Are You There, God? It's Me, Taylor (Just Wanted To Tell You 'Nice Try')

The story starts the same as all the others: it was a Thursday night perfect for frat-hopping, I was looking tall, tan, and sexy in my dress, I found a guy who was looking tall, tan and sexy and wanted to take off my dress, and so it goes that after a hastier period of time than I'd like to self-respectingly admit we wound up back at my room. At that point things weren't just normal anymore, they were better than normal. It was like this guy had been sent to me by an angel. He was 6"5, but his broad shoulders combatted any potential lankiness, his eyebrows were of the perfect girth, and his aesthetic appeal was proportional to his kissing proficiency. But as much to my dismay as it would be to his, because of my "no sex with strangers" policy (I know, how old fashioned of me), I felt compelled to brief him before he removed his boxer briefs.
"I feel like I should tell you that we're not going to have sex tonight," I really should just get a disclaimer tattooed across my forehead.
Just as I was anticipating the normal reaction of disappointment, he appeared surprisingly relieved.
"No, that's good," he kept on kissing me.
"What? Why?" Normally the response to my disclaimer was one of coercion and blue-balledness, so while his non-argumentative response should have been a Godsend it actually made me more confused than appeased.
"I'm not trying to have sex tonight," he explained as he placed pecks around my ear.
Now I was offended. I pulled away, "Um excuse me, why not?" He better have a good fucking answer.
He laughed at my ludicrousness and explained, "I'm trying to be a better Christian and not sleep around so much."
Being the type of Christian who only worships God during Christmas morning when he answers my prayer for a new pair of over-the-knee boots, I would've under ordinary circumstances found this response kind of gay. But something about how his trigonometric jawbone worked with his perfect mouth to utter those words while his boyishly charming brown eyes stared into mine had me to wanting to worship him as my new religion. Listening to him explain his religious scruples made me want to bite his lower lip, and suddenly I wished I had a Bible next to my bed just so I could watch him read it to me.
I accepted his reason for not wanting to have sex with me and we kept making out. But now I was curious. Dangerously curious. I wanted to see what kind of Holy Grail was being protected by his Calvin Klein's. So just like Eve making her way through the apple orchard, I was making-out my way through his clothes. I couldn't control myself, first to go was his shirt (wow), then his shoes, followed by his belt, then his pants, and last but definitely not least were his boxer-briefs. It was in that moment that for the first time in my life, I saw evidence of a higher power. I was born again.
My untamable curiosity had brought us dangerously close to sin. I felt guilty for tempting my hook-up, but at the same time I felt like my own scruples were being tested. A higher power was well aware of my "no sex with strangers" rule and had sent me this absolutely gorgeous hunk of man to simultaneously test his morals as well as mine. I was both the temptress as well as the temptee.
"I can't take it anymore, let's just do it." It was like he was reading my mind.
I wasn't a minion of Satan trying to corrupt this sexy creation of God, I was just a woman overcome with curiosity. I was Eve, desperate for a bite of the apple, or rather, a taste of the banana. But I'd heard the story before and knew the outcome; I wasn't sure I could handle the responsibility of opening the Pandora's Box of cocks.
"No," I said, absolutely loathing my own self-control, "you and I both don't want this."
"Yeah, you're right." He kissed my face, "Damn, you so right, I hate it."
I kissed him back and ran my fingers over his immaculate abs, thinking to myself no, I hate it more.

A Viagrable Candidate

Many people worry if they go to a large university that they'll be overwhelmed by the masses and get lost among their innumerable peers, but in actuality there are many ways for the college student to consolidate their social circle. Through the utilization of communities like Greek life, athletics, and performing arts, a student has the ability to make their campus feel much smaller. However, one should be warned that within these communities there is virtually no separation between the private and the public, and therefore the concept of secrecy doesn't really exist. These communities entertain something that I like to call the Locker Room Effect. The Locker Room Effect is when a person shares the details of a hook-up with their teammates/frat bros/sorority sisters, with the intention of it staying confined to that group of people, which it inevitably never does. Though there are definite positives to the Locker Room Effect. When you're interested in a person, finding out their entire sexual history is easier than typing their name into the Facebook search bar.
Last night I went to a party armed with my sorority friend as a wingman. We made our rounds, I met new people, it was all very routine until my friend introduced me to a particularly tall and eyebrowedly endowed guy. After a brief conversation, I gushed to my friend, "He is so hot!" Immediately a funny look came over her face.
"What? What's up with him? Does he have a girlfriend?"
"Ha ha, no, that's not it." She took a second to snicker before continuing, "He can't stay hard."
I choked on my beer.
"This girl in my house used to be hooking up with him, and she said they tried like, three times to have sex but he just couldn't."
"No fucking way..." I was shocked, but not revolted. In truth, I was even more intrigued by him now. There was something appealing about how he was physically unable to toot it and boot it. Thus far in my college experience, I'd experienced weekly feelings of hatred towards the male gender. Every Thursday-Saturday I'd met a new guy and only two hours later always found myself sternly saying "No, I'm not going to fuck you" as they tried to persuasively kiss my neck. But this guy was a different story. His perspectively embarrassing secret made him the perfect candidate for a hook up in my eyes.

Go Fuck Yourself

Today I had an actualization that I can only comfortably (or rather uncomfortably) describe as perturbing. Most of my epiphanies center around the basis of "Oh, you can see my black underwear straight through my tight, white dress," or "Oh, he came out at college? That explains why he was so fixated with my shoulders that time we hooked up," but this one today was no laughing matter. The thing that I realized today not only shook my world, but decimated my inner peace with a force that's off the richter scale.
It happened at lunch. I'd just gotten a new Blackberry after losing my previous phone in my usual weekend drunken stupor, so after days of Walden-like solitude I was back in technology's grace and finally able to contact one of my friends to hang out. After an epoch of separation (five days), we had tons to catch up on. Our weekends: what we remembered, what we wish we didn't remember, the guys who we prayed would remember our names, all the standard Monday lunch talk that we hadn't had yet since up until Wednesday I was basically living without running water, human contact, and HBO. But my new phone turned out to be useful for more than just texting my friends.
"Oh my god!" it dawned on me, "I can show you the gorgeous guy I hooked up with this weekend via my new Blackberry!" I typed and scrolled fastidiously while gushing, "Like seriously, he might be the most handsome piece of man I've ever seen. He's actually perfect. He's like, 6"5, but not lanky, he's totally ripped. Huge shoulders. And oh-my-fucking-god, his bone structure!! You could actually do trig problems using the angle of his jawbone. And he has these super strong cheekbones that accentuate his even stronger dark, bold eyebrows. Fuck, he has nice eyebrows. Facebook loading? Why is this taking so long?"
"Ooh, what's his coloring like?" My friend inquired.
"Oh, he's totally tan and has really thick dark brown hair. He's half italian! I forget what else he is, but we bonded so hard since both of our families come from Sicily! Oh yes, his profile loaded, look!"
The sight of his profile picture was enough to make me salivate and drool a sizable mote around our lunch table. My friend, on the other hand, didn't have the same reaction. She just stared at his picture in silence, all the while wearing a quizzical look on her face. Her silence made me go from giddy to nervous, so I asked her what she was thinking.
"He kind of... looks like you."
My instantaneous bewilderment was palpable.
"Well not like you, but if you were a guy then you'd look like him." She continued, while I inwardly wished she'd never started speaking, "Come to think of it, he looks like all the other guys you get with. You know, tall, tan, athletic, brown haired, big eyebrowed, visibly Italian."
"Wait, you're right. And furthermore, my only criticism of this particular guy was that I thought his teeth were too small, and I have fucking huge teeth!"
We sat in libido-shattering silence, just staring at my hookup's profile picture. Neither of us even so much as flinched for five excruciating minutes.
"Yeah..." my friend said, "that's really weird."
Despite my best efforts, I couldn't shake the conversation from my self awareness. It got me thinking, do opposites really attract? Or are the rules of attraction based on similarities? Like Lindsay Lohan during a therapy session, I inevitably traced my sexual disturbia back to my childhood. All the physical features that I'd spent my entire adolescence hating (for example, my debilitating height, my oversized eyebrow which eventually tweezed into eyebrows, and my prodigious teeth that practically rape whoever I smile at) not only did I learn to love in myself, but I also learned to love them in the opposite sex. All this time, has my apparent shallowness been a misdiagnosed case of narcissism? Given all the evidence, does this mean that I'm legitimately in love with myself? I guess this finally presents an answer to the age old question: "If presented with the opportunity, would you fuck yourself?"