We need to talk.
Returning to campus after a summer at home can bring with it a variety of pleasures you hadn’t really expected: the joys of coming back to a place where people are still awake at 2 in the morning; the comfort of seeing the campus where you’ve made (and forgotten) so many memories; the validation of everyone knowing exactly which Youtube video you’re talking about and repeating the one-liners at various points throughout the conversation.
But whether you’ve got a desert in your mouth or a fork in the garbage disposal, there’s always one other thing you can look forward to every fall — a fresh batch of freshmen goodies. And while you may be enticed by the piping hot buns within an arm’s reach, it’s probably best if you stick with the advice your parents always gave you concerning things that just came out of the oven.
“Wait a few minutes before you put it in your mouth.”
(Sorry. I didn’t mean for it to be quite that vulgar. I just really enjoy metaphors and parallelism.)
Now, far be it from me to place boundaries on your romantic life. I know as well as anyone that love knows no race, religion, gender, class, or (to an extent) age. But before you indulge in your Bieber Fever and start browsing the selection of teenage morsels, just take a moment to think about what you’re getting yourself into.
A starring role in a Greek tragedy
The new class of fresh-MEN is straight out of high school, where they were used to lunch periods, report cards, and, of course, the guidance of their loving mommies. But now mommy dearest is nowhere to be found! And being in a new environment without any strong female authority figure to look to for advice and support might be a little more than a beefcake can handle.
Enter you — an older woman who knows her way around campus, can answer important life questions, and was around for both the elder and younger Bush administrations. You may not look that much older than him. He may be very tall for his age. But if you pounce on a boy when he’s looking to fill that maternal void in his life, you’re really just setting yourself up to play mommy in this twisted romance.
And you should know better than to get involved with a mother f**ker.
A Friday night spent babysitting
For all of the ladies lucky enough to be born in the decade of hair metal, sideways ponytails, and high school movies with dramatic, synth-heavy soundtracks, you have a special privilege coveted by all of those in the freshman class — a right that, as the Beastie Boys so eloquently put it, you gotta fight for.
The right to PARTY.
Of course I don’t mean “party” in the third grade sense of the word, as in, “Would you like to come to my party? My mom got us a Barbie cake,” but rather in the college sense of the word, as in, “I partied a little too hard last night, and I can’t remember whose shoes I’m wearing.”
And there is the caveat in your pursuit of a first-year man to woo. Forget about the years, experience, and social status that separates you; the federal government is keeping you apart. When your friends want to get drinks at the bar, your little man can’t come. When you want to go out to the club, you have to wait until an 18+ night comes around. And if you give him a sip of your wine at dinner, you might just find yourself being booked for supplying to the underage.
Well a number of great individuals have gone to jail for their beliefs. It’s not your fault that you just happen to believe in fine, young booty.
Becoming the standard
I once had a friend — we’ll call her A — who decided to creep on a freshman during the first month of her junior year. She was thrilled with how easily it all went. He was from a small town and wasn’t used to girls as bold as she was. He had recently grown into his looks, and wasn’t yet aware of just how attractive he had become. And, on top of everything, he still had a high school libido, and could hardly contain the stirrings down below when she casually stroked his arm and complimented his hair.
Long story short, they banged. According to A, it was a lovely affair — their lips matched just right when they kissed, and he didn’t tire easily like all of the seniors she’d had flings with. But then those dreaded words left his mouth, and all of the air left her lungs.
“I can’t believe I just had sex for the first time!”
He had the kiss of a Don Juan. He had the moves of a personal massage device. Yet he had the sexual experience of a Teletubby. And A would forever be the girl that brought him to the dark side, the Mrs. Robinson that ushered him into the adult world and to whom all future girls would be compared. And that was not a role that A was comfortable with.
So while you may salivate over their bulging young muscles and wide-eyed innocence, take a minute before you allow yourself to go there. Because freshman year is a time for them to adapt to a new phase of their lives. It’s a time for them to have space so they can grow into the men they will become. And when you interfere in that process, you ensure that that growth will be stunted and a generation of emotionally immature young men will go forth in the world. So please. Restrain yourself.
And if that doesn’t work, at least wait until October. You can dress up as a freshman for Halloween to make it seem less gross.