by Ava Michaels
"Yes, those people either test drive with a one night stand, or rent for a week," Sasha said. "Karen is a serial renter and her credit score must be great."
Karen pretended to look shocked.
I wasn't sure I got that metaphor, but I was starting to get the general idea. At least I thought I was. Everyone around me seemed to understand it perfectly. But they had also been smoking pot for the past eight hours.
"So you're saying that I'm a serial monogamist," I said.
“She just said monogamist.” Sasha said doubling over with laughter. “MO-NOG-A-MIST.” She was laughing so hard now that nothing was coming out.
Shit, there pot must be some real good stuff. It wasn’t a road I wanted to go down though.
“To me cars are more like a girl. Girls are the best vehicles in the world because two beautiful headlights in front, two great bumpers at the back, self-lubricating when hot, finger touch ignition, automatic engine, oil change every month, any type of pistons fit, multiple seating styles & adjustments, great accessories, automatic and manual drive from both sides, and ready for a test drive any time…”
Their eyes went wide. I guess their pot wasn’t that great. Moments later they busted out laughing.
"You’ve got a point. For this example the car is a guy. You can't ever own someone, right?" Karen was trying to expand on the topic.
I thought about it. Aside from slave owners, that was true.
"So then why do you think you need to buy the car?" she asked.
"It sounds like you're mixing a few too many metaphors there," Sarah said. "I think we all get the Pink Slip, but we never get the pink slip."
The whole room burst into wild gales of laughter. Thankfully, we moved on to other topics again and drank a little wine. The pies came out wonderfully and the girls started in on theirs once it cooled. I thanked them for the use of their oven, all the help, and stimulating conversation before I said my goodbyes and headed back through campus to bring Jess some pie.
………
Winding my way through the halls of my apartment building, I suddenly became very popular. Boys and girls all said “hi” and “whatcha got there? A pie?” Dartmouth was known for its super smart students, in case you weren’t aware.
I reached the elevator door and pressed the up button. When the door came open there stood Mr. No Name once again. Just my luck… He made me nervous! I stepped inside and hit the button for floor seven.
"Wow Elevator Girl, your apple pie smells delicious."
I looked back at him and he had a wide grin on his face. Pervert meet pervert. My sex brain had got the best of me lately but now Mr. No Name was spewing perverted lingo out of his mouth. 'Jesus Penus,' I sighed in my brain.
"Well, only that special someone gets a piece of mine."
What the hell was I saying?
He moved closer to me. He started sniffing. Shit. Maybe he was really just talking about the pie and not THAT pie.
"That's too bad..." I felt the sex beginning to drip off his words. Okay, what fucking pie was he talking about? ‘My knees are weakening!’ I shouted inside.
"Is it? You can move away from me now!"
"I just wish the elevator would get stuck today. Then you'd have to let me try… Your pie… It smells really damn good. I haven’t had good apple pie for a while... It's too bad my mom lives thousands of miles away. She had the best apple pie."
NO, NO, NO. NOT HIS MOM’S PIE. Puke. I had to get my head out the freaking gutter!
"Okay, enough about the pie. I thought you were moving," I said, hoping he would say he was soon so I wouldn't have to deal with my lady parts feeling all weird around him.
He was more than I could handle at the moment. We were on two different paths otherwise I would have actually thought about jumping him when had got stuck in the elevator. Especially if I knew my date would have been that dreadful. He wanted to settle down though, and I was just looking for a penis... Well, a good penis... To finally lose my V card with.
"I am. Today, actually."
Yes!
He's finally moving!
I'll never have to see him again!
Never feel this way again!
"Bummer," I said as the elevator doors came open. "Well, it was nice seeing you again."
"Remember, if you need someone to eat your Apple pie I'm here!”
Then the doors closed.
………
Finally, I made it to my door.
When I walked in, Jess jumped up like she always does whenever I enter the room. I swear, she is like a high strung cat pouncing around after too much catnip.
She nearly made me drop my pie.
When she saw what I had in my hands Jess’ eyes went wide with joy.
"What’s that?" she said, not staring so much with desire, but more of a psychopathic need that disturbed me a bit.
"A... Pie..." I said, coyly. I could be coy. I could be a tease. However, my ability extended only to pies.
"Uh…," she said with a little grunt. "What kind of pie?" she asked, tentatively.
This was getting weird. Some freshmen really missed pie a little too much.
"Apple...?"
She sniffed the air and walked around me like an animal catching a scent.
"What else..."
"You're weird," I said with a tiny bit of fake fear in my voice.
"Is that what I think it is?" she said deliberately, but couldn't keep the joke off her face with a twitch of the side of her mouth.
"Apple... Caramel..." I said, demurely as possible.
"That's it!"
She took the pie out of my hands and brought it over to the rickety kitchen table we had laid out in our apartment bedroom. She retrieved the closest thing we had to a pie cutter, a sharp set of scissors, from a jelly jar we used as a pencil holder. Tiny bits of steam still snaked their way out of the open crust and the blades of the scissors were coated with the golden brown caramel and apple pies. It made the whole room smell like candy. Two gooey and sticky messy pieces were transferred to two paper plates. Quickly, Jess produced one sort of clean plastic spoon for me and a wooden spoon for herself.
I couldn't help but smile. When you were blessed with the rare ability to bake great pies at the age of eighteen, you become somewhat of a Mafia Don in college. Students starved for some representation of culinary affection and motherly love will trade drugs I didn't understand for a freshly baked pie.
We both dug in. She moaned in a way that I thought maybe we should close the door to our apartment. Between mouthfuls she tried to tell me something about my dating account.
"Please, do not spill my wonderful ambrosia-pie on the counter. Swallow, then tell me what you have to say," I said, with a stern grandmotherly voice.
She swallowed.
"You got a message from some guy on the dating website. He seems pretty cool. Also, he's really cute. This guy actually might be a good one to try out. But…"
So she apparently has been logging into my account. Okay...
“But what?” I asked, anxiously waiting for her to just spit it out.
“It seems like you’ve been messaging him already… Without telling me! Mr. Big Stick!”
“Calm down Jess. It’s not like I went on a date with him.”
“Yet…”
“He’s always busy.”
“Well, I think he’s not busy anymore.”
“What? Did he ask to go out?”
She didn’t say anything. I went over to log onto my account and see what Big Stick said. As I did, Jess finished her pie and came over to gape on my shoulder.
"So, he seems like a stud," she said, wiping pie from the corner of her mouth.
"You're a pretty girl," I cooed to her and she smiled crookedly.
"Thanks... I’m going to watch you respond to him no matter how nice you are to me though.”
I looked at her and rolled my eyes. She was overly attached to this project. Which was weird because it was my virginity.
It was like I had a pimp.
“Now, I checked out his profile," she said. "It's not too bad. He doesn't seem like the type to weigh you down with bricks at the bottom of the Thames."
Jess was reading a book on serial killers in London.
“Yeah, but a lot of bad people don’t seem that way,” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, you go out with him at a public place if you’re scared… Of the Big Stick!” she shouted, throwing her one free arm in the air.
”You say whatever comes to your mind don’t you,” I signed. “I just think crazy things.”
"If you’re thinking then you might as well say it! Honesty is my policy,” she said, holding her hand to her heart.
“Whatever you say Jess.”
Maybe I should say everything that came to my mind. It got Jess plenty of good looking guys in bed. However, most guys are dogs and would stick it in about any girl… And any of their holes... Like I said, dogs. Now that’s a thought that shouldn’t be spoken but it’s the truth.
“So, at least he likes scotch and dogs, right?" Jess said, shrugging her shoulders.
Shit. Dogs.
"Yeah, he seems tame enough, so at least I won't get slipped any Georgia Homeboy, as far as I can guess, but I think he might be a bit boring. At least he likes animals...."
Was that the only thing we could say about him? The few messages we had back and forth wasn’t anything to rave about. Although, he did seem funny.
"I think there is a secret side to this guy," Jess said. "No underwear... eh? And what about the name? Big Stick?"
That’s what caught my eye the first time he messaged me. I didn’t need some man whore though. But maybe he was more of a Deuce Bigalow, Male Gigolo type of guy. He had a dirty name but satisfied women in other ways than sex. Then I could be the only one he pleasures sexually. I was dreaming.
"I’ve already thought about it and asked him. He was a good baseball player in high school and college.”
“And is good with his big stick?”
“I don’t think that is what he was saying… Now, he does like the Smashing Pumpkins," I thought out loud. "It's so hard to figure someone out from this stuff. I probably seem like a molester or a crack whore from my profile."
"Just send him another message anyway," Jess said through her laugh. "It might turn out just fine. Maybe better than fine."
Hell, it couldn't hurt. Maybe this is where I could show my new swag. I hit new message.
Me: You can buy me a few beers at the Snake Pit tomorrow night at eight.
I got that sheath and I seemed to be halfway to getting a knife of my own.
BigStick: Nothing better than the Snake Pit. Don’t worry about paying for anything. I’ve got you covered.
Me: Such a gentleman.
BigStick: Momma taught me best.
At that moment a small drop of caramel hit me on the shoulder. I looked up to find Jess hovering over me, shoveling another slice of pie in her mouth while reading what I was writing.
“Tell him you’re not wearing any panties,” she said, swallowing hard.
“Do you mind? I promise I’ll let you read what I wrote when I’m done. Now let me be myself, please.”
“Fine. Jeez! Just trying to find someone to pop it for you…”
I shook my head as Jess walked out of our room, still enjoying her pie and leaving the door open.
At least now I didn’t feel like I was on some kind of display. It was true what they said that people would really let their inhibitions down when talking to someone via instant messages. I comfortably told him I like to bake, read and go hiking just as easily as I told him I like to sit in hot baths and soak, wear lemon scented body lotion and put lavender powder in my bed after I’ve put on fresh sheets.
He, in turn, told me about his bird watching hobby, that he likes to search for edible mushrooms and plants, that he has had the opportunity to travel to some pretty exotic places and that he enjoys watching women sip coffee when their lipstick leaves a ring on the cup. He seemed more outgoing than other guys on the dating site.
I was a little afraid that the comfort level was reaching the red indicator and things could soon turn a little too steamy. Okay, I was wishing that. Instant message sex? That could be something new. No way was I trying that.
We solidified our plans to meet at the Snake Pit the following night and I signed off, happy to be done with it and a little excited about the possibilities.
I walked over to the pie I had baked to help myself to another slice and gasped. There were about two inches of crust, two or three smashed apple pieces and a couple of pathetic caramel strings left in the dish and that was it. Jess ate the whole thing.
As I stood there in shock she sauntered casually back into the room, licking her fingers and the edge of the spoon.
“You’re an animal,” I said.
“It’s satisfying Olivia.”
-----------Chapter 9-----------
Jess tried to talk me into taking a pre-date shot from the Absolut bottle she kept stashed in our apartment's refrigerator but I wasn't interested.
The chats I'd had with Ryder on OKCupid had so far been pretty simple- a little flirtatious, but not anything to keep me awake at night. I was holding back a little even though we were just talking via the internet. It usually made people bolder if anything. Not me. But I had my previous dates to find Mr. Stick It In Me to blame that on. Plus, I didn’t want to show all my cards right off the bat. I wanted to keep some of my exploits for actual conversation, not just chatting. I was optimistic that tonight there'd be a connection between us. And if not, maybe I'd at least get a "missed connection" on Craigslist out of it from some other dude hanging out at this bar.
I only knew of The Snake Pit from the horror stories that spread around campus. You know the kind of urban legends like Bloody Mary in the mirror or the mysterious hitchhiker who gets picked up then disappears in the car. Well, the Snake Pit was a place that had its own particular urban legends circling around it. They all started the same way so here you go: I knew a guy who said his friend stopped at the Snake Pit and met this girl. And of course, she is totally hot, right? So he says he’ll give her a lift to her apartment but instead they end up hooking up in the alley behind the place. It’s true! Totally true.
Or, there is the girl whose sister knew a girl who went to the Snake Pit and met this guy, who was totally gorgeous, right? They started talking and were really into each other and when he said he’d give her a lift home they ended up hooking up in the bathroom. It’s true! Totally true!
Now, who in their right mind would want to have sex in a public bathroom, I have no idea. And if those were the kind of people who frequented the Snake Pit, I could be batting out of my league. But when I was put on the spot during our last chat, it was the first and only place that had come to mind. I didn't go out to bars. I barely even went to the on-campus coffee shop. For me, being at a bar is like Taylor Swift giving relationship advice. Both don’t and shouldn’t happen. There was alcohol though and that hopefully could make me feel sexy, strong, and be able to take on the world... Plus, no great story started with a salad.
Walking in, this wasn’t even close to the kind of place I’d imagined. I had imagined a wild, cutting edge techno scene with bikini clad cage dancers with fluorescent pink lipstick and guys with spiky hair and broody looks on their faces. So you can imagine my surprise when I walked in.
It was Jock city, basically.
I’d tried my hardest to avoid The Snake Pit for the first half of my freshman year due to the threat of possible lavatory hook-ups, but here I was, and so, allegedly, was my knight in shining armor. I was a big loser if I didn't at least try to make the most of this, right? Plus, his profile online was more than a little bit cute. And it wasn’t mostly in shadow. I actually could see his whole face.
Smoke filled the air and the music was terrible. The kind I like to call ‘construction worker rock’. A lot of Journey, Van Halen, and B
oston. Bob Segar was a popular pick off the jukebox as was Kansas. There was also no shortage of bros and their hoes all fighting to take control of three dozen different conversations. Flexing biceps, cheap beers spilled onto the two raggedy pool tables.
I tossed my hair back, took a deep breath, and tried to look nonchalant as I walked in, nearly getting creamed by a polo-wearing meathead being thrown across the room by some guy I assumed was his frat brother.
"Woah, excuse me, señorita," he laughed, the polo-shirted preppie punk straightening himself, picking up his spilt beer mug. I rolled my eyes and stalked towards the bar. I only got actually drunk - like, stumbling around and making a fool of myself - maybe once a month, but this night was clearly going to require more than a glass or two of red wine. Big Stick was going to have to be more than just a Prince Charming to turn a trip to The Snake Pit around.
"Bourbon, please," I shouted at the bartender. He was an overly muscled spray-tanned townie with a pony tail who could have been anywhere between twenty and fifty. He didn't hear me, not that it was surprising considering the throngs of kids "cutting loose" that were swarming the bar, screaming along to some overplayed dance song and spilling more beer than they were drinking. He was all up in the faces of two girls who were obviously freshmen like me in tiny hot pink tops that almost matched. They were expertly flipping their hair, the traditional mating ritual moves of the East Coast Bimbos. They smiled and acted dumb and this bartender was eating it up, pouring them shots without charging and staring into their eyes imagining the three-way he was never going to get.
I struggled to force myself between two girls who were convulsing with drunken laughter and using the bar top for support and gave it another try in my loudest and most commanding voice. Nothing doing. The distinguished sorority sisters started screaming down the bar towards a couple of passable Abercrombie guys who were laughing hysterically and reeling about with quarters on their eyes and beer on their shirts.
"We need some more shots!"
"Yeah, let's do another round and get out of here, you dicks," the other one slurred. She was addressing the guys, but facing the ceiling. "There's like thirty fucking parties tonight!"