BuzzSeXxX: The Cold, (Not-So) Hard Truth
By Samantha Bruker
MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN!” My mind was wandering helplessly as I realized that his man was down for the count.
I was at my girlfriend’s house, assisting in hosting a party after her mother left town. We set up the house, sent the mass texts informing everyone to park down the street and then got into our party gear. People from all grades showed up, ultimately proving to be an open house.
After dancing to Daft Punk’s “One More Time” and Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’,” I moseyed into the kitchen for a refill. The blender clouded my thoughts, and confusion struck as I noticed a flowered bra duct-taped to the kitchen wall. Despite the chaos, I caught the eye of a beautiful man standing in the walkway—tall, dark and delicious. Big brown eyes, flawless smile, nice forearms. I wasn’t thrilled with his outfit choice, but hey, you can’t have everything. He had graduated two years before me, but I knew who he was. I gave him the old “come hither” look, grabbed my cup and walked back into the living room. Later on in the night, after many flirtatious gestures, he approached me asking if I wanted to be his partner in a game. I said, “Sure, why not? The night has just started.”
Well, I was in fact correct that the night had just started because it continued until 7:30 the next morning, without a happy ending—yes, pun intended. After he had indulged in red wine—a lot of red wine, we talked in the kitchen until the sun had breached the blinds. He suggested that we go upstairs, and I agreed. We were greeted by the sound of hummingbirds singing through the window screen. The mood had been set.
One thing led to another and the room soon turned into one of those “priceless” Mastercard commercials. Shirt: $40. Jeans: $50. Underwear: $15. Finding them on the floor: priceless. We had more or less redecorated the room with various layers of clothing. Things appeared to be going well: I had no complaints, and I’m certain he didn’t either. His belt buckle unhitched and nicely added to the decor of the room. Considering the heated foreplay, I assumed I didn’t have much work cut out for me, but I was wrong. I didn’t mind though, no big deal.
15 minutes later, the hardest thing in that room was still the bedside table.
“Well, that’s embarrassing,” he said as I awkwardly rolled over, desperate for Peter Funt to shine a light on me and sing that silly “you’re on candid camera” jingle. All I could think was, “All right, guys! You got me! Where are the cameras, flashing lights and guys with headphones?!” Bob Barker wasn’t in the background sweetly saying, “Sorry Sam, but the price is not right.” There were no cameras, no “AHA! I gotcha!,” no flashing lights (except maybe the big red one glaring at me from below his belt). Considering lack of protocol, I was baffled; this had never happened before. If there were a comments/suggestions box hanging outside my door, there wouldn’t be any complaints about my performance on certain jobs.
That’s not the worst part. Waking up a few hours later could quite have been a much more horrifying experience.
“Okay, I should head out…” he said, his eyes wandering, avoiding eye contact. He went in for the hug and last-minute kiss, resulting with a full hug, half-side lip kiss; it was a painful, pitiful display.
Needless to say, I haven’t seen him since. We exchanged a few awkward texts over the next few weeks, but that faded. That doesn’t mean I haven’t experienced round two of the “True Life: He Can’t Get it Up” sort of night. Except the next time, I looked down, called it a day and went to bed.
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Samantha Brucker is a freshman journalism major who wants to be a spokeswoman for Viagra. E-mail her at sbrucke1@ithaca.edu.
