Chapter 28
The music blared from half a block away. The beer flowed as soon as we entered the old, cavernous frat house at the end of Frat Row. The party had been raging for a couple of hours. We opted to arrive casually late. And from the look of the wild-eyed crowd thrashing on the dance floor – or the amorous couples clutched in shadowy corners or already headed upstairs toward the brothers’ bedrooms – we had some catching up to do.
Gaining entry was no problem. Sonya was on the list, of course. But the guy at the door, drink in hand, didn’t even bother to check. His bloodshot eyes were glued to Sonya, then meandered admiringly to Amanda, then me, then Chelsea. Lauren Marks didn’t receive the same admiring looks we had, but she received a pass inside, just the same. Because if Lauren and her skater aesthetic wasn’t the door guy’s cup of tea, there was always another brother who would find her attractive -- or at least, “doable” -- for the night. Above all, that was our passport to this drinking party, despite our age. We were college women. And women would always be welcome at frat parties. Indeed, we were one of two ingredients these decadent Greek gatherings could not do without. The other being alcohol.
Sonya snaked through the gyrating crowd toward the bar. Beer was dispensed in red Solo cups. Shots were given out in little, clear plastic Dixie cups. And there were Jell-O shots in small paper cups that one could squish into one’s mouth. It was alcohol in all its forms, and the frat brothers couldn’t wait to supply it to us women. Because with enough alcohol, some time, a little music and a couple of dances, most college women would be ripe for the picking.
This was what the party was all about at its core. An elaborate event to get the house brothers and their friends laid. In short, sex. It’s why almost any woman was welcome, but each and every guy was scrutinized like this was the CIA before gaining admittance.
Sonya got the beers and passed them around to the rest of us. Her eyes swept the room, looking for Josh. She didn’t spot him.
She turned back to us, shouting, “Here’s to Homecoming.” She raised her cup. We all followed suit.
“Hell, here’s to us,” Lauren shouted.
“To staying safe,” Amanda added.
“To having fun,” Chelsea chimed in.
Their eyes settled on me. All the best toasts were taken, yet I could feel the excitement welling up inside me. Yes, we had all needed this. And what we needed could be boiled down to one thing:
“To college nights,” I said, and everyone smiled.
“What happens after last call is nobody’s business,” Sonya sang out, just before we all drank.
And from then on, the beer and alcohol flowed in a steady stream. The music took over. Our bodies moved to the beat. And the crowd swept us up with its heat, its rhythmic movements and all its disembodied body parts touching us, grinding us, groping us.
All was fair on the dance floor, because on the floor all those moving bodies became one thing. One hot and bothered living thing. No words were necessary. A guy need only come up to you, and if he looked good, the next thing one knew, the two of you were bumping and grinding, breathing and sweating, touching and kissing.
And when one’s sexual arousal mixed just right with the alcohol, hormones and adrenaline, well anything was possible. Anything could happen. And the bedrooms were right upstairs.
In short order, I became lost in the crowd. And then, with the beat and the beer setting me free, I became lost to myself. Isn’t that why we do this? To forget ourselves, if only for the moment?
I felt as if I were floating. My body wasn’t my own. It belonged to the crowd now. And the other bodies belonged to me. Those bodies, blending with mine. Hands roving over me. All I could hear was the music. The beat. That driving beat. The same rhythm as sex.
The lights were dim. And the DJ sprayed all manner of psychedelic special effects onto the crowd. These lighting effects pulsated with the beat, at once blindingly bright, then in the next instant, nearly pitch black.
In these fiery flashes, the crowd seemed not to be real, but rather photographic images of a crowd. In the flashes of bright light, I’d see faces, poses and bodies intertwined. Then, blackness would fall again. And the next time the light flashed, the crowd and everyone in it had changed, striking a different pose in the next still image captured by the light.
I let myself go. I leaned into the crowd, and it supported me. I moved through it like an autumn leaf in the current. As it swept me up, I saw flashes of The Five: Sonya grinding on Josh. Josh grinding right back, their faces hot and sweaty and red. Their mouths open for breath. Their bodies, electric. The sight of it turned me on. They were a perfect pair, and I wanted to be with both of them. Both of them, together. In fantasies, I wanted to join their love-making. I wanted to re-write the script of that first night. And in this movie of the mind’s eye, I was no longer shut out by the sheet draped over Sonya’s loft. Instead, the two sexual beings stirred and smiled knowingly at me when I entered the dark dorm room, lit by a single candle. And when the flickering light caught their eyes, there was desire there. Desire for me. And Sonya, her breasts exposed, and Josh, his thickening member so heavy between his legs, would wave me to come. To join them. To frolic on their sexual playground, where anything could happen and nothing was taboo.
“Just fuck her!” I yelled out, as I watched Josh and Sonya from across the dance floor.
No one heard me amid the music. Or if they did, nobody cared. So I shouted again.
“Fuck her good,” I screamed. “Then fuck me, too!”
The music swallowed my voice, as it swallowed everything else. But declaring my desire so openly was both thrilling and empowering. And it stirred me down there like never before.
Next, I glimpsed Amanda. She was sandwiched between two frat guys who thought they could score. Dream on, I thought. As if Amanda would ever give into their fantasy. Not a chance. Sure, she might enjoy the drinking and the dancing, even the bodies touching. But a look of bemusement never left her fine British features. This was all a form of mild amusement for Amanda, right down to the frat guys who thought they had a chance of bedding the big-breasted Brit as some porno tag team. Yeah right. The joke was on them. Amanda was in total control.
The pretty Chelsea was attracting her share of attention, too. And why not? She was drop-dead gorgeous. And we had successfully updated her style to the point of seduction. Clearly, it was working. Guys surrounded her, and Chelsea seemed exultant as the center of their sexual worship. I saw one of the guys clutching a handful of whiskey shots as Chelsea reached for one. But I didn’t think any more about it. In fact, I didn’t know if I was capable of actual thought.
In these moments, images and sensations were simply washing over me.
Finally, I saw Lauren. She wasn’t homely, just a little boyish. Perhaps, she didn’t understand her own sexuality. Or maybe she understood and it frightened her. Either way, she had attracted a man, too. And he was auditioning for her as she remained reserved, only grudgingly moving to the music while the guy put it all out there. The last real image I remember is of Lauren cracking a shy smile. She liked it, too.
Later, I don’t know how much later, the disembodied hands and lingering brushes with other moving bodies morphed into a singular organism embracing me for its own. I felt strong hands and practiced leverage taking control of me. This entity had the skills of a wrestler. I was the one being pinned. Being subdued. Being taken down.
Next, I felt a groin pressing into mine. I could feel his pronounced package, not simply a bulge, but something more. Something angry and hard. He trust into my body, pressing his hardness through our clothes, as his strong arms pulled me tighter and tighter.
As I awoke from my waking dream, his mouth was on mine. His breath was sour with beer and alcohol and perhaps traces of earlier vomit.
I opened my eyes wide and saw his eyes staring back at me, so close. Once I realized what was happening – that this wasn’t a dream or an entity, but a man -- I pushed him away with al
l my strength. But it was no good. He was stronger.
This is how women get attacked. How they fall victim. How they get raped!
I tried to scream, to cry out. But his mouth covered mine. And when I opened mine against his, he thrust his tongue literally down by throat. The bile in his mouth and on his breath nearly made me throw up.
I twisted and squirmed against him. But all around me was a moving wall of oblivious dancers. We might as well have been in a private room, for all anyone noticed.
I just remember thinking how crazy it was that this was happening. Right here. On a dance floor. Amid a room full of college-educated people who were all but oblivious to a sexual attack going on right next to them.
But one person did notice.
I should have known it would be him.
Innocence Page 28
