The party was supposed to be Moulin Rouge themed. John and Justin had never seen Moulin Rouge, but they figured it would break down like most college parties do: guys in ties, girls looking slutty. They almost didn't go, it was supposed to rain that night and they had plenty of studying to do. Still, since they knew the hosts, the beer would be free and that was plenty to justify anything. Justin brought his girlfriend Tammy along, she showed up at their apartment in a corset. John answered the door.
"Damn girl, corsets tonight?" He tried not to stare too long, Justin was his bud but a girl that gorgeous was always liable to suck you in with a glance if you weren't careful.
"Duh, it's a Moulin rouge party!" She kicked her hip out and pouted. He tried not to faint.
"Holy shit, if that's what they wear, I might actually have to watch it." Justin came out of the other room.
"Yikes babe, I like that...you guys ready?"
The party was ridiculous, people screaming and beer spilling, and Michael Jackson on the stereo. As expected, the girls were all in corsets and fishnets, grinding on each other and acting stupid. They found the keg, made their round of hellos to the crowd and settled into a corner, halfway between the dancefloor and the beerpong table. Justin and Tammy tried to look like they wanted to talk to other people for at least five minutes before they had found a corner, gazing soulfully into each others eyes in between bouts of heated making out. John was used to it. He sighed and made his way over to the beerpong list. He grabbed the pen to write his name on the board.
"Hey, I've already got next." John looked around. To his right was a blonde girl, poking her beer cup towards him. "Easy asshole, I said I've already got next." She was probably 5'4 with big blue eyes and soft white shoulders. Her breasts were pushed up by a black lace corset which was opened a few clasps to show the curve of her pale cleavage, her ass wrapped in a tight black skirt above fishnets and black heels. John recognized her from somewhere.
"Do I know you?" She leaned in to hear.
"What?" He could smell just a trace of alcohol. Such a turn on.
"Did we have a class together or something? Maybe Reichart?"
"Oh shit!" she squealed, "Yeah, yeah, Renaissance Drama!"
"Christ don't remind me." Now he remembered her, Jenn, the girl who always came in late in sweats. It was a tiny class at 8 am, so nobody was on time much, but she was always late. John had never paid her much mind, except that she said smart things occasionally.
"Let's go get another drink," she said, forgetting all about beer-pong.
They sat on the couch on the wraparound porch, they were alone except for a cluster of guys smoking a cigarette. John was sitting upright, Jenn was slouching against the couch, with her legs crossed in his direction. They talked about the class they had together.
"God, what a waste of a semester, right?" She tapped her legs back and forth.
"Honestly I don't know," John said, "I only paid attention when he would start to compare things to Seinfeld."
"Which was like every fucking day! God, how many times do we need to hear that Ben Jonson would have liked Seinfeld? Or that Aphra Behn would have been more into Friends?" She took a deep drink from her solo cup.
"What did you write your final paper on?" he said.
"Oh, some bullshit about the role of the coquette." She shifted and threw her legs over John's. He saw just a flash of her upper thighs, the fishnet material hugging them tightly, and just a glance of what looked like a little triangle of white panties further up her crotch. "I like to think I'm a little bit of a coquette myself." She batted her eyelashes.
"Oh?"
"Well, my French TA told me I was a coquine. Which I guess is sort of the same thing..." She twirled her hair, staring at John with her lips slightly parted.
"What's the difference?"
"Well a coquine is just a French word for a girl who really likes sex." It started to drizzle outside, quickening to a light shower. John tried to think of what to say.
"Wow, that's a pretty fresh French TA you've got."
"Oh," she said matter of factly, "I am fucking him."
John tried to focus, to process what she just said. She's fucking him? What does that mean? That's pretty heavy. Not that he wasn't impressed, fucking a TA is the dream of every undergrad at one point or another. But why was she telling him? Was she dating this guy? Was she bullshitting? If so, why? Was she just trying to turn him on? It started to rain harder.
He must have been talking about something, on autopilot, but somewhere in the alcohol his trains of thought ran together and by the time he knew what was happening, he had leaned over and was kissing her.
She kissed him hungrily, immediately probing his mouth with her tongue. She tasted sweet and a little like cinnamon and nutmeg, the way John always found with girls who had been drinking. She turned her body toward him, extending her hand to his belt. She fumbled around until she found his bulge, which was quickly building up. He was just working a hand towards her corset when someone shouted:
"JENN!"
She pulled away and jumped up. "I'll be right back," she said, straightening her corset top.
John sunk back into the couch and closed his eyes, trying to pretend like he didn't hear the smoking guys laughing. He didn't know what to think. Justin came up, tapped him on the shoulder.
"Dude, who is that girl?"
"I don't know, I mean, I had a class with her..."
"Are you guys going to, like, have sex on this couch?"
"I don't know..."
"Well listen, see if she wants to go home with you, and maybe she can get us a ride home. I don't want to walk in this rain." He gestured off the porch where it was now pouring.
