One night in mid-May, a pretty ridiculous triple whammy of celebration found itself getting embodied into one party in Long Island. My band at the time had just finished the first version of our debut album, our guitarist was celebrating his 21st birthday, and he and the rest of the student body of Five Towns College alike were celebrating the end of their semester into the summer. To say that our guitarist (we’ll refer to as “Sonic”) threw a party for the books is to say that The Pope might be religious.
The night started off fairly routine. There was a small number of us collected after we’d made our trip to the liquor store and stocked up on the essentials. Our bassist (we’ll refer to as “Zoolander”) started the night making drinks for everyone and playing bartender. As we were all standing around the kitchen, in walked the first reasonably attractive girl of the night. She had fairly short brunette hair and a tall, slim, athletic figure. I’ll take it.
At the time, I was your standard 21-year-old guy in a band. I had just fallen out of an on again/off again relationship with someone that spanned over 3 years, and I wasn’t looking for anything too serious at all, nor was I looking to spend a lot of time looking for whatever it was. In a nutshell, I would’ve banged anything with a pulse and a pretty face. Not my finest summer, but it did provide a few good stories.
So, it was settled, I was going for the gazelle. Let the games begin…
The party filled up fairly quickly with some familiar and unfamiliar faces alike, all in good spirits. I blacked out pretty quick and I don’t remember much of the actual party itself besides my usual shitshow checklist, singalongs included, but I do remember chasing the cute brunette around for the majority of the night. I know that I wasn’t the only one in pursuit, so I more than likely became overcome by the need to pass out and gave up, assuming the other guy had been more successful. You win this round, my worthy adversary, but not next time.
The general rule of any Sonic party at that apartment was that, if you were crashing for the night, you pretty much slept wherever you fell. The mornings were usually pretty comical situations. I’d usually be the earliest one to wake up, dehydrated and devoid of rational thought. I’d stumble out into the living room to the battle ground to find all of my fallen friends who lay defeated by the previous night’s decision making. I’d walk through them to the kitchen, where I’d struggle to find a plastic cup to fill with sink water, guzzle it like I’d just spent 3 days in the Sahara, then repeat the process until I was able to think again.
On this particular morning, I woke up on Sonic’s bedroom floor, where I’d passed out early. I struggled to stand up and walk out into the living room, expecting to see a graveyard. Instead, what I found, to my surprise, were the cute brunette and 2 of her sorority sisters scattered between the couch and 2 sleeping bags on the floor. I walked through the sleeping bags to the kitchen, part-took in my usual morning ritual of post-party hydration, and then came back out to the living room. The brunette woke up, took a look at me, we nodded at each other, and then I climbed into the sleeping bag with her. Well, that was easy.
Now, keep in mind, her two sorority sisters are asleep in the same room, one of them just inches from our feet. Like I said, I was your typical 21-year-old lead singer. In retrospect, some privacy would’ve been nice.
Gory details aside, shit happens. This particular morning was not my reasoning for writing this story, but rather lays the ground work for what happened later.
I kept in touch with her after that, and she became a frequenter of many of our shows over the course of the next several weeks. We hooked up a couple of times, but nothing too crazy, until she decided to drive out to Westchester one night and stay overnight with me after a show. I was hesitant to the idea, because over the course of this time I’d realized that she had the IQ of a bowl of mac and cheese. I also was picking up heavy, “I want you be your exclusive girlfriend.” type behavior and commentary from her, to which I was always honest and clear that I wasn’t looking for that right now. Again, not my proudest summer.
Somehow, I caved and let nature take over. She drove out to see us at the show with a friend, hung with us for most of the night, then came back to my place with said friend where they had a few beers with Zoolander and I before he gave me the, “Oh, I can already tell this is going to get ugly.” look and respectfully made his exit.
We left the friend on the couch, where she’d remain for the night, and made our way to the bedroom. The sex wasn’t anything too special, in fact it almost seemed like she was trying too hard to seem like a dirty girl, when I could easily tell she was anything but. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love me some good dirty talk, but not when it’s forced. Couple that with the fact that I knew subconsciously that this event was going to lead to some inevitable awkwardness over the coming weeks because this girl wanted this to blossom into a relationship, and I just couldn’t get into it. So, I did what any reasonable man would do in that situation: I faked it.
Now, it was dark in the room, so when I pulled out and went to go take the condom off, I was surprised to find nothing there. I immediately started feeling around, trying to see if maybe it had come off on the exit and had fallen onto the sheets. Nothing. I asked her to check herself to see if it was still at the entry point. Nothing. What the hell?
Oh well. I was drunk, physically exhausted post-performance, and not about to go on a search to find this damn thing in the dark. If it wasn’t in the worst possible place, I’d find it sooner or later. So, we went to sleep and forgot about it.
She woke me up in the middle of the night to do it again. As with the previous session, I was just having trouble getting into with this girl, so when I felt the condom break, I used that as an excuse to stop and go back to sleep. She’d gotten what she wanted, now I wanted to go back to bed.
The next morning, of course, held the usual awkwardness. I felt particularly bad for her friend, who had to sit on the couch in the next room listening to her “little” turn into the dirty-talking thing that she did. I took them both out to brunch at the pub down the block and they left around noon to drive back to Long Island. That day was the Dobbs Ferry bar crawl, so needless to say I quickly forgot about the previous night and part took in some festive day drinking.
We kept in touch over the next couple of weeks, but I was trying to distance myself and continued to make it very clear that I was not looking for a relationship.
About two and a half weeks later, I was grabbing dinner at the pub down the street and having a pint. I got a text message from The Gazelle asking how I was. We went back and forth for a little bit, the usual bullshit small talk, until she told me she had a question for me and I received the following text:
“I just wnted to kno if u ever found that condom.”
My heart stopped.
I had to pause for a second and reread what she had just sent. I was thinking to myself, “Condom? What condom? I don’t… Oh. Oh no.”
My first thought was that she was pregnant and that she’d missed her period. I needed confirmation of this, and was not about to find this kind of information out without hearing her demeanor over the phone. So, I quickly took my last bite of food, downed my beer, paid my tab, and ran up the block to my place to call her.
When I got her on the phone, she seemed unusually calm. I could tell she was with friends and couldn’t say much, but when I asked her if she was pregnant she said no and that was she was on birth control. Well, that would’ve been nice information to know earlier.
I asked her why she was asking me and she just kept telling me that she was just wondering. I insisted that you don’t just randomly text someone two weeks later to ask if they’d found a prophylactic lying around anywhere unless…
“Well, I kind of found it.” she said, confirming what I had just realized.
I almost vomited just thinking about it. She had a condom up there. For two weeks. Unnoticed.
She couldn’t go into further detail because she was with her friends, and as we hung up with each other, I was left with a horribly vague picture of what had occurred, and more-so a lot of unanswered questions, which would never be answered.
How did she not notice it was up there for so long?
How did she not get sick from the chemicals of the condom being in her system for so long?
More importantly, HOW THE HELL DID SHE EVENTUALLY FIND IT!? Was she at her gynecologist’s office and he started pulling old condoms out of her vagina like clowns pull those long continuous cloth ties out of their mouths? Was she with another guy and he went in without a condom and came out wearing one? How does this happen!?
This story has become somewhat of a cause for debate among my female friends. Many argue that it could never happen to them because they’d notice. Others believe it’s possible to not notice something up there for so long, and that they barely notice when they have tampons in. Either way, I’m not sure of what the necessity of me being informed about this whole thing was, especially long after the fact.
Moral of the story: no more sorority girls.
Excuse me, I need to go shower now after telling that.