How Using Tinder At My Formal In Georgia Led To The Best Night Of My Life

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Savannah was an easy pick for formal my senior year for two reasons: lack of an open container law and the bars there are open until three in the morning. Mix these two things with a hundred horny guys and their dates, and you’re bound to lose a dick or two in the process.

I handpicked one of the hottest girls in Greek life to be my date — Melanie, a sweet, sweet Tri-Delt with enormous cans and a respectably firm ass. With a hot date on my arm and a cooler filled to the brim with alcohol to get us through the long bus drive, I was set for the formal to end all formals.

For a fifteen-hour, overnight bus ride, the trip seemed to fly by. I’m sure it had nothing to do with getting blackout and taking Melanie into the bathroom for a quick pitstop to Poundtown. Drunk bus bathroom sex is not that great. Actually, it’s terrible. The logistics of it all are an absolute nightmare. Soberly, I would have had a hard enough time standing up on a bus for a prolonged period. Throw in the fact that I was shit-housed, and our maniac driver — who we referred to as Keanu — driving at redline speeds on some of the most poorly maintained highways in America, and it’s a miracle that I didn’t break my dick off inside Melanie.

Upon arrival in Savannah, our drunken hoard was released from the buses into the hotel for checkin. After escorting Melanie up to our room, we proceeded to take a shower to wash the bus filth off of us, which, naturally, led to more boning. We then took some shots — not that we needed any at that point — and met up with some of my pledge brothers for dinner at Tubby’s on River Street.

It was at this restaurant that the night would take a turn for the better. I decided it would be fun to hop on the ole Tinder machine and see what the locals had to offer. After swiping for what seemed to be an hour (it was ten minutes) I finally reached a threshold and couldn’t swipe anymore.

The next seven hours were a blur filled with Wet Willies’ alcoholic frozen slushies, Irish breakfast shots at the Rail Pub, and a whole bunch of other bars that I couldn’t remember the name of if you put a gun to my head. I vaguely remember spilling a beer on my buddy’s date when I tripped going down the ungodly steep historic stairs. Her dress was ruined, and she’s still trying to get me to pay for it. We ended up at Sweet Melissa’s for the best drunken pizza I’ve ever had.

While eating our pizza, I felt a few buzzes in my pocket and whipped out my phone to see that I had a new match and a message. After trading a few witty comments with this girl, Brianna, she promptly told me I should come over for a few drinks and Netflix. I read that as, “Come fuck my brains out!” I’m a man of the people and had to oblige. The only obstacles keeping me were 1. Melanie and 2. Brianna was a good thirty minutes away.

Quick thinking led me to tell Brianna that I was in town for a fraternity formal, rooming with two guys (which was complete bullshit) and that I had no means of transportation to her. She responded that she would come pick me up at the hotel in forty-five minutes, and we’d go back to her place. Obstacle two was down — now I had to take down number one (figuratively and literally). The short walk back to the hotel felt like forever, and I was in a time crunch. I like to think I thrive under pressure, which is why I procrastinate constantly.

I wanted to get done with Melanie as quickly as possible so I could get her to sleep and then I could go to my next conquest. I did what any other man would do: I faked an orgasm and then pretended that I was about to fall asleep. She was out like a light about five minutes later, and she snored like a damn bear. I thought to myself, “Thank God I don’t have to sleep with this tonight.”

I snuck out of the room and went down to the lobby to wait for Brianna. The thirty-minute drive to her place was filled with awkward small talk that turned into one of those phone sex calls you always see advertised at 4 a.m. While she was driving, she reached over and started giving me an OTPHJ. At first, I was pretty concerned for our safety, but as the blood started rushing from one head to the other, I really got into it. I feel like the OTPHJ is highly underrated. To me, it’s not about what is happening in the now, it is what the OTPHJ is leading to in the future.

We barely made it into her house before our clothes started flying off. I had no idea if she had any roommates or not (she did), and at that point, I couldn’t have cared less. I remember having her bent over the kitchen counter, and I was going at it pretty hard. There was a jar of fruit next to us that somehow had not gotten knocked off. I grabbed a peach and started eating it. In a moment of drunken self-reflection, I began chuckling to myself at the absurdity of how great my life was at that moment. I was at what may very well have been my pinnacle. I was eating a delicious Georgia peach, while pounding a delicious Georgia peach, while having an absolute babe passed out back in my hotel room. Those thoughts were quickly brushed aside when she turned around and began giving me a blow job with ice in her mouth. It was so good that I didn’t need to fake it this time.

After we finished up in the kitchen, Brianna asked me if I wanted to stay the night. I told her I really needed to get back to the hotel before 7 a.m., because I had some fraternity bullshit to be at. So she took me back to the hotel at 6 a.m., where I stumbled in to find Melanie still passed out and none the wiser to what had just occurred. That Friday night was certainly one of the best nights of my life. As awesome as Friday was, though, is how fucking crazy Saturday ended up being.

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The Therapist

Not a licensed therapist, but that doesn't stop me anyway.

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