Back on campus I make a slow crawl back to my dorm, keeping my foot ready on the brake. Sure enough, a drunk girl in a bodycon dress steps into the street ten feet from my car. A gaggle of slightly less drunk girls all reaching to snatch her back onto the sidewalk.
Typical Sunday night during the fall semester. Everyone is still reconnecting after the summer; freshmen are getting their first taste of freedom, and I get to watch it all unfold from thesafety of my car. It’s like a theme park attraction I can’t stop riding.
I park my car without any further incidents. Instead of going right to my room I do a load of laundry; the basement laundry room is dead on a Sunday night. I pause to jot down some notes on my phone in preparation for the inevitable essay I’ll have to write.
While I adjust my rankings of Dantés unhinged escapades, my phone buzzes with a text.
You back on campus?
Terrence has been my roommate since freshman year. Random assignment, but it worked out. We initially bonded over my having a car to drive him and the hockey team to parties on other campuses. Since we were already spending time together, we actually got to know each other. We talked about our majors, our sports, even Terrence’s freshman girlfriend.
Yes, dear. Home safe and sound.
We need the Rod. Get to Pi Ro house now.
By the end of freshman year, Terrence had changed majors, the hockey team ended the season 4-30, his girlfriend had broken his heart, and I adopted a defenseman best friend. We’ve both seen each other cry too much to not be best friends.
*Phi Rho
And I’m beat. Going to enjoy an empty room.
??
I’ve already decided I’m staying in for the night. A collageof hockey and band posters greet me back at the room. We’re not fans of blank wall space. I settle into bed but find myself scrolling through poundr. I roll my eyes hard enough my whole head does a single loop as I come across a familiar profile. The same guy has made three different accounts in the past two years. It might go unnoticed in a big city but out here the dating pool is pretty shallow.
Right on cue, Terrence stumbles into our dorm room. Honey-blond locks curl on the edges of his baseball cap. His face is flush from overzealous kegstands. Or maybe a few too many brewskis.
“The bald guy is back on poundr,” I whine.
Terrence, bless him, squints his eyes and gets close and personal with my phone screen. “Is that baby oil on his head?”
I snort, pulling the phone back before he sees something he shouldn’t. I swipe left, delighted when a profile with the always enticing “new to your area” pops up on my screen.
“Seriously…” Terrence grumbles against my torso, halfway crawled into my twin bed. “How he get his head so shiny?”
“What happened to partying at Phi Rho?”
Terrence burps in my face. It really hurts having your best friend be a straight man.
I shove his face with my palm. “Chemical warfare in my dorm room!”
Past my hand, he explains, “Party wasn’t fun without the Rod.” I should be flattered, but I’m annoyed I didn’t get the room to myself for longer. He meanders over to his side of the room, where he flops down onto his bed, face first, not bothering to take his sneakers off.
I pick up my phone, laying against the oversized dingbat plushie someone threw onto the ice at my last championship match. Terrence is already snoring loudly into his mattress while I read the new guy’s information. “Good boy lookingfor a mean daddy.” There are no photos on his profile, but his age is listed as 35. Bottom. Less than a mile away.
Over thirty and on campus? He doesn’t mention an age preference, only that he’s looking for a daddy dom. There’s an obvious red flag here, but the moment I swipe right, I am completely colorblind.
We match instantly. I hop into messages.
TwinkleTop:Are you really a good boy?
3dge-m3:Try to be.
I pull up my sweatshirt enough to show off the waistband of my briefs and my happy trail. Snapping a quick photo, I send it his way.
3dge-m3:Little preview of what I’ll get to see when I’m on my knees?
TwinkleTop:Depends. Do you like what you see?