Spring Break is the most anticipated holiday for college students. While some use this vacation as a time to relax and to reconnect with family, many utilize this brief break to create not only moments they’ll never forget, but to savor the many nights they won’t remember. Here at the clock, we do not pass judgment, what we simply want to know is, what kind of Spring Breaker are YOU?
An Apertural Attraction
My friends call me cold-hearted. While I can be kind and caring, I can transition to apathetic and unapologetic in a jiffy. I do not enjoy kissing, I have never been in love, and with ease, I have broken up with every boyfriend that I have had. Even within my platonic relationships, I somehow always end up having the upper hand. This spring break, my girls and I decided to keep it local and visit some of our boys at the University of Vermont for the weekend. Allegedly, UVM pre-games harder than any school around, and naturally, we all had to find out. Our first night was prime–kegs, Corona’s and Beirut galore. By Saturday, the group of us could not wait to see what else the Vermont nightlife had to offer us, as we all got dolled up to bar hop. Once we arrived at our first destination, my girls quickly spread to order drinks, while I was in deep conversation with a random hipster regarding the possible decriminalization of marijuana in New Hampshire. Not a smoker myself, I had no interest in the topic. However, I had every interest in this character. His knockoff Ray-Ban’s, garage band tee, and unidentifiable sneakers, mixed with his Northeastern vernacular, drew me to him, and before either of us realized it, we were locking lips in the center of the establishment. And for those few moments, it felt, for me at least, as if all time had ceased and heaven on earth was truly real. Nonetheless, as fate would have it, my friends dragged me from that bar and on to the next, and sad to say, I did not get so much as to even exchange names or bid farewell to the only man who had ever truly captured my attention. For the past week, I have been Google searching and Facebook lurking to the best of my abilities in order to find this guy, but I have unfortunately had no such luck. My friends say I’m stalking him, but little do they know that the only thing I am pursuing, are his lips.
Don’t and Just Say You Did
As fun as international travels with your obnoxious college girlfriends are, I never want to hear the phrase “Spring Break” again in my life. Its significance consists of nothing more than memories lost due to inebriation and its gateway, illegal substances. This spring break, tired of the stealthy drinking escapades in on-campus housing, myself along with my two bemused-as-can-be roommates decided to plan a trip to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. Not only would we all be able to legally drink, but as the three of us verbally agreed, what happened in Mexico would both theoretically and technically, stay in Mexico. The entire trip was what we in the Northeast like to call a “shit-show.” We drank, laid by the beach, went sight seeing, danced and drank again. By the fourth night, my girls and I became fairly acquainted with a few of the local boys who joined us on all but our first day trip. They showed us where to eat, where to shop, and where to get the “good stuff.” At this time during the trip, both of my roommates were long past able when it came to crossing an international one-night-stand off of their bucket list. I, on the other hand, was not so inviting with what I had always referred to as my “goldmine,” especially with a guy who I not only would likely never make contact with again, but who has barely deserving of my sexual supremacy. Alas, our trip was seemingly short lived as our sixth and final full day of incessant sunlight crept upon us. What better way to celebrate one’s leave than to live it up? By this, of course, I mean that we consumed a considerably excessive amount of chemistry altering substances and explored the foreign country like true Americans. From nature sighting at El Arco to whale watching on the Sea of Cortez, by the end of the night when the six of us were dining at the renowned, Mi Casa, I had one thing on my mind: how could I make a smooth exit to the nearest toilet while still keeping my possible achievement of a transnational sexscapade ? Both my liqueur and libidinous levels were bubbling and I was not sure of which need to satisfy first. Though before I could resolve my internal battle, the bill for the meal was paid, and the six of us were back outside, roaming the bustling city streets. Eventually, we all settled into the comfort of our hotel suite. While my roommates and their boy toys decided to take a late night swim, my macho man offered me a massage, which naturally, led to activities much higher on the sensuality scale. Typically, I am the save a horse, ride a cowboy kind of gal, however, that night, my blood alcohol level forced me to play the more relaxed role. Five minutes into the session, I felt a deep thrusting. Though virtually a requisite when having sexual relations, his thrusting, seemed to be going outward rather than in. I could feel my macho man nearing his apex, when I too released a flood of fluid. However, it did not come from my lower extremities, but rather, orally. From the looks of it, I had regurgitated all of the alcohol, food and illegal substances that I had consumed within that week and then some. On our plane ride back, my roommates “sympathized” with how embarrassed I must have felt having literally spilled my guts to a stranger. The only thing my girls and I could agree upon, nonetheless, is me giving the “when in doubt, doggie-it-out” spiel a rest, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them. Besides, who knows what summer vacation will bring.
Three’s Company
My entire Spring Break can be summed up by the popular phrase, Y.O.L.O. I attended a music festival where psilocybin was as popular as poppy plants in Asia and naturally, I had my fair share. On this psychedelic journey I met a beautiful couple and the three of our spirits intertwined, becoming one, like two circles creating an eight, like fire and wood, or like two peas in a pod. When I returned back to New England, as I tried to explain the beautiful experience to my friends, one of them blurted out, “So you had a threesome?”
“Yes,” I replied, “and I loved it.”