When he came back with a Tequila Sunrise, he said it would taste great, like Hawaiian Punch.
He was right; it was delicious, and I gladly accepted three more from him.
I’ve only had sex with six guys.” This young woman was nineteen when she said this to me.
Once, in a writing assignment about Socrates and the Allegory of the Cave, a student wrote that she decided to make better choices after she woke up one morning in a trailer, covered with scratches, naked, next to a man she didn’t remember meeting. All too often, these women come to me in a state of bewilderment.
College is the last place where one wants to feel like an utter misfit; couple that with the fact that first year students are away from home for the first time—lonely, vulnerable, insecure—and you have the recipe for meaningless sexual encounters followed by anxiety and depression. Rather than get drunk in order to have casual sex, why don’t they put down the glass AND the condom? The bar was one designated by students as the “easy in” place, because I. Once we were inside the bar, my sister was swept away by a phalanx of her friends, and I lost her in the crowd.