Saturday, August 17, 2013
the art of the slam piece
[yeah, i'm back. or this could just be a drunken aberration. we'll see.]
so i recently made the acquaintance of a hot lil' 22-year-old who's captured my more-than-casual interest. and while i know such an otherwise common occurrence would normally barely rate a raised eyebrow from anyone who's followed this blog for any length of time, this one's different.
because this one's straight. no, really--as an arrow.
ran into him one night at work when i went downstairs to grab a smoke, and he walked up, hit me up for a light. i looked him up and down, profiled him immediately--cocky ex-fratboy on his first job outta college, too young to be a law-school grad, but a go-getter nonetheless.
we struck up a conversation, vibed, and thereafter it became a routine. most every weeknight around 8 you'll find the two of us in the parking garage, level 4, leaning against my car like juvenile delinquents, smoking and shooting the shit.
he's a young republican (naturally), and i mostly listened and nodded to his standard talking points without much comment (other than a little mild socratic questioning from time to time to throw him off balance), until the night he started going off on teh gays, at which point i stopped him and said, "before you embarrass yourself any more than you already have, lemme tell you a little about me."
and i did, and he was surprised--for some reason, they always are--but he rolled with it, started peppering me with questions, wanted to know everything.
so i told him, all the ins and outs--the politics of cocksucking, buttfucking, tops and bottoms, how we're horny like men and insecure like women, all of it. he was fascinated, in a purely clinical way; asked good questions, picked up quickly (he was particularly curious about the mechanics of successful anal sex--apparently most women of his acquaintance don't understand the necessity of preparation, so i gave him a few pointers to pass along).
and then it was my turn--finally, an opportunity to interview a young, highly sexually-viable straight boy of the new millennium, and i wasn't about to waste it.
and he freely told me everything--about his lightning transition from monogamous, freshly-dumped, broken-hearted high-schooler to freshman college stud in the top frat on campus. a few highlights:
lots of girls?
yeah, it was too easy.
oh, the pretty ones are the easiest.
so everybody's fucking in college these days?
pretty much, yeah.
so how did you and your buddies differentiate between the girls you'd date and the ones you'd just fuck?
well, a good girl you have to work a little, but a slam piece? you can have her right away.
[with a little questioning, i was able to determine that "slam piece" is the straight college-boy equivalent of "pass-around party bottom", which tells me that whoever said that we come up with all the best slang is full of shit.]
and how does a young girl fresh outta high school make the transition to slam piece, exactly?
it goes back to what i said about the pretty girls being easiest. because they're always the most insecure. see, at the first party we threw at the house every fall, we'd plant a couple brothers on the front steps of the house and they'd rate the new girls as they walked in--you know, 1 to 10.
wait--you mean, they'd do this out loud? while the girls were walking by?
oh, sure--that's the point. we'd discount every girl by at least two points, but we'd always rate the really hot girls about five points lower than they really were. you could tell a '9' she was a '4' and watch her wilt right before your eyes--she'd strut up to the house thinking she was the shit, and by the time she got inside, she was convinced she was nothing.
you mean they'd actually fall for this?
about 3 times outta 5, yeah. you gotta understand--these sorority girls, they rip each other to shreds. they're so competitive and insecure that all it takes is a couple guys from the top frat telling 'em they're dogs, and they totally buy it.
and then what?
simple--you walk up to her an hour later when she's completely shitfaced and miserable and tell her you were just kidding--she's really a 10. and she's so grateful she practically spreads her legs for you right there. so you take her upstairs, and then afterwards you tell her your buddy thought she was really cute, too, and send her down the hall to his room. bam!--instant slam piece.
so, fifty years of feminism all comes down to this?
yeah--it's so great.
note to my people: next time some straight asshole tries to tell you how we're destroying civilization, run this one by 'em with a big shit-eating grin, ok?