One Month Before Graduation
"I'm so done with men," I whined, taking another sip of Pinot, the glass lightly clinking my teeth. Three dark-red lip marks were imprinted on the surface.
India is next to me, her shoulder pressed against mine. Twin beds in college dorms don't allow for any separation.
"No you don't. You're just done with this specific one," she corrects me, drinking more herself. I shrugged, taking another swig of wine as my tipsiness forced tonight's "date that never was" into the corners of my mind.
Our dorm was dark, a lamp on the nightstand casting warm light was the only illumination. It deepended the shadows on the walls, causing them to dance and twist as one of us moved. Two study desks, two beds (one mine and one India's), a large dark green rug, a small television, a Bluetooth speaker, and tons of plants - both real and fake - were the only objects in the room.
A warm breeze blew in through the open window, the curtains gently swaying and creating new cascades of trembling shadows. The speaker was playing whatever indie playlist India put on, the notes attaching themselves to the wind. The weather was finally turning and spring had arrived, bringing with it a tepid heat that thawed both people and nature.
The night outside was an inky black, although the sun would fully rise in only a couple hours. Even now, students and noisy cars could be heard returning from the bars, hoping to get a precious few hours of sleep before the day greeted them. It was a Saturday night - or Sunday morning, depending on who you ask - and the campus had been alive all night with the excitement of parties, get-togethers, and the future. Graduation was also less than a month away, only heating up the adventurous fever that spread from person to person across campus.
"I thought this guy would be different," I gripe, refilling my glass. "But I've felt nothing the last few weeks. How could I go on a third date with him if there was no spark?"
I whip to my left, pointing a finger at India. "Tell me the truth. Do I have unreasonable expectations?"
India takes the bottle from me and refills her own glass.
"Yes. But, to be fair, despite you ending things before they get too far, a third date probably wouldn't change your feelings anyway. And do you even like the guys you're asking out?"
I cocked my head in thought before giving a nod.
"Sure, they're nice."
"But do you likkkeee them?" India seductively whispered, using her hands to mime a very crude gesture.
My cheeks became hot and I slapped her arm, the tussle causing drops of wine to escape over the rim of my glass.
"India!"
She laughed, her face settling into a considerate smirk, taking my hand.
"What? If I don't want to take their pants off by the second date, man or woman, I give up on it."
Our fingers intertwined, India's presence a relaxing and intimate one. I may have guffawed at the question, but her intuition wasn't incorrect. I've been on plenty of first dates, but there was never a...yearning. The men weren't unattractive yet once we returned to campus, a desire to take things further never materialized. Eventually, without fail, they would receive a text from myself explaining how there was no spark and I was sorry, just like the date I was supposed to have hours ago.
Although, I never really was sorry. Relief always washed over me once I tapped send, an internal conflict that made me wonder if I would ever again have a relationship.
"It's not that I don't want to do
that
," repeating India's sexual gesture. "It's just, so many of the men here are kind of...boring?"
India snorted, "Tell me about it."
I glanced down at the wine, falling into my thoughts.
Movies always made college seem like a sexual revolution, yet it has been anything but. After losing my virginity in high school, an awkward and slightly painful event that made me wonder why people even liked sex in the first place, I began my freshman year with a wide-eyed hope that I would finally have the hot, passionate, adult sex I'd heard so much about and that college men would know what they were doing.
Never in my life had I been so wrong about anything.
My first, and only, sexual experience at university was during the first semester when I was invited to a frat party. Somehow, I was charmed by Chet, a fraternity brother who loved Creed and had a barbed wire tattoo around his bicep. If I could slap my past self, I would.
Yet he was ripped, played baseball, and I wanted the typical college experience of screwing the hot athlete. Unfortunately, six-pack abs don't always equate to skills and we had what India has since coined, "Grab a boob and stick it in" sex.
Chet's vision of foreplay was a short, sloppy makeout and biting my nipples too hard. Once that treat was finished, he spit in his hand, jerked himself off to get hard, and shoved it inside without noticing I wasn't actually turned on. Thankfully, Chet was a three-pump chump and the horror was over quickly.
The next morning, I bought a small bullet vibrator. I'll be graduating in less than a month and that toy has been my only sexual companion since that unfortunate experience. It isn't a person, but at least it makes me orgasm.
Thankfully, it was that same party where I met India, finding her smoking a cigarette in the front yard. I asked for a drag and the rest is history. We spoke for hours about her bisexuality, my sad love life, and why no man at this university knew how to eat a girl out. By the time the police came to break up the party, we were best friends. After winter break, we were roommates and, for the rest of college, we trail blazed across campus together.
"How's your blowjob skills, anyway?" India suddenly inquired, bringing me back to reality with a shock. Wide-eyed, I pushed her shoulder.
"What is with you?!"
India laughed, her breezy voice fluttering around my head. Perhaps it was the wine, my own glass now empty as India grabbed hold and set it on the nightstand, but as the sweetness of her laugh drifted towards me, my chest grew warm.
"I'm serious! When you do sleep with a man again, you want to be ready," India explained, raising my hand to her mouth.
"Let me show you," she said.
"Wait, what do you me-" was all I could ask before two of my fingers were enveloped by her mouth. A short, quiet gasp escaped me, although India didn't seem to notice. Inside was warm and comforting, her wet tongue swirling in circles, the tiny bumps a pleasant sensation that sent chills down my arm. Her lips, perfectly symmetrical like Cupid's bow, soft, pouty, and pink, created a seal as she slowly sucked back and forth.
