My boyfriend is a dickhead, which is why he cheated on me. I'm certain. I mean, I KNOW he cheated and am CERTAIN he did so because he's a dickhead. And with Beth Myers, to boot. That blonde cunt.
Wait. I'm starting this story oddly. Let me start over: Beth Myers is a bitch. Wait, let me start again. Actually, let me switch to third-person narrator, so I can avoid ruining this story with my own personal feelings:
Ann's boyfriend... Dick was a serial cheater, only Ann didn't know it. His latest conquest was a twit named Beth, who he was dumb enough to fuck in his dorm room, despite the fact that Ann liked to pop in, randomly, between classes.
Ann knew she was hotter than Beth, which doesn't really matter in this story, but it made her feel better, in general. Guys would regularly tell her she looked like Emma Stone, and not just because they both had red hair. Ann was smart, too. Not that it matters, she'd always say, because guys only care about how big your tits are.
After she caught Dick cheating, she called a bunch of her friends and they took her out to get her hammered. She had free drinks all night, and more than one opportunity to go home with a guy. But she had made her friends promise to not to let that happen. She didn't want to replace one Dick with another.
Susan was a friend of a friend who, previous to that night, Ann really didn't know. The duo had a couple of classes together that year, because they were both biology majors -- and Ann had almost rushed Alpha Phi her sophomore year, so she had hung out with Susan some during the process -- but they were certainly not close friends.
Ann unleashed her anger towards Dick in a cacophony of booze, which sent her world spinning, mainly due to the three Long Island ice teas and four shots of marshmallow-flavored vodka. The girls she had come with -- the ones that were left -- all lived on campus, and Susan was the only one who lived in her direction, so they grabbed an Uber and headed home.
Ann fell asleep almost immediately and woke up 15 minutes later when the car stopped, sort of passed out on Susan's shoulder.
"I don't feel right about sending you home. How will you get up to your apartment? Why don't you just stay here tonight. My roommate is visiting her boyfriend, anyway."
Ann agreed, and Susan helped her up the stairs and into her apartment. Ann was feeling slightly less drunk -- at least, which she recounted the night the following morning, she remembered from this point on more clearly, so she assumed she was more sober at this point -- but she was still all giggly and huggy, which is what she did when she was drunk.
Susan sat Ann on the couch and then excused herself, coming back a few minutes later with her hair down and wearing an over-sized t-shirt and a pair of black boy shorts. Ann had always been jealous of Susan, the athlete, who had used her height and athletic build to earn a volleyball scholarship. But more than that, Susan was just pretty. Not hot. Not slutty. Classically pretty. One of those girls who doesn't wear makeup and puts her hair in a hat and still looks better than the rest of the planet does on its best day.
The two got comfortable on the couch, the light of the TV flickering, making their faces glow. Talk shifted from topic to topic, with one reoccurring thread -- "Fuck Dick! I hate men!" They settled in on Cinemax, giggling as they watched one of those porn-y shows with bad acting and people fake fucking.
"Have you ever made out with a girl?" Susan asked.
"I'm in college and in a sorority," Ann said. "Of course!"
"Have you gone further than making out?"
"Not really."
Ann considered herself straight, although she did find women sexy, definitely, and liked to masturbate to girl-on-girl porn, but she wasn't sure she actually wanted to "be" with a girl.
Still, she had had her heart broken by someone she thought loved her more than anything. And she wanted to do something completely reckless and so unlike herself, just to prove that she could do it, too.
