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Girls Gone Wild Blog

My Summer As A Slut: 18 Years Old & Fresh Out Of High School

My Summer As A Slut

 

I was 18 years old — fresh out of high school and freshly enraged. I had been rejected by my dream school, University of Florida, and left with one measly safety school in bumblefuck New York State. Skidmore College, or Skidmark as I like to say, was one of those schools I applied to in order to pacify my mother just in case. Never in a million years did I think I, South Jersey’s star field hockey player with a two-year Homecoming Queen streak, would wind up REJECTED by every desirable university on the East Coast and stuck in a college named after shit stained underwear. No tier-one campus, no tier-one football team, no tier-one tailgate parties and, most devastating of all, no tier-one male athletes. Instead, I would have to come to terms with my fate as one of Skidmark’s 2,500 Big Ten rejects and pasty Tri-State misfits. Top it all off , my boyfriend of two years dumped me when he got into the University of Florida and I didn’t. Fuck the Gators! Once I realized the past two years of my relationship were complete bullshit and the foreseeable four years of my life would be a total joke, I knew I had to do something severe. Here are a few diary entries from my summer as a slut…READ MORE

 

June 1, 2007: I want to kill myself! Death would be better than Skidmore. Jason dumped me and my parents still have sex. What did I do to deserve this???? All I want to do is beat the shit out of every person and/or institution that has fucked me over! I am not leaving my room the rest of the summer.


June 8, 2007:
 I haven’t kept my vow. I went downstairs for dinner two nights ago. Not because I wanted to see my family. I was starving. Literally. After passing out on my bathroom floor for anywhere between one and six hours, I decided I needed to go downstairs to gather food, water and other necessary provisions. I refuse to speak to anyone I know, so I’ve taken to MySpace. Typing to pathetic strangers online is defi nitely better than speaking with people who like their lives. Mainly I correspond with guys who tell me how hot I am and how desperately they want to fuck me. And it’s starting to sound… not bad.

June 15, 2007: I fucked a MySpace guy last weekend! I blew another one on Wednesday. The first is a staple in the South Jersey emo/ska scene. He plays bass, wears mascara and paints three fingernails with black polish. I don’t get it… but I fucked him anyways on the dirty carpet of his band’s van. They’re called The Bleeding Kittens. His make-up ran and when he came he let out a whiney moan that sounded a lot like his solo in “Pills and Pillows.” The other guy plays tambourine in The Bleeding Kittens.I felt sorry for his pathetic instrument(s) and after learning of the bassist’s inflated ego thought it would be an ironic twist for their next single. I think my hibernation is over.

 

June 29, 2007: A couple of girls on the field hockey team decided to seize their parents’ beach houses in Long Beach Island for a final team “hurrah!” I thought it would be a good opportunity to get drunk and deny any responsibility for my actions. After being the loyal girlfriend for two years, I think I’ve earned myself a few wild nights that I can blame solely on alcohol. We got here three days ago, just in time for Pearl Jam’s summer tour. We pre-gamed pretty hard and by the time we reached our grass seats I had flashed a group of preteens, as well as my middle school art teacher. These college-girl boobs will never look
better so why not share ‘em with the world? I woke up at 4 am in a shrunken retard school bus in the concert parking lot. An old man (in his 30s), was spooning me with one hand over each of my tits, holding the nipples like they were a couple of furniture screws. I collected my clothes as swiftly and silently as possible in hopes of getting off the bus before my alleged molester stirred. As I hooked my bra I puked all over his beer belly, but he never stirred.

 

July 4, 2007: The past few weeks have been a shit show. In under a month I’ve quadrupled my number of sexual partners and vomited nineteen times (two personal records). I’ve never felt worse… but I don’t care enough to feel better. I think I’ll take it easy tonight at the fireworks.

 

July 5, 2007: I went to the beach to see the fireworks with an “I’m going to stay sober” attitude and left without any underwear. Within the first twenty minutes of being sober in a social setting, I became completely invisible. The majority of my fi eld hockey friends have guys and the rest are big dykes. I left to take a walk on the beach and stumbled upon another Fourth of July party. A guy off ered me a red Solo cup and invited me to take part in the festivities. They were home from college just “ready to party, bro.” After a few stiff drinks I was sitting amongst a group of good-looking college athletes… the 6’2” type
I will never find at Skidmark. I’m not sure exactly how it happened, but I remember drunkenly looking around and thinking, “I need to make this last as long as possible.” I ended up dancing naked for a dozen rowdy dudes and giving some guy head while he played poker. The night ended with me on my friend’s front lawn wearing an inside out and backwards skirt, sans panties.

 

July 18, 2007: I got home from Long Beach Island a little over a week ago. First, I took a scalding hot shower until the wrinkled skin on my palms began to peel off . Afterwards I went on MySpace and made plans to go see The Bleeding Kittens in concert. I gave the whiney bassist a hand job in the bathroom and then fucked the drummer backstage after the show. The Bleeding Kittens announced their breakup yesterday.

 

August 3, 2007: I got a fake ID for college, in case anything exciting ever happens atSkidmark, and decided to give it a go last weekend. I went to a local townie bar with one of the closeted fi eld hockey dykes. She was meeting a fellow “sexually confused” woman who happened to have three children… and a husband. Evidently MySpace caters to lesbian teens as well. They hit it off , leaving me to test the limits of my ID. I got smashed with the bartender. He closed the bar and invited me back to his place. Since my reliable lesbian had left me, I graciously accepted. After all, he seemed like a catch! We started having sex, but something was off. He was blinking furiously, but I let it go. When he started barking, I decided it was worth mentioning. I asked what the fuck was wrong with him. He said he had Tourette’s Syndrome. Then he barked again. Once he fell asleep, I collected my things and quickly dressed. I was almost out the door when his eyes popped open. I apologized. He blinked twice.

 

 

August 30, 2007: My parents dropped me at Skidmark about a week ago. Since I’ve been here, I’ve stopped being such a slut. After I gave my high school’s assistant football
coach a rim job on the 40- yard line, I started thinking. The only reason I gave so much head and screwed all those losers was because I felt like shit. Everyone and everything that mattered blew up in my face, so for two months I treated myself as badly as I felt. In retrospect, I know I shouldn’t have slept with a middle-aged man on a Special Ed school bus — or an entire band — but I have no regrets. All anger got me was more anger. And one brief bout of scabies.

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