We had to change the title of this story, so we didn’t get fired
We missed her, but our pixie dream columnist returns.
Confessions of a Recovering Manic Pixie Dream Girl 1.6: The Awkward Midwestern Undergraduate Years, The Gallery of Regrettable Hookups, Jeremy
My misadventures with the student film crew continued well after the premiere. One night, we all snuck into the nicer student housing pool and went drunken skinny-dipping. My unrequited object of lust was once again indisposed due to the usual drama, so I made do with one of his friends visiting from Chicago who had graduated awhile back. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my brief time on this earth, it’s that settling for whatever else is around when you’re craving something in particular will never satisfactorily scratch that itch. When you want one specific skinny, student-film hipster dick, no other will do.
So I don’t remember all that much about Jeremy other than his tenuous connection to my social circle, the fact he was kind of obnoxious and gave me a ride back to my apartment from the pool in what I guess was his mom’s minivan. Being a gracious hostess, I offered Jeremy use of my shower to rinse off the chlorine and summer humidity (albeit after I used the facilities). He returned to my bedroom wrapped in my fluffy pink towel and nature took its course after a slight delay when I said “Whoa, hey. Condom?” because seriously, neither of us knew where the other had been. Jeremy was frenetic and a bit overeager, perhaps to compensate for a lack of size. I always find that misguided notion to be tragic. For those not so endowed, the last thing you want to do is draw attention to it by slamming your hipbones into the other person’s hipbones and shouting things like “Yeah! Take it, bitch!” A later conquest had sorted this out by being stellar at foreplay.
With Jeremy, it was over before anything started and thus not much to write home about.