Author Note:
This story includes multiple women and somewhat inaccurate references to their religion. If that kind of thing offends you, do not read further. It's a minor part of the story, but it's there.
Enjoy!
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Let me tell you something random about myself -- I hate mixers. Always have.
For anyone who doesn't know what a mixer is, it's basically like a joint blind date between a group of people paired up by gender. A set of boys and girls come to a restaurant, order a few drinks, along with something to eat. They then spend the next few hours intermingling in a cheery atmosphere.
Three guys and three girls, a bucket of beer, and single-tracked conversation. If I had to describe it, mixers are kind of like playdates, but instead of messing around in a sandbox with some random kid, you get to have sex -- or there's a possibility in the end, at least.
Not everyone at the same time, obviously. Just with the one you're paired with -- and the dude who sets up the meeting gets to pick. You don't even know if you're paired with a hot chick until you see her.
Went through most of my sophomore year avoiding mixers, but it can get pretty annoying when literally everyone I know goes to a mixer somewhat regularly.
What? Don't believe me?
If you thought mixer culture isn't prevalent in college, then you've probably hung out with the wrong crowd.
Anyway, I never got the appeal around the stupid fad.
My friends tell me it's because I'm 6'5 tall, somewhat handsome, and stuck up enough to be able to talk to 10s and somehow date them.
It's hard to argue with that, but that's exactly my point. Why do I have to do something so bothersome and waste my time over a literal social obstacle course just to have sex? Ask a girl out like a normal person, I tell them constantly.
You might ask -- why am I complaining about it now?
I'm not complaining.
Okay, maybe I am. Like a little.
But I'm telling you this right now because something happened that completely changed my outlook on mixers -- when my friends tricked me into one around late March.
You see -- George, my best friend, liked this girl from Social Studies class (big red flag), and was supposed to host a mixer with our two other dorm mates. For some unknown reason, Matt couldn't make it.
And instead of canceling like the regular person, he decided to be a dipshit about it and lied to me about going out for some ice cream.
I took a spoonful of my mango parfait as I stared at the incoming girls -- George bought it for me as a peace offering.
As if I'd get bought by a single parfait.
But I tried to be pleasant. It helped that the women were hot as fuck.
They were familiar too. Hard to forget. I've seen them around campus multiple times and apparently, they were sophomores -- just like us.
They majored in Psychology, which literally everyone knows is comprised of the most insane women. I personally never dealt with Psychology majors, no matter how hot or dirty they were.
If you're attracted to the idea of getting to know human behavior, then you're probably trying to find an explanation about something deeply wrong with you.
I just know most of them would end up psychoanalyzing everything.
The three women looked pretty normal, though. Mentally normal, to be specific. Their looks were far from average.
There was Steph. Blonde. On the shorter side, about 5'7. She gave off some real bisexual vibes. Always been attracted to that. Surprise, surprise.
She wore a simple hoodie -- which showcased how much she actually cared about this event. And I am totally attracted to it.
Then there was the one I was paired with, Mina. South Asian, brown exotic skin -- she looked mixed.
Stereotypically quiet, but I could tell she had a great sense of humor around people she's comfortable with.
Also, she was effortlessly sexy. Well, maybe not effortless. She was rocking eyeliner like a Bollywood actress in a music video and wore this really cool (hot) crop top that left her beautiful flat stomach exposed.
She looked stunning in the most feminine way. I almost felt bad for not dressing up until I remembered this was all George's fault.
Thankfully, women's tastes were a lot more simple and grounded. If you're hot and tall, you could wear a white shirt with some pants and call it a day.
Plus, I work out daily. Simpler clothes look more stylish on me anyway.
As for George's date, she was this shy Puerto Rican girl named Samantha. Very cute.
Didn't want to look at her too much because George might poke some barbecue sticks against my eyes, but I did notice the subtle way she looked at me. I bet she was into white guys.
Honestly, I was into her too. Her tits were so freaking huge, most guys probably wouldn't hear her talk. Latinas are always the curviest of the bunch. They're usually freaks in bed too. I reckon it's the daddy issues.
However, she didn't seem to be that way at first impression. A shy Latina. Stereotypically, they were outspoken -- like Steph.
Anyway, I remained lowkey. I knew I was only here to fill in the numbers; a glorified emergency backup at best. In fact, George made it perfectly clear I couldn't be too charming.
So I followed suit.
Still, I was a little mad at my friend for tricking me into this hot mess. So every time I knew the girls were looking, I made sure to subtly flash my biceps, jut out my chest -- stuff like that.
Or hands. Girls were crazy attracted to hands. I once sexted with a senior who masturbated exclusively to my hands -- which was a new experience. I felt almost insulted on behalf of my cock, which she blatantly ignored from the video I sent her of me, jerking off.
In retrospect, that was probably a kink.
Anyway, observing the three women's reactions kind of became a pastime for the evening. I made sure to flash some pretty smiles and give special attention to Mina too. I didn't want to completely waste her time.
If she wanted to hang out in the future, she could hit me up. I hope she's just looking for casual sex, though. I was never really the commitment kind of guy.
Luckily, over the course of the drinks, I was more and more sure she wanted me the same way I wanted her.
And that's not the best fucking part.
Another hour passed by and I was pretty damn sure all three of them were coming onto me.
I don't know how my two duds of a friend couldn't feel it. We were pretty much eyefucking each other every chance we could get.
Any random passerby could have cut the sexual tension with a knife. I kept shifting my weight to make my raging hard boner feel less uncomfortable.
But I mocked myself for it.
Three 10s in a mixer -- which was already approaching unicorn status in itself -- coupled with the fact that they're all attracted to me? I was probably just being delusional. There's no way that would happen. That's a fantasy. A porn fantasy.
George was a decently looking guy. So was Connie. They were decent guys with great personalities. The options hardly get better on campus.
There was still a smidget of doubt and wishful thinking, though. I was attractive. I took great care of my shape, as evidenced by my lean bulk. Is it really that unbelievable that three 10s are into me at the same time?
It turns out I was right.
That little bit of doubt was confirmed a few hours later -- when I felt Mina's foot naughtily poking through my lower pants.
A few minutes after that, Steph unknowingly joined in. Unlike Mina, she was a little more passive; her toes were only lightly grazing against my calves under the table. It was a little unexpected because I expected her to be the bolder one.
Her cheeks flushed about it too. Mad cute. I felt a little bad for Connie, though. Steph didn't exactly show interest, but she was still talking to him like nothing's happening -- all while she secretly flirted with me under the table.
The biggest left hook, however, was the
shy
Latina.
Because whenever George wasn't looking, Samantha mischievously turned to me with those big brown eyes and lewdly stuck her tongue out.
