A Crash Course in College Hook-Ups
But Not Really
Picture the freshman me, hair shorter and darker but just as voluptuous, wearing a color block skirt and striped tank top, wandering Yale’s campus on a warm September night in search of a party. As my friend and I arrive at one of the many gates, the definition of tall, dark and handsome walks out of the gate, also with a friend. Because we are all freshmen and eager to meet new people, we say hey. His name is Alex. I can tell he is interested in me as I regale him with my background, and his interest piques mine as well.
Recently, the increasing number of queries from relatives and family friends about my lack of a romantic life has become stifling.
“Is there anyone special in your life?”
“You still don’t have a boyfriend?”
“How is that possible, a fine young lady like yourself?”
I never had a boyfriend before college, and I never fooled around with anyone either. My parents were strict, and unlike many American teenagers, I obeyed them. My lack of experience was probably why I had such an antiquated notion of romance and relationships coming into college. I was completely unprepared for the world of casual hook-ups. Since I can’t drink (let’s save that for another time), I was always sober when almost everyone else was not. (Of course, not everyone drank, but since I liked to have a good time, those people were usually drunk.) And I knew I could never participate in a DFMO (Dance Floor Make Out), mainly because I wanted my first kiss to be special. Since I have been in college, I have only had two serious romantic interests.
I was always a little embarrassed when sharing my lack of experience with friends, especially because they all seemed either experienced already or gaining it at a rapid pace. I am already a pretty serious person, and my inhibitions were never lowered enough for a hook-up. For those unaware, the definition of a hook-up ranges from making out to all flavors of sex, and it is rapidly overtaking dating on college campuses. Yes, plenty of guys showed their interest but that type of sloppiness wasn’t my taste. It’s not really romantic when a guy comes up behind you and tries to grind. Can you really blame my Jenna Marbles-like look of astonishment? The first month of my freshman year, I enjoyed a series of childish crushes. But from the moment I met Alex, all my juvenile crushes dissipated.
I always dreamed of someone asking me out on a date in a library (blame it on Sarah Dessen books and too many rom-coms). One studious night at Bass Library, I took a study break and ran into Alex, his long body slouched in one of the couches. We chatted, and he told me he would soon become very busy as basketball season was starting up—he was on the varsity team. I was disappointed, but I masked it behind coy nonchalance. When I returned to my workspace, I found a Facebook message from him saying that just in case he did have free time, here was his phone number. I was definitely very excited. I mean, this was my own romantic life finally starting, and it was almost following my dream path.
To be honest, my dream path was much too PG to occur at college. What I wanted didn’t match up with the guys I liked and the people I hung out with. I wanted something out of a romance novel, but I frequented frat parties, where the setting of a grimy basement does little to advance real romantic interest. I had trouble expressing myself and communicating what I wanted, and on reflection, perhaps I was asking too much from a freshman male.
The best thing that came out of my “thing” (everyone’s least favorite descriptor) with Alex was my first kiss, although his aim was a little off. After that, things got weird. I’m sure people are familiar with that point in a relationship when you think: So what is this? Where is this going? Are we—or aren’t we? I wanted to know everything and have everything—namely, a boyfriend—too fast. My intensity essentially scared him off. Disclaimer for the haters: I wasn’t acting like some crazy psycho chick, I was just acting like a teenage girl who really and truly liked another person for the first time. For Alex, who was just coming out of a long relationship, it was admittedly too much to handle. It just wasn’t the right time, and as a protective mechanism, he began blowing me off. I was quick to throw the blame, and my friends urged me to move on—after all, there were so many other guys, and I was a sociable, good-looking girl.
Because I like tall, athletic guys, it wasn’t that much of a surprise, least of all to my friends, that my next interest was also on the basketball team. By this time, the groupie jokes were standard. Besides height, Gabe and Alex didn’t have much in common. I met Gabe in late February at a party with the rest of his teammates. I wasn’t sure when I would next see him though, because unlike Alex, Gabe was a year ahead and I had never seen him before that point. Of course, after spring break, I began seeing him everywhere—we even had a class together.
After some casual conversations with the requisite flirtatiousness, he asked me out to dinner. Duh, I freaked out—it was my first date ever. I chose my outfit very carefully with advice from my friends, and I think I even put part of my hair up. Imagine my surprise when I walked out of my entryway and he led me to his car. At Yale, almost no one has a car. We drove to one of the many great pizza places in New Haven (not Pepe’s). Afterwards, a fairly innocent kiss transpired, and I went back to giggle over the night with my friends.
Freshman year was nearly at an end, but I managed to tack on another first—my first time making out. Summer came, and Gabe and I Facebook messaged a couple times while he was in New Haven and I was in France. Then sophomore year rolled around, and I began acting weird again. You see, I never really got over Alex, and every time I saw Gabe, I was reminded of Alex. I attempted to be friends with Alex while attempting to pursue something more with Gabe. We hooked-up a couple more times, but I sent too many mixed signals. I was confused about my feelings, and because Alex was the first person I had ever liked for such an extended period of time, I couldn’t get him out of my mind. I think Gabe sensed my emotional infidelity, so of course his interest wavered. By the end of December, he began dating another girl.
So where was I while Gabe moved on? Tormented, I decided that the best thing for me to do was to confess everything to Alex. I like to think we were friends, but there was always something weird between us. That something weird was my silence. When we got back from winter break, I asked Alex if I could talk to him. He thought I was going to scold him for acting like a fool at the club; however, the actual conversation involved me telling him how much I liked him, and as more than a friend. He was quiet and responded that he appreciated my honesty and he liked me too, but right now he needed to work on himself and building his friendships. I said alright, and that was that.
Except it wasn’t okay, because every time I saw him I had to put on a façade of happiness. I could. By this point my friends were probably sick of me, and I was too. A month later, I basically told him that either we could be what I wanted us to be or I would have to not speak to him for awhile. I’m a little embarrassed to recount this, because that was a lot. He asked if we could still say hi to each other when we crossed paths. I said no. Harsh, right? I needed to look out for myself, and the only way to do that was to cut him out of my life.
Cutting him out of my life turned out to be impossible, however, because I was also friends with all of his teammates. (I promise I am not a groupie.) It was beyond awkward when I acknowledged everyone but him, so I texted him admitting the not saying hi part was dumb. We spent the rest of sophomore year as kind of friends, but I was still tortured. It wasn’t until I went abroad last semester that I finally came to an inner acceptance about Alex. I needed time apart from Yale and everyone there, him included. I learned a lot about myself while away from my friends, and I figured out what I want out of my relationships. There will always be a part of my heart reserved for him, but I can now interact with him without freaking out on the inside. And that’s important to me, because I truly cared for him as a person. I want to maintain some sort of relationship with him, even if the relationship wasn’t what I had originally hoped for.
In the time that I was gone, many of my friends have definitively shunned the hook-up culture and paired off into their own relationships. I haven’t kissed anyone in over a year, and I don’t plan on hooking-up with anyone either. Freshman year was the only time I tried to push myself there. Now I know that never fit me, and there’s nothing wrong with that. I’ve been able to reflect on my past, too. I don’t think I was very fair in my treatment of Gabe, and I’m working on reconnecting with him. No major plans or expectations, I just want to work on my relationships with people that I care about.
I’m still working on coming to terms with myself. Of course, women today don’t need to be defined by the men in their lives, yet the type of connection I currently miss cannot be fulfilled by my friends (although I appreciate them so much). The reason I am able to put myself out there with other relationships is because I have a strong base of people who love me and accept me, regardless of how many basketball players I like.
I used to have FOMO, or Fear Of Missing Out, whenever my friends recounted their exhilarating hook-up experiences. How come I never got to do the walk of shame (or pride!) the morning after? I wished that I could do something so spur of the moment, without overanalyzing the situation and concentrating on the consequences. But now, my friends often tell me how much they envy my sobriety. I may have missed out on some fun in the past, but I am lucky to not regret any of my decisions (and I remember all of them too). People sometimes give me flack for having standards that are too high, but I really just want to find somebody that makes everybody else not matter. I mean, is that really too much to ask?
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