KC and Kate Plus 8

            Nothing makes two sisters in college happier than free beer on Ladies' Night at the bar or living next door to eight cute college boys. 

            Which is exactly where Kate and I found ourselves the summer before my senior year of college.  She had just turned twenty-one and we had moved into a house with our friends Jes and Jen. 

            The day after we moved in, Kate and I noticed two U-Haul vans outside the house next door.  Then we saw the reason for the moving vans.  Standing there in the early light of a fall morning were eight boys wearing Lame-bercombie & Fitch shirts, cargo shorts, and aviator sunglasses.  My heart went pitter-patter and my naughties started tingling.

            Immediately, I called my boyfriend Mickey and broke up with him. 

            Joking.  That would come a few weeks later.

            Kate and I camped out in our driveway all day, chain smoking, drinking beer, and drooling while we watched the eight boys unload their cars, trucks, and the moving vans.  Their muscles flexed and sweat rolled off their backs. 

            Apparently our roommates were too busy being pacifying and servicing their lame ass boyfriends to pay any attention to the hot pieces of ass that had moved in.  I mean, I had a boyfriend too, but that didn't stop me from fantasizing.  Kate and I were like two bitches in heat, worked up and crazy for some new meat.

            This new meat was also the source of one of my more embarrassing sexual exploits to date.

            Although I can't recall all of their names now, I do remember Mike, Erik, Russ, Dan, and Rex.  Rex lived upstairs with three other boys, and the other four lived downstairs.  Their house was set up like a duplex, so each apartment had separate entrances.  There was a large deck on the front, decorated with a beer pong table and an extremely comfortable couch. 

            We preferred the company of the downstairs boys.  Russ was a cool guy, but he had a weird haircut that resembled a mullet.  His rich parents lived just outside of town in a huge house on Lake Winnebago, so it was nice to have that connection.  And Dan was a weirdo.  He preferred to play computer games rather than socialize and I'm fairly certain he's probably a serial killer by now.  And Rex was a charming ladies man who had a big dong, snorted cocaine, and could probably even convince a nun to sleep with him.

            Out of all eight boys, Mike and Erik were our favorite, even though they both wanted to have sex with us (preferably together; most guys we met in college had a Kelly sister fantasy).  But to us they always just seemed like boys who had our backs.  They looked out for us at the bars if some douche was hitting on us, and when some asshole stole all my CDs out of my car while I was at class, they went around the neighborhood knocking on doors and ruffling some feathers. 

            Despite how awesome they were, both Mike and Erik had the maturity of an eight-year old boy.  Put them together and they were sixteen.  An extremely horny sixteen.  I told them time and again I was spoken for (unfortunately), but they still tried relentlessly to get me to sleep with them, or at the very least, give them head.  They refused to believe I had a boyfriend though; they thought I was making it up because they couldn't believe I didn't want to blow them.

            We wasted no time in welcoming these boys to the neighborhood, Kate especially.  I'm fairly certain the first night we met them, she dry humped one of the boys until they were both chafed from rubbing their blue jeans together.  I, on the other hand, simply flirted and kissed a couple of the boys on the cheek before I felt a small pang of guilt and then called Mickey after I stumbled all of fifty feet home.  Not guilty enough to stop me from returning to their house after I made my obligatory call to the BF though.

            "If you have a boyfriend, how come we never see him?" Mike asked one day.

            "Trust me, I've invited him over here several times and he's never agreed to it," I said.  Mickey was extremely jealous that I lived next door to eight boys, and he lived with three computer nerds.  As much as I tried to convince Mickey they were just my friends and I had no interest in any of them sexually (not completely true), he wouldn't believe me.  I'm not even sure I believed me.

            "If you don't believe me, maybe you should accept one of their house party invites," I told Mickey after he argued that I spend too much time there and he was worried I'd break up with him.  I told him he had nothing to worry about and if he would just come over and meet the guys, he would see that too. 

            The night he finally met the boys, he made a complete fool of himself.  He drank far too much Smirnoff Ice, almost fell into the fire pit, and puked on himself in the backyard. 

            That in itself seems embarrassing, but this all happened after he proclaimed loudly during a conversation over a game of cards that he knew everything there was to know about Lord of the Rings and admitted he had only had sex with two girls in his whole life (me being the second) and I was the only one who had ever given him head. 

            FML.

            No one was impressed, especially not me.  I felt like I was the parent of a special needs child.  The boys looked at Mickey as if he had ridden the short bus to the house party.  And Mickey looked at us like he was the coolest cat on the block.

            "Your boyfriend is a douche," Mike said as he stood next to me on the porch a few minutes later.  I chain smoked while we watched Mickey fumble for the zipper on his jeans to take a piss in the bushes.  Instead, he fell face first into the hedge that separated our yards.  To this day, I have no idea how he got home.

            "Tell me about it. I mean, he's usually like this, but I thought alcohol would make him more fun.  Guess I was wrong," I replied.  I was irate that Mickey had embarrassed me in front of my boy friends.  He was so much fun when he was with his friends, probably because his friends were huge dorks like he was, but when he was with my friends (who have always been way cooler than his), he was jealous, territorial, and downright moronic, magnified a thousand times with just a few drops of alcohol. 

            Mickey was right about one thing though; I did break up with him but only because when he wasn't acting like a complete asshat, he was acting like a jealous girlfriend and I was fed up.  So, I dumped Mickey the next morning after the party.  He begged me not to, but I told him I didn't want to be a babysitter anymore.  He acted more foolish at a party than Anna Nicole Smith, and we all know how that ended. 

            Once I was single again, I'll admit I started to look at a few of the boys differently.  I contemplated taking Mike up on his many offers for him to show me his Polish sausage, but something always held me back.  Every time I had a great opportunity to kiss him, he would get a tiny bit of white foam in the corners of his mouth.  Unfortunate too because despite his being about fifty pounds overweight, he was a really cute and fun boy.  I was attracted to him; I just couldn't get past the corners of his mouth.  I could never figure out the source either; perhaps he had cotton chops from smoking too much weed, or on the other end of the spectrum, perhaps he just salivated excessively.  Either way, nothing made my sheboner shrink more than seeing the frothy corners of his lips.  Well, that and his pancake sized nipples.  We would just have to remain friends.

            About a month after classes had started, Mike and Erik informed me they were having another yard party before the weather got too cold.  The party wasn't until later in the evening, but we were welcome to come over early Saturday if we wanted. 

            And that's exactly what we did.  We had driven with the boys to Jordy's Liquor to stock up on kegs (which we never pitched in for), and headed to the grocery store to stock up on food, (which we also never paid for).  Gracing the eight boys with our presence was present enough.

            By four o'clock, I was a bit drunk.  We had played a nice afternoon session of beer pong (the Kelly sisters won), and I had even done a keg stand as practice for later that night.  And the party hadn't even started yet.  Luckily I was on a thirty day drinking binge at that point, and I made a promise I would never get completely sober because if I did, I would have an epic hangover and would most likely fail all my classes and life itself.  As long as I had some trace of alcohol in my system, I was good to go.

            By seven o'clock, most of our friends had shown up and the house was packed with people.  I had consumed my fair share of alcohol, so some things between the hours of seven and midnight are a little fuzzy.  I do remember being in a kiddie pool filled with chocolate pudding, cutting lemons, dousing them with sugar and alcohol and then lighting the lemons and shot glasses on fire before downing them, and taking off my top several times throughout the night.  But that seemed to happen at every party, so I can't really be sure.

            By 4 o'clock the following morning, the party had ended.  Everyone had either walked back to their respective college residences or had passed out in the house.  I was looking around the house for Kate so we could walk across the yard back to our house for the night when I caught her coming out of the bathroom.

            "Are you ready to go home?"  I asked her, yawning.  My buzz had definitely worn off and I needed a few hours of sleep before I woke up to the smell of my morning mimosa.

            "Um, I'm actually going to spend the night with Rex upstairs," she informed me.  I was both happy and nervous for her at the same time.  Rex was a nice guy, but he changed vaginas more often than he changed boxers.

            "Make sure he wears a condom and you soak in bleach afterwards.  Who knows how many human holes he's pocked," I half-joked.  Kate laughed and assured me she would make him wrap it up.

            "Also, if you see white powder anywhere, it is not powdered sugar.  And don't get roofied," I said to her.  Rex used drugs recreationally and was usually polite enough to hide his stash, but anything can happen at a party.

            "Noted."

            I said goodnight to her and walked outside onto the porch.  I was so exhausted I could almost hear my bed (read: futon) calling my name.

            "Hey! Where you goin'?" I heard someone ask me, and I almost pissed myself.

            "Holy shit Erik! I didn't know you were sitting out here," I said, taking a seat next to him on the couch.  I was exhausted so I put my legs in his lap and stretched out on the couch.

            Erik handed me his pipe and I accepted.  It had been a while since I had gotten high, and since one buzz was wearing off, why not start another?

            "I was going to go home, but I guess not," I giggled, exhaling.

            "You can sleep in my room if you want," he offered.  I handed him the pipe, and contemplated his offer.  I had never considered Erik as a sexual acquisition before.  He was tall, had just buzzed his hair short, and had a smile that could rival Brad Pitt.  I guess he was pretty cute.  I could see myself messing around with him, but I wasn't sure I wanted him to audition for a recurring roll in my vagina just yet. 

            "And sleep where?  On the couch next to your serial killer roommate who passed out there not ten feet from his room?  Or how about upstairs where I could hear my sister getting Rexed," I joked.

            "She's upstairs with Rex?" he asked, laughing. 

            "Yup."

            "Right on."

            Spoken like true potheads.

            We sat in silence for a few more minutes before I lit another cigarette.  No matter how tired I was I was actually pretty content.

            "We could sleep out here Erik.  It's gorgeous out here," I said, sitting up and cuddling him for warmth.  The temperature was cool enough to be fall, but warm enough to still be summer.

            "We could...or, we could go into my room, stay high, and watch Salute Your Shorts," Erik suggested.

            My world came to a screeching halt.  He wanted to take me into his bedroom, smoke weed, and watch Salute Your mother freakin' Shorts?

            Hellz to the yes!

            Rewind about ten years and picture me as an awkward tomboy again, watching Snick on Nickelodeon on Saturday nights.  One of my favorite shows, besides The Adventures of Pete & Pete was Salute Your Shorts.  For those of you not familiar with the show, it's a comedy that takes place at a summer camp called Camp Anawanna.  A common prank the campers play on each other is stealing a boy's boxer shorts and raising them up a flagpole.  The show also had an eclectic variety of characters, including a morbidly obese kid called Donkeylips. 

            I loved the show because I never went to summer camp, and knew there was no chance I would, so I lived vicariously through the campers on screen.  Although the show was only on for two seasons, I feel that it's one of the greatest shows ever produced.

            "You had me at salute."

            What made this one of my more embarrassing sexcapades wasn't that Erik and I got frisky with each other on the porch before we went inside and the scene we made could have been considered soft porn.  It wasn't even that I had crawled into Erik's bed when his bedroom smelled like a prison and looked as if a tornado had struck a locker room, tossing clothes, underwear, and paper everywhere.  It wasn't even that the sun had already come up and I had been awake for twenty-four hours and sober from alcohol for about two hours.

            It was that I gave him a hand job while he finger banged me at the same time we both watched Donkeylips try to win a wrestling tournament so he could get a free lobster dinner in the eighth episode of the first season. 

           

            During the walk of shame back home with Kate the next morning, we exchanged words about our sexcapades with the boys next door.

            "I got finger banged last night," I said to Kate.

            "Me too," she replied.

            "I gave a Erik a hand job while watching Salute Your Shorts."

            "I gave Rex a blow job while he watched Sportscenter."

            "We're fucking idiots."

            "Wait, Erik has Salute Your Shorts on DVD?"

            "Yup."

            "Awesome."

           

            I broke three personal rules that night.

            #1: No hand jobs after the age of 18. I was an adult now, and adults give head, have sex, or take it in the arse.

            #2: No finger banging after the age of 18.  See above.

            #3: Never sober up.  Not completely anyway.

            Because I had done all three in one night, I was officially mortified and ashamed of myself.  The only consolation was that Erik had splooged his shorts while watching Salute Your Shorts, and nothing is more embarrassing than that.