When I moved from Miami to New York 10 years ago, I was a bright eyed, fresh faced ingenue. And by ingenue I mean I wore spandex before American Apparel made it okay. I also wore gold hoop earrings that were a wardrobe staple in Miami but did not translate as well on the Upper West Side. I had untweezed eyebrows and glasses the size of my face.

I was a freshman in college and I was determined to become promiscuous.

You see, I lived a very sheltered and overprotected life in Miami. My parents would not let me sleep over people’s houses or go on dates. My first kiss wasn’t until junior year of highschool. I came to New York with lofty aspirations of necking with beatnik boys who quoted Ginsberg and smoked cloves. Instead, I was greeted with jocks from New Jersey. My plan for promiscuity was not going well.

I was halfway into my second semester and I still had not met any cute, cerebral college students. The weather was cold and I was frigid. I had just finished the last of my midterms and it was the day before spring break. Except spring break in New York means 30 degrees. My friend Ilana and I decided to celebrate the end of midterms by hitting the college bars with our fake ids. As I mentioned earlier, I was a girl from Miami and could not handle the 30 degree weather. I pondered wearing these green long johns under my jeans. Me: “Should I wear long johns to a bar?” Ilana: “Yeah. It’s cold.” Me:”But what if I get ass? Oh, who am I kidding, I’m not getting ass. I’m wearing my long johns.”

SIDE NOTE: It is a tried and true fact that in the laws of getting booty, you will always get some when you are convinced that you will not get any. The nights that you wear your 200 dollar shoes and designer dress are the nights you stop at your local pizza parlor for a slice and walk home alone. The nights that you are unshaven, unshowered, and lets face it, unattractive, are the times you will get ass. Why? Who knows. It’s one of the mysteries of life. Like the stonehenge.

So Ilana and I go to this one bar and I run into this guy “Steven” who directed me in a student production of Lysistrata. Steven is a senior and hot. He introduces me to a guy he’s with who happens to be his art history professor. He also happens to be a HOT art history professor.

After a couple of hours, Ilana and I part ways and I am alone with The Professor. He is an embodiment of my 18 year old fantasy. He was an intellectual. He was wearing a corduroy blazer and jeans. He smoked marlboros. And he was older. Probably in his early thirties. So we totally have smoochies in the bar.

When last call is announced, he asks if I want to go to his apartment. I suggest my dorm room. I don’t know why I thought a thirty year old art history professor would want to spend the night in my dorm room. Oh, I know why. Because I have no game. I should also mention that at that time I had never gone home with anyone before.

So we take a cab up to his place and the entire time I am plotting ways to get rid of my green long johns. I should have taken them off at the bar and thrown them in the garbage but I was in college and I was cheap and I did not want to throw away clothing that kept me warm.

We go to his apartment and we are hooking up in his king sized bed. The Professor: “Is this the first time you’ve ever gone home with anyone?” Me: “Um…no….hahahah…why?”

I manage to relax. Things are fine. He’s an okay kisser. But as soon as I start to enjoy myself, he takes off my pants and I realize OMIGOD THE GREEN LONG JOHNS.

Me: “Oh…hahaha…I was really cold tonight so…um…I wore those…hahah…I don’t always wear them out.”

The Professor does not seem to care. He is more interested in the fact that my pants are off. I get uncomfortable. I don’t know this guy…or man…and I want to be in my twin sized dorm bed.

Me: “Um, I think I want to leave.” The Professor: “NOW???” Me: “Um, yeah, I have to catch an early bus in the morning.”

I gather my pine green long johns and attempt to slip them on in a coy fashion. I do not succeed. I bolt out the door.

I come back to the comfort of my flourescent lit dorm room and twin sized bed. I was not ready to cross the threshold from ingenue to vixen. Instead, I knock on my friend Ilana’s door and ask if I can sleep over.

*EDITOR’S NOTE: Here is an email from Ilana pointing out some missing details

crucial point number one: we both had finals at 9am the next day (hebrew and korean, ma hasha ah, meh hashia!)

crucial point number two: i grew nervous about you and went out onto the streets at 4am looking for you, and entered tom’s diner and asked everyone there if they had seen a short korean girl with a suede jacket and fur collar! no one had. ahh, life before cell phones…

xoxo
ilana