What is the fascination with beer pong? Fine… it’s fun. But I always need a designated drinker. I can’t stomach beer. It’s vile. Lucky for me, there are plenty of crazies who volunteer to be my ‘dd’ every time I play. I think they look forward to it. Freaks.
Yeah, I know. I’m the freak. Whatever.
I still haven’t seen Mr. Hottie again. Maybe I imagined him. Maybe I was dreaming. No… that can’t be right. If I dreamt him, things would have gone a lot farther than me trying to be subtle as I stared from four tables away at the Preston dining hall. It would have been more like… me walking right up to him, pulling him up out of his seat by his shirt and kissing him like no kiss he could ever possibly have had before. And he’d kiss back. Then in an instant, the room would go dark. Suddenly, we’d be miraculously alone… which would work out perfectly since he’d rip all my clothes off and take me right there on the table.
Yeah. Only in my dreams. Dammit.
I’m going to assume I did not imagine him. Maybe he’ll volunteer to be my ‘dd’ at the next less-than-legal party. Then he’ll be drunk. And I can have my way with him.
On the beer pong table.
Wait… nooo… that would be gross.
I’ll have my way with him somewhere else.
• • •
‘Dear Diary’ is fiction based on actual events.
Any similarities to your college life is purely coincidental.
Any similarities to mine is entirely intentional.
©2018 what sandra thinks