The House of Ill Repute

Well, well, well... look who's ONE - It's Life & Times of a Self-Proclaimed Saucy Bitch's blogoversary this week! (And I thought MY title was a mouth full - apparently, we both like mouth fulls, so it's all good.)
Anyways, where was I?
ONE!
Oh, yeah! Hooray and congrats!
Then, I got a lovely little present in my in-box the other day from SaucyB telling me she wanted to share her shame on my site - words that always melt my heart, indeed. Share away, SaucyB, share away...

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During my last two years of college, I lived in an off campus apartment with three of my best friends. We occupied the first floor apartment of a two-story house that was probably about a thousand years old and had the rotting pipes to prove it.

In the fall of my junior year, a bunch of cute guys moved into the second floor apartment. As we watched them unpack, we became increasingly intrigued by the “fresh meat” that had literally just landed on our doorstep.

While our interest was definitely piqued, we knew we’d be sharing close quarters with these guys and that it would be important for all of us to get along. Generally speaking, jilted lovers do not make for good neighbors. So in an effort to insure harmonious cohabitation, we decided there would be no hooking up with anyone in the house.

And then I met Steve. I swear on my Coach purse the first time I saw Steve he had just gotten out of the shower and was wearing nothing but a towel draped around his waist. With blond hair, a great tan and a killer body, I was immediately attracted to our new neighbor in a 'pass me a new pair of panties' kind of way.

That night, after the guys were done moving in, they came downstairs to hang out and we all started drinking. Being the flirt that I was, I sought Steve out and struck up a conversation.

After chatting with him for awhile, I determined that Steve didn’t have much going on in the personality department, but I didn’t really care. At the time, I recall telling a friend that my pursuit of Steve was kind of like a hunter going after a great stag. He was pretty much the equivalent of a trophy kill for my metaphorical wall.

Eventually, while everyone else was in the backyard, Steve and I slipped away and went in my bedroom. We started kissing and in a word, it was “ok.” He wasn’t the best kisser, but I figured I’d give him a pass for hotness. We messed around for awhile and once things had gone as far as I generally allowed, I told him we’d better go back outside. I explained about the pact with my roommates and the need to go into stealth mode so I didn’t get found out.

The only problem was, I could hear voices in the living room right outside my bedroom door! Not wanting give away that I had blown our “no hooking up in the house pact” within 48 hours of it being made, I told Steve he had to go out my bedroom window. The front porch was on the other side, so he just had to climb out and walk in the front door.

Except when he was already about half way out of the window, we discovered one of the guys was sitting on the porch having a cigarette. So much for secrecy!

Eventually, one of my roommates hooked up with another one of the guys too. But my trailblazing earned me the nickname “Jezzy, a.k.a Jezebel” for an entire semester.