Let me make everyone sufficiently uncomfortable right now: this is not an article about threesomes. Microsoft Word's spell check seems not to know whether threesome is a word, but the term isn't relevant today. This column is not about any kinky, dirty or awkward sexual act. At least not exactly.
While trying to avoid the rain, muck and Confederate flags at the Carolina Cup last weekend, I observed a day-long montage of poor decision-making. Bored with watching mud-stuck heels throwing sundress-covered butts into grubby patches of dirt and wet grass, I found entertainment in the slovenly make-out sessions happening within mere feet of where I was aggressively crunching on cheddar Sun Chips.
I'm not sure you could call any of these interactions hook-ups. There was obviously no intent to elicit further romantic interaction, no interest in progressing along a hierarchy of sexual milestones and no sense that either partner was actually attracted to the other. And when was the last time anyone got even a blowjob after slobbering on the anonymous rando he picked up at a steeplechase tailgate?
If liking someone, or even remembering them the next day, is no longer a hook-up prerequisite, how can we measure someone's level of amorous sentiment? Outside of a relationship, the strength of the physical relationship rarely correlates with the health of the emotional bond. Put simply, being great in bed won't get you a boyfriend. I'm constantly disappointed in my gender when I listen to the bewildered sobs of a friend, whose most recent nighttime acquaintance is feeling up another girl in a cab, bitterly snuffling, "But he told me I gave the best head he ever had!"
Another drunkenly insensitive friend chips, "Then he asked you what your last name was."
Freshmen year, I tried to remain emotionally mute as the boy I had been hooking up with all Fall told me he was interested in someone else. "I think you're a really great girl." I rolled my eyes. He continued, "I just didn't think this was that serious."
I interrupted him for the first time.
"You asked me if we could ever have a threesome." I offered this like it was the most obvious argument in the world. He first looked puzzled, but then he was just sympathetic to my naivety.
"Did you think this was going somewhere?"
I'm not championing a giant feminist embrace of playing hard-to-get, nor am I suggesting that casual encounters can never lead to more serious interest. I would never discourage a girl (or guy) from pursuing whatever brazen public make-out catches her (or his) fancy. But here's the cold reality: hooking up is probably the worst strategy to ensure further hook-ups. Each encounter reduces the probability of future interaction. It's okay if you just want to be the girl in the back of the cab. Otherwise, kiss wisely.
Brooke Hartley is a Trinity sophomore. Her column runs every other Thursday.
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