place and, it being the first weekend of school, I had no idea how to get to my dorm, so although a quick escape was preferred, it was out of the question.

"Is something wrong?" I asked him.

"I can't believe I just did that," he slurred, sprawled across his bed like a dead fish on the wet sand.

"Why? What's wrong?"

I, like most women, have always complained about guys who are too unemotional afterwards. Don't you hate it when they just roll over and go to sleep, barely pausing for a quick peck on the forehand? But, in the moments that followed, I almost wished that Jew-Fro was one of those men I had previously complained about.

For the next twenty minutes, I heard all about Shrek and how she'd broken his heart the previous week. It looked like I'd gotten my wish - a guy had gotten emotional afterwards, but, unfortunately, not in the way that I'd hoped.

Just as I sensed that our raft was nearing potential waterfalls, I decided that it was time to politely kick myself out.

"You seem tired; I should go."

"Fine," he sniffled like a three year old deprived of dessert. "I just want to be alone now."

"Okay, okay, I'm leaving. Where did you put my underwear?"

He lay limp on the mattress. "I'm so depressed..."

"...Any idea where it could be? That was one of my nicer pairs..."

"...I just want her back. How can I make her love me again?"

"Did you throw it somewhere?" I shrunk to my knees to search beneath his bed.

"I'm love her so much; she's my boo-bear."

Understandably, I'd had more than enough. "If you find my underwear, call me. It's black silk, although I don't think that there are that many other pairs of womens' underwear laying around your room." He looked up at me incredulously, his eyes glazed with drunkenness. "Oh, and I hope you feel better." With my foot, I pushed his trashcan so it stood beside his bed in case of...emergencies.

The moment I pushed the door shut, I thought I heard muffled sobbing, but I'll never know for sure.

It seemed as though the tables had turned. Was this what guys feel like when women want pillow talk? Should we, as the fairer sex, show more understanding when men aren't feeling particular chatty during the aftermath? From that night on, I began to approach "the aftermath" in a new way.

I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit,
R

(To be continued...)

By the way, I'm interested in hearing all about your sexual skeletons and how they compare to Jew-Fro. Leave me comments.