One Night Stand: Written By A Dude

One Night Stand: Written By A Dude

A short story describing a classic hook-up scenario written by a real-life college male.

The basement is dark and loud. It’s an underground holding cell for horny juveniles ready to do more than just mingle. The walls aren’t smooth, but jut out. And there, dancing along to a thumping dub-step tune that shakes your insides and chatters your teeth, is John. John is drunk. John is so drunk that he can barely string a sentence together. His droopy eyes lock onto those of a pretty brunette across the dance floor. So with his brain buzzing to the 808s and synthesizers, he stumbles towards her. His confidence, bolstered from the 40 oz in his system, powers him towards her. Game time.

Hours earlier, John and his pals are awkwardly holding red solo cups as they make small talk with a few of their lady neighbors. Some talk about their areas of study. Others talk about the latest indie music craze. John? John is in the corner with three of his buddies, giddily anticipating the evening’s activities.

“John, are you finally gonna man up and bring a girl back?” asks one of his more inebriated buddies. John blushes and shrugs. Maybe. He says tonight may be the night. “C’mon”, urges another, “It’s been, what, two months?” John takes a sip from his cup, the contents of which make him cringe with each sip. That’s it, he decides. Tonight will absolutely be the night.

“Heyyyyy” John slurs to this girl. She smiles a knowing smile. “Aren’t you in my Spanish class?” she asks him. They chat for a bit. They dance for about 20 minutes, all the while taking sips from their seemingly bottomless red cups. Meanwhile…

His pals from the “pre-game” are in the corner, scoping the scene. They’re the kind of dudes who talk a big game before the festivities, and then retreat to a corner, pull out some lawn chairs and just watch. “Hey Brad, check it out,” says one of John’s pals, “John is getting some!” They hoot and holler in his direction, stammering their feet like children who just got the gift Santa promised them for Christmas. John glances at them and smiles. His face is as red as his solo cup. He grabs the girl’s hand and they head towards the stairs. Brad winks at John as he passes. “Atta boy!” “About time!” The girl hears, but pretends not to. She just smiles and walks by.

Outside, in the fresh evening air, John and his new friend Marie, are peering into their cups, awkward in the sudden silence that typically follows emerging from among the dead.

“So” John says, “wanna head back to my place?” Marie agrees. John knows Marie’s first name. He knows she is in his Spanish class. He’s “supposed” to have sex with her. And then tell Brad and Eric and Mike all about it in the morning. He remembers their chuckles at the pre-game. The way Mike said he hasn’t gotten with a girl in months. It was true, he hadn’t. It was humiliating. John didn’t know why. After all, he’d enjoyed his freedom. During the summer it wasn’t so bad. There were no Mikes or Brads to poke fun at his “lack of game”. But once he was back at school, come weekend time, his “lack of game” was a constant discussion.  

John’s dorm room door creaks open as he turns the key and pushes it forward. The two laugh as they stumble into the 13 by 13 foot room. Marie sits on the edge of his bed. Her blue eyes twinkle as she looks at him. 

“I’ve always thought you were cute, ya know.” John shrugs and laughs, maybe a bit too loudly. “Yeahhhh I thought so. I always catch you looking at me during class.”

The two flirt for four minutes. By the fifth, they’re doing more than talking… Just yesterday, John and Marie were unaware of each other’s existence. They were a girl and a boy, both of which who happened to be in the same Spanish class. Marie had her version of Brad and Mike as well. Theresa and Lisa, just that morning pressed her about why she hadn’t been with a guy in so long. She hated the conversation, but here she was.

It’s Morning. Who doesn’t dread the “morning after”, as it’s commonly called? The alcohol has worn off. Marie gets dressed and hurries out. It’s Sunday, she has a lot of work to do. John waves goodbye, and says he’ll see her in class on Monday. Which did happen, but the two hardly exchanged a word. Not just that Monday, but all to follow as well. In fact, they wouldn’t speak again until a month later when, at another party, they bump into each other, John spilling his drink on Marie’s new blue blouse. “Sorry” he says, and walks in the other direction.

I’d like to conclude my story by saying this: Let’s stop treating weekend hook-ups like they’re some sort of grown-up boy scout retreat, collecting various badges to place on our vests for all of our friends to see: that hot brunette, the bombshell blonde, the guy with those pretty blue eyes, the tall one with muscles. I’m not saying get married and settle down. Just try to ease the pressure, lower the body count, and move past just the meat and the bones.

• hook up culture