There is nothing quite like my fraternity parties. I was in my fifth year of college working to attain my teaching credential. Still being in the loop of fraternity events, I went to every party we had. I had become an expert at these parties. It was like taking candy from a baby. The undergraduate brothers began to perceive me as a dirtbag, but they were probably just jealous that I was hooking up with their chicks. They didn't realize that I was still just a "make-out" guy and wasn't actually getting laid consistently. Nevertheless, I was averaging an astonishing 1.9 hookups per party. One February night, I made another attempt at raising this average.

I was originally attracted to Sheila's hair. It was quite the head-turner for me: long and black with blonde highlights. As she passed me in the hall, I spoke in her ear, "I love your hair."

She stopped and smiled at me, wordless. Maybe she wanted more. I continued, "Yeah, out of all the girls at this party, I have decided I like your hair the best." I didn't even look at her face. I was acting. I kept my eyes focused on her hair. However, I used my peripheral vision and saw that she was smiling.

Finally, she said, "Really?" She had a humble tone in her voice, and I sensed she wanted me to continue further with the compliments. I looked down at her face and was a bit disappointed.  It wasn't congruent with the hotness of her hair, and she was maybe a 6. Whatever. I was drunk and liked her smile along with her humble attitude. She didn't think she was the shit, and she was right.

Her eyes were dark, so I continued to feed her. I said, "Yeah, your hair matches nicely with your eyes. I like it." One second after I said this, she asked me my name, and we embarked on an hour-long adventure between talking and dancing. She turned out to be the worst dancer this side of the Atlantic. I'm no superstar dancer, but she was something else. Her feet were glued to the floor, and her arms were making a motion I had never seen before. It was as if she was shoveling gravel while trying to play a game of freeze tag. I had to make it stop.

I took her by the hand and led her outside, using the bailout: "it's too hot in there." We made out for a bit until her sober friend found her and said she wanted to go. Her friend, Candy, was a trooper. Candy was one of those girls that was actually on the guy's side. You know the type. They are rare, but they're out there. Her friend said, "Yeah, let's go." Then she turned to me and asked, "Aren't you coming with us?" I looked back at Sheila, who was smiling, and said, "Yeah, of course." 

I have always wondered about sex cheerleaders like Candy. I have brainstormed the pleasures they take from seeing their friends hook up. Are they simply living vicariously through their friends, or are they turbo sluts hoping to spread their way of living to others? Whatever it is, I commend these girls. Because of girls like Candy, more girls are stripping themselves of the moral shackles placed on them by unadventurous influences and liberating their mind and vaginas. Thank you Candy; we owe you one. 

When we got back to Sheila's pad, it was a little past 1am. I walked in, looked to my left, and saw bodies everywhere. There were literally 15-17 people passed out in the living room sprawled out in every direction. It looked like a human jenga game had just collapsed. Fearing they might be cockblockers, I whispered to Sheila with a suggestion of panic in my voice, "Let's go to your room." Her room was spic and span, not a body in sight. I asked what was going on and found out that it was her roommate's birthday party, and her friends from Riverside had come to party. I assumed they were either severe lightweights, were exhausted from just finishing a monumental orgy, or had been partying since noon.

I played around on her computer for a bit. I looked at her pictures and added her screen name, "Werewolf21," to my AIM buddy list. Then we hopped in bed and fucked. She wanted doggystyle and made me pull her hair and spank her ass. I hadn't been with a girl who liked it rough before, so it was an eye opening experience. I started off with some weak swats, but she screamed "Harder!" repeatedly. I started to do windups. I smacked the shit out of her. This sweet little girl had turned into a ferocious animal. We fucked like werewolves underneath a full moon.

Oddly enough, when we finished, she immediately turned into a sweet humble human being again. Moments later, it happened. It started with a "So when are you going to call me?" Followed by a "didn't you have fun with me?" She wouldn't stop. After this, she asked me where we were going on our first date! Oh my God. I was in an insane asylum. I laid there half-assing every answer, trying to deflect the questions like a goalie. She went on to tell me how she couldn't figure out why guys would have sex with her but never wanted to date her. She said she had slept with ten guys and all of them reacted the way I was reacting. "You're just like every other guy; he cums, and then he goes," she said. I felt like telling her that maybe the guys didn't want to date her because she slept with them on the first night. But I chickened out. She would have bitten me or something. Besides, her friends could tell her all that shit.

I was seriously mystified with this girl's poor sense of logic. If she had fucked TEN guys and not a single one of them had called her for a date, what made her think that I would be any different? I'm not sure I agree with the fuck-on-a-first-date theory. 

Her friend agreed to drive me home, and I sleazily tried to hit on her friend in the car. Unfortunately, I quickly discovered she had a boyfriend. However, she didn't hold it against me, and we talked about her life as the sweetheart of some San Diego fraternity. It was a boring conversation really, but I felt guilty for hitting on her and acted amused. She really was a cool chick, and I should have been high-fiving her for her assistance earlier in the night. Chicks like this are ten times better than any male wingman.     

Nearly a year passed werewolfless. Six days into the New Year, I was on the verge of beginning a whack session when I received a mysterious instant message. It went:

Werewolf21: hey there sexy 

omglolbrbjk (me): who is this?

Werewolf21: It's Sheila

omglolbrbjk: oh hey whats up

Werewolf21: Not much happy new year!

omglolbrbjk: Yeah you too. What do you say we start it off with a bang?

Werewolf21: k, but I have to wake up early

omglolbrbjk: thats cool

omglolbrbjk: wait a minute, last time we did this you got mad at me or something

Werewolf21: no, its cool come over

I got her address, hopped in the shower, got dressed, threw on a baseball cap, and drove to her Newport pad.

           
When I arrived, the place was a dump. The dishes hadn't been done since Ronald Reagan was in office; flies circled the trashcan, and just entering her room was like stepping into a deluxe tree house. The smell was putrid. It smelled like a rotten human foot was brewing in a steamy stew with a fresh batch of asparagus. I'm no neat freak, but this had disaster written all over it. I figured it was her way of getting into the mood to fuck like animals again. I realized that the last time I was in her bedroom, it was clean as a whistle. But something about this chick's habits had undoubtedly deteriorated. She was heading downhill fast. I began to wonder what else about her had weathered in the last eleven months.

           
As soon as our clothes came off, the werewolf made its furious appearance again. Hair was pulled; asses turned red; screams echoed; and the moon was full. We were in doggystyle obviously. As I was playing the role of hero in this horror flick, I noticed something that called for further review. As I was grabbing her hair at the root, I felt something crusty on her scalp. Upon serious investigation, I discovered that this chick had the gnarliest case of dandruff in the history of mankind (including medieval times). It was fucking gross. The dandruff was nearly the size of corn flakes. I tried to keep going, but my sexual desire was draining like a sink full of water that had just lost its plug. I came to the tragic conclusion that something had to be done. This would be a first. I had no choice. I had to end it. I faked my orgasm, acted exhausted, and started getting dressed.

She asked where I was going. I said, "I think I'm gonna take off." She was silent for a few moments and then started the same bullshit again! "When are you gonna call me?" "You're a player. You don't want to date me." (That was a new one) "Don't you want to stay and talk to me?" "I hate boys!" I frantically began putting my pants on. Where the fuck did I put my hat? I was racing against time. This place was about to blow. At this point, the lights were on. In the corner of my eye, I sensed something strange about her bed. The sheets and comforter were both black. But there was something on the bed. It was everywhere. When I realized what it was, I felt a sudden rush of nausea. The top third of her bed was coated with at least 600 flakes of dandruff. The dandruff had the right idea: Get the fuck away from this chick!!

Some were normal sized, some were specs, and nearly a half dozen were big daddies. Her pillowcase was a science experiment. Gremlins may have hatched from that pillow. I had to get out of there.

On the drive home, I checked my hands and clothes to make sure that I was rid of her flakes. That had to have been a new species of dandruff. For all I knew, it could have been contagious. I tried to imagine what was worse, catching an STD from this chick, or contracting those girthy flakes that were coming off of her scalp. No wonder this chick never got any dates. Fucking on the first night wasn't her problem. What she really needed was a bottle of Head and Shoulders. Or in her special case: "Head, Shoulders, Bed, and Pillowcase."