Sex and the Smithie: House booty not always bad booty
Issue date: 11/12/09 Section: Opinions
I don't remember much from my first week at Smith College.
Tom Riddell told us not to be afraid: He isn't Voldemort. The Green Team showed stats that made me wish I had walked the 30-hour trip to Smith College. President Carol Christ, adorned in a pantsuit, welcomed our class to the community. And I listened to a spattering of rules. Rules, rules, rules for five days.
I only remember one of those rules. Heads of new students, house presidents and folks on the streets of Northampton drilled five simple words into my head. The mantra haunted my nightmares - "House booty is bad booty."
Oh, please. That won't be a problem. I'm at Smith College; there are plenty of new buildings to explore, Main Street shops to pop in, campus gatherings to attend. The last thing I need is a woman on my mind. No, ma'am. No women for me. Smooth sailing.
FAIL. Two weeks into classes, and my eyes start to wander away from my friend's face to other, more "interesting" areas. It's bad enough crushing on a friend. It's worse when she lives around the hall from you and happens to also be attracted to women. I tried to listen to the wise ones who had gone before me, but the call of Jane (all names are fake) was too strong.
So we hooked up. And we hooked up. And we hooked up some more. I thought it would be a one-time deal, but when you live 10 feet from someone and you've both finished your homework and caught up on TV shows, and your roommate consistently comes home at 2 a.m., what the hell else are you supposed to do? The cycle is difficult to break.
Just when the situation started to normalize with Jane, Natalie on the floor above me caught my eye. I got that old-fashioned romantic feeling where I'd do anything to sleep with her. Sad, but true. I was a ball of estrogen. It was as if I had no power. I feared I would have to ask Smith College insurance to pay for my broken neck for the amount of times I had uncontrollably twisted my head to do a double-take of a beautiful lady. But Natalie seemed pretty untouchable. She's a self-proclaimed male lover. Last year at this time, the sight of two Smithies kissing made her cringe. So I shrugged off my feelings.
Tom Riddell told us not to be afraid: He isn't Voldemort. The Green Team showed stats that made me wish I had walked the 30-hour trip to Smith College. President Carol Christ, adorned in a pantsuit, welcomed our class to the community. And I listened to a spattering of rules. Rules, rules, rules for five days.
I only remember one of those rules. Heads of new students, house presidents and folks on the streets of Northampton drilled five simple words into my head. The mantra haunted my nightmares - "House booty is bad booty."
Oh, please. That won't be a problem. I'm at Smith College; there are plenty of new buildings to explore, Main Street shops to pop in, campus gatherings to attend. The last thing I need is a woman on my mind. No, ma'am. No women for me. Smooth sailing.
FAIL. Two weeks into classes, and my eyes start to wander away from my friend's face to other, more "interesting" areas. It's bad enough crushing on a friend. It's worse when she lives around the hall from you and happens to also be attracted to women. I tried to listen to the wise ones who had gone before me, but the call of Jane (all names are fake) was too strong.
So we hooked up. And we hooked up. And we hooked up some more. I thought it would be a one-time deal, but when you live 10 feet from someone and you've both finished your homework and caught up on TV shows, and your roommate consistently comes home at 2 a.m., what the hell else are you supposed to do? The cycle is difficult to break.
Just when the situation started to normalize with Jane, Natalie on the floor above me caught my eye. I got that old-fashioned romantic feeling where I'd do anything to sleep with her. Sad, but true. I was a ball of estrogen. It was as if I had no power. I feared I would have to ask Smith College insurance to pay for my broken neck for the amount of times I had uncontrollably twisted my head to do a double-take of a beautiful lady. But Natalie seemed pretty untouchable. She's a self-proclaimed male lover. Last year at this time, the sight of two Smithies kissing made her cringe. So I shrugged off my feelings.
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