S E X W I T H A S T R A N G E R
KAYLEE WAS DRUNK.
OR AT least, she was getting there. She felt tingly in her extremities, and she felt much more interested in singing and dancing than she normally did. She didn’t think her judgment was impaired, and she didn’t feel like her head was spinning or like she was going to fall over, but it’s not like she had a lot of experience with this kind of thing.
Her roommate Miranda had suggested they all go out. Kaylee said she was game, but back in high school, “going out” meant hanging with a mixed group of friends at a restaurant for hours and hours. She’d never been much of a drinker. She liked to dance, she’d never been much for clubs, either. In college, “going out” apparently meant heading to three different dance clubs in an hour and then ending up at a bar because apparently there wasn’t enough alcohol at dance clubs even when they were liberal about who they served, be they underage or not. And apparently this was fine to do on a Thursday, because… hell… it was the day before the day before the weekend. It seemed to make its own kind of perverse sense.
The way the night had unfolded was all very new to Kaylee, who was used to her “nights out” being small and intimate. Seven girls had piled into two cars and headed out of their private college campus (which was lame) and onto the campus of a large state school half an hour away. It took them a while to find a place to park because apparently Thursday night partying was the rule around here, and when they did find a place, it was on a small side street without much overhead lighting. Kaylee had felt exposed, but nobody else seemed bothered by the dark, so she tried to stay in the middle of the group until they reached the main street where the clubs were, which was much brighter and much more crowded. There were ropes out in front of all of the clubs, and large bouncers at the end of each of the roped-off lines. The seven girls stood in one of the lines until a bouncer at the front looked at their IDs and let them in — without marking their hands, because they were too young to drink.
The clubs were warm, which was nice. Kaylee had been cold outside. They all had. They’d walked briskly from the cars, hugging their arms around themselves, their heels clicking staccato beats on the concrete, giggling and making shivering noises. They’d known it would be chilly, but nobody wanted to be burdened with a coat in the clubs, and nobody had wanted to wear jeans.
Well, except for Kaylee. When Kaylee had emerged ready to go at the beginning of the evening, Miranda had laughed and told her to go and put on something more “partyish,” which apparently was college girl code for “sexy.” Miranda only greenlit Kaylee’s choice when she emerged wearing the only skirt she’d brought with her to school, but told her to trade the sweater thing she was wearing above the waist for a sleeveless blouse that in Kaylee’s opinion was a little bit too small on her. Miranda had scoffed and made gagging noises, saying, “Yeah, you’re so fat” in a sarcastic way that made Kaylee giggle. Miranda wasn’t at all fat herself, but she had more meat on her than Kaylee did and had already made several jokes about how she was going to have trouble hooking up with guys if Kaylee stood too close to her.
After three clubs and three watered-down drinks (Miranda had shown her how to get them from the youngest male bartender at each club because they never seemed to care about their hands’ lack of of-age stamps), Kaylee still felt uncomfortable standing in the middle of a room dressed the way she was. She wasn’t used to her legs being exposed in the off-season, and she definitely wasn’t used to the way the room’s air played right up under her skirt. Every time someone walked by her, she felt a draft all the way up to her panties. It made her feel vulnerable and exposed. The heels, which made her