While searching through the abyss of my deep, dark past, my classiest night fell on the
evening of my high school senior formal. Unexpected, right? But you’d be surprised at teenagers’ classiness (or lack thereof) these days.
My county has a formal dance known as the Red and Whites Ball, in which the girls ask the guys in one cutesy way or another. A month in advance, I left a candy-cane and note on my date’s windshield – a tasty and sexy treat alluding to the night to come.
On the night of, my girlfriends and I got together to make sure we looked sexy enough for the occasion. The room smelt of burnt hair and Dolce and Gabbana’s Light Blue, and was hot with steam from the shower and air from the blow dryer. I pulled on my one-shouldered black velvet cocktail dress that just barely covered my ass, and strapped on my four-inch gold high heels.
We made our big entrance to take photos and smiled until our mouths were numb, then drove to the venue. And after we rushed inside to take our Breathalyzer test, we spent a few awkward hours dancing in sweaty circles with our girlfriends, while our dates and other boys tried to grind from behind. Around 11 p.m. the doors opened around and we quickly left the dance with excitement, anticipating a night full of inebriated “X-Rated” fun.
Back at the after-party house, I ripped off my high heels, downed a couple of shots and immediately found my on-again-off-again hookup. And following every teen movie, we started hooking up in various locations of the house. A few hours went by and we eventually decided to move our foreplay to the empty kitchen — very Gossip Girl.
We continued making out — our hands drunkenly re-exploring each other’s bodies — hungry after too much cheap liquor and a few weeks off.
As things became progressively steamy, I got down on my knees and leaned in for the next step: The jimmy haha, the mouth-hug, the blowjob.
I opened my mouth and prepared to fill it with some seven-inch man meat, but right then, the door to the kitchen swung open and we spun around. What a drunken surprise when we were reminded that we weren’t the only two people in the house! Two of our friends (one being my actual date to the formal) started shouting and laughing, whipping my sex partner with their ties as he quickly zipped up his pants.
Mortified, I dashed into the living room and pounced on my passed-out best friend. I buried my face into her peacefully unconscious body and I felt intense humiliation, however, with it came a hint of swag. But more importantly, I felt like I had broken some rules, done some damage and, almost, gone down in history.