Violet liked to joke that I had only been a “kinda” lesbian until college – until the frat parties. Watching all the beer-guzzling jocks hoot and holler like apes, slurring obscenities and dripping sweat, certainly didn’t enhance my appreciation of the male specimen. Although watching a snot rocket contest from across a crowded room may have reaffirmed my sexuality a bit, I had always been gay. I remember being on the cheerleading squad in high school, continually volunteering to be on the bottom of the pyramid so that I could feel the other girls’ sweat-slicked bodies pressing down on me. If I timed it just right I was able to tilt my head as the top rows climbed down, catching flashes of white panties as their skirts swished about their hips.
Sophomore year of college, my little goddess appeared, smiling at me at our sorority initiation from across the room. She wore a red headband and a simple white sweater that hugged her high, rounded breasts so lovingly that I was instantly jealous; her skirt was just short enough to make me break out in a mild sweat. When she turned her head and caught me staring she gave me a look that said she knew exactly what I was thinking – and liked it.
Fast forward eight months: we’re so close you’d have to pry us apart with a crowbar if you wanted to talk with one of us alone. The fact that we live in the same sorority house is great – we get to share a room and live in pre-marital sin on the university’s dime. For a while we had a third girl sharing our room, but one night she saw our hips gyrating beneath the covers and the little whistle-blower ran down the hallway and cried “lesbian”. Well of course Tiffany and Cindy and Candy and all those other little bitches threw a hissy fit and immediately tried to get us thrown out, but the dean gave them a long speech on discrimination and we got to stay.
Most of the girls stopped talking to us, and one handed Violet a bible and tried to get us to go to her youth group. Some were outright malicious, like Mindy, calling us gross and weird and whatever other small, uncomplicated words her Communications Major brain could concoct. She happened to inhabit the room next to us, so one night after Violet overheard her telling one of the other girls that the sorority should try harder to make us feel unwanted so that we’d leave, we had our loudest evening of sex yet, banging the headboard against the wall and letting our groans send her to sleep. Little Miss Mindy went to the dean again, and this time her complaint didn’t fall upon deaf ears. Violet received a letter informing us our “case” was under consideration and it was possible we might be evicted from the sorority, as we had now been accused of reckless and inappropriate conduct. We shrugged and figured if there was a chance we’d have to leave the house, we might as well savor our current living arrangements as much as we could. The volume of our nightly groans tripled.
I couldn’t have cared less about the sorority and fraternity party scene, but Violet loved it, so for her sake we went to many a drunken beer fest. By now everyone knew we were dating, and whenever we walked through the threshold of a big bash the girls would whisper or roll their eyes. The guys, however, had a rather different reaction. They would see us holding hands, navigating our way through the crowd, and they’d stand at full attention, craning their necks to get a better look. “It’s ’cause we’re both hot,” Violet liked to say. “If we were wearing flannel and penny loafers they’d be burning crosses.”
The jocks had taken to calling us Betty and Veronica on account of our contrasting features. Violet had buttery blonde curls and soft grey eyes, while my hair was jet-black, my eyes a deep shade of green. I knew exactly what they were picturing when they stared at us. I usually responded to their leers with an annoyed glare, but Violet was a bit kinder, smiling and waving diplomatically. The only pleasure I got out of these outings was seeing Mindy’s look of abhorrence when we entered the room. She’d usually be clinging to her jock boyfriend, her little squeak of a laugh piercing through the room. Her eyes would quickly narrow as we flashed her our best sickly-sweet smiles. Meanwhile, her ape of a boyfriend Steve would gawk at us so bluntly that Mindy would immediately tighten her grip on his arm. Normally I didn’t care, but tonight her look was so spiteful that it churned my stomach. Her eyes were gloating, and I could practically hear her thoughts: Soon you freaks are outta here. Enjoy this while you can!
“Come on,” Violet whispered. “Let’s go rustle up some booze.”
We downed a couple drinks, glancing over our shoulders every so often to see Mindy glaring at the back of our heads.
“It’s not fair,” said Violet. “I really liked living in the sorority house. I liked having our own room. And I know you hate this, but I’m actually going to miss these stupid parties.”
I grabbed her hand, running my fingers over her palm. “This isn’t for sure yet. The dean hasn’t said—”
“Oh, come on, Anne.” She rolled her eyes. “He wanted to kick us out the moment he heard about our situation – you know how diehard Republican the guy is. He was just waiting for an excuse that looked legitimate, and thanks to Mindy he’s got one. We’ll be out on our asses by the end of the week.”
I thought for a long moment. “You know Mindy’s little boy toy over there is related to Dean Mason?”
I nodded. “Nephew, I think.”
We both turned to look at Steve, who appeared to be enthralling Mindy and a couple of his football buddies with one of his harrowing sports tales. Their “huh, huh, huh” laughs blended together in a far-reaching Cro-Magnon chorus.
“You know,” said Violet. “Steve actually asked me out during rush week.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You too? I caught the jerk trying to look up my skirt three weeks ago. He said he wanted to make sure I was a thong girl before he asked me out!”
Violet’s fingers tightened around the little plastic cup. “That son of a . . .” She raised her head sharply. “And he’s the dean’s nephew?”
“You know,” she said brightly. “This could work! This could actually work!”
“Baby, what are you—”
“Okay,” she said, clasping her hands together. “Steve’s made no secret that he wants to see us get it on together.”
“Tell me about it,” I grumbled. “I heard the lacrosse team was putting together a pool to try and get us to Jell-O wrestle.”
“W-well,” she stammered. “You know how you said you were curious about exhibitionism?”
“Uh-huh . . .” I saw the wheels churning and suddenly I didn’t like where the ride was taking me.
“He’s related to the dean,” she said, her voice taking on the tone of a plea. “He can help us.”
“Uh-huh . . .”
“Maybe if we put on a little show for him, he’d convince the dean to let us stay in the—”
“A little show?” I croaked. “What, you want to give the biggest jerk on campus a free peep show?”
Violet stared at the ground. “Well, we wouldn’t let him join in or anything. I know he’d agree to it, Anne. You know he would.”
I couldn’t believe what my girlfriend was suggesting.
“You know – ” I glared. “- I always thought that the element that made our sex so hot was, oh, the absence of boys!”
“We’re only going to let him watch!” she implored. “Just this one time – please, Anne!”