This was not who you were.

You did not do parties, never had, and you swore you never would.

You should have been studying, but you had seen a fanzine about a Riot Grrrl party, and you had decided, “Fuck it, let’s go.”

So, you had smoked punky, feminist weed and drank punky, feminist booze and listened to punky, feminist music.

You had met this girl, Frankie.

You had brought her back to your dorm in your haze, and the two of you had made sweet, sweet love. Well, she called it that.

So, when you had woken up with this muscular brunette in only her underwear cuddled into your neck and then gained full consciousness, you pushed her off instantly.

Frankie had been perfect.

The brunette had been sated, comfortable, and warm. She had gotten some pussy that night, and the girl she had gone home with had been clingy after, it had been perfect.

And then she had been pushed off the bed, landing with the covers in a pile on the floor.

You were quickly dressing- you had an early exam today. You didn’t intend to push Frankie off the bed, but you hadn’t entirely processed the fact that there was another legitimate human being.

“What the fuck, dude?” Frankie asked, holding her head with a tired groan, brown eyes bleary.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry, Frank!” You say quickly, dropping to your knees on the hardwood floor, t-shirt half on and shorts on the floor. She cupped Frankie’s face, thumbs rubbing her cheeks.

You still had to go on your morning run, shower, get breakfast at the cafeteria do your makeup and hair, get dressed, pack your bag, get coffee at the usual coffee shop, and then get to class.

But you had accidentally pushed this pretty girl on your floor, so you made time to kiss her face.