I met a girl at the Sex Party, and she was gorgeous. We danced for some extended period of time, and after we simulated sex on the dance floor, we went back to her place and had actual sex. And it was fucking great.
Wait. All that was a lie. My memory of Saturday night is hazy at best, but I remember one thing very clearly: For the 6605th consecutive day, I did not hook up with anyone. Most people would indulge in self-pity, and while I spent a good part of Sunday eating ice cream and watching Mama’s Family, I also have a plan so brilliant it makes me stop questioning how the hell I got into this school. Here it is: desperate senior girls. There’s nothing more attractive to a senior girl than a naïve, scared freshman with a bizarre combination of extreme shyness and delusional hubris.
Also, I could make money off it, but the money isn’t important. The ladies are the important ones here. I will be the best Westitute (Is that a new one?) ever. If you’re interested, give me a call or join my new Facebook group: “I would like to pay for the privilege of having sex with Andrew Bean”. This can’t fail. I am a fucking genius.
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