By RUTH M.
I’ve been described as a “sober drunk;” calm, reasonable and generally able to function, just as I am when actually sober. Although my outside persona does not change that much with intoxication, my sexual tastes become those that my sober self would cringe at. Lately, my drunken sexual obsession has been having a threesome. The only detail I have worked out is that is has to be with a guy and another girl, because one of my friends has already done it with two guys and her only feedback was: “Getting Eiffel-Towered isn’t as fun as you’d think,” (I didn’t really think it would be fun to begin with, so clearly the devil’s three way is not for me). Other than that, I have fluctuated between wanting to do it with strangers, friends or a combination.
This fascination with the ménage à trois initiated innocently enough at the beginning of this past summer as my go-to “never have I ever” statement: “Never have I ever had a threesome.” This one usually sparked a debate about who in the group was lying about having one, what each person preferred and a few sips later me admitting how much I want to have one (cue the awkward, yet hopeful jokes made by guys in the room). After my drunken self was comfortable telling a room of acquaintances what I wanted to do, I was ready to tell a guy I was sleeping with.
A typical night with my third-favorite fuck buddy (we’ll call him Doug) started out normally enough: We started to pregame, had sex and then went out, planning on having sex later. Once we were out and he chivalrously drowned me in vodka cranberries, I told him about my fantasy, and once he realized I wasn’t kidding, the game was on. We briefly worked out the logistics: I should approach the girl so we can see if she’s even remotely into girls, and I could pick the girl so that I could make sure she wasn’t prettier than me (and Doug was so overwhelmed with glee at the thought of this sexual adventure that he would settle for anything with a vagina anyway).
We took laps around the bar until I picked out a cute-but-not-too-cute girl. This is when I realized that I had absolutely no idea how to pick up a girl. I was more nervous than a pimply 16 year old asking a girl to prom at her locker. I was more awkward than the guy at camp in seventh grade that tried to hold my hand at the campfire. What should I say? “Hi I like your face?” Do I offer to buy her a drink? How do I let her know that I am not, in fact, a lesbian or interested in women, but have this drunken fascination of four boobs and a penis, and said penis was lurking behind me? Maybe I should just be straightforward and ask her to come home with us, but that sounded just as sketchy as asking a kid to help me find my puppy in the back of my white painter’s van. Ultimately, I backed out. In that moment, I had a little bit of respect for every guy that has ever hit on me; at least they were brave enough to do it. However, I had even more respect for women who are legitimately interested in other women. How do lesbians find each other without social media or Tinder? I have no idea how to tell if a girl is into other girls just by looking at her, and it must be terrifying to go after your first girl. Kudos to you, lesbians; I couldn’t even handle flirting with a girl of unknown sexual orientation for one night.
My friend and I went home and had regular one-boy-one-girl sex, but I couldn’t help but think about how different it would be if another girl were there. I could definitely kiss another girl if I was drunk enough, but what else was I expected to do? I guess I could touch her boobs … I have a tendency to soberly do that to my friends anyway. But the vagina? Although I have utmost respect for my own lady parts, I can’t help but picture a vagina as a slimy dark hole of smelly fear. Conclusively, there are two reasonable solutions to this problem: I get drunk enough to play with someone else’s lady parts, or I move on to another drunken fantasy. In the case of the former, I’ll see you at Dunbars, ladies, and in the case of the latter … stay tuned for another column.
Ruth M. is a senior in the College of Industrial and Labor Relations. She can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. I’m Just Gonna Shake It appears on alternate Thursdays this semester.