Sure it’s summer, but that doesn’t mean there hasn’t been any action on campus. This anonymous tipster waxes nostalgic on summer loving and the art of negotiation. If you have any stories, queries, or miseries to share, we’d love to hear them. Email email@example.com or use our anonymous form.
Thinking back, I can’t help but roll my eyes and giggle: I seriously ended up in some dude’s tiny ass Broadway room because he said I just had to hear the new Vampire Weekend album? How much more fucking Columbia cliché could you get?
He was blasting Modern Vampires, and I remembered how thin the walls are in Broadway. Plus summer’s the worst because a ton more people get some then than during the year; some nights you just hear fakers and makers all up and down the hallway.
So there I was, lying on his bed listening to “Step” when we started kissing. He asked what was going to happen that night and I told him not much – bad time of month, if you catch my drift. But, as guys who use Vampire Weekend to get you in bed are wont to do, he persisted.
“If I’m not getting any, you’re not getting any,” I insisted. Finally we sat up and calmly negotiated: “if you do this for me now,” he promised, “I’ll pay you back later.”
“How do I know it’ll be worth it?” I asked.
“You know,” he stated simply. Damn, I always fall for those cocky motherfuckers. So I set to work on my part of the deal (“Has anyone ever told you you’re really good at that?” Like, yeah.)
A week later, he told me I just had to hear the new Kanye West album so we headed back to his tiny ass Broadway room. Again I worried for the neighbors; we were playing it really loudly. I wanted to tell him to turn it down, but shit that album sounds nice loud. So there we were, lying on his bed listening to “Blood on the Leaves” when we started kissing.
“I think I owe you something…” he said, moving his hand down south achingly slow. The anticipation was maddening as he smoothly unbuttoned my pants.
And then – he stopped.
“Sorry, one sec. Think you can wait?” he smirked, running to the bathroom. Before I had the chance to say “no! fuck you!” he was out the door. I groaned and pulled off my skinny-fit pants, happy at least to be able to do that embarrassing shuffle alone. I’d already waited a week, after all, a couple more minutes wouldn’t kill me. But this better be fucking worth it.
He finally came back and got back to business, taking his time. I thought maybe this was the perfect arrangement: I’d already done my job and he wasn’t rushing to get to his turn. But soon all thoughts disappeared as my hands lost feeling and my body tingled all over and I gasped and moaned without regard for those poor neighbors. Like, yeah, more than worth the wait.
Damn I love summer.
An agreement probably about something different via Shutterstock