To All The Boys Who Lived on My Floor
The boys on my floor came in many shapes and sizes, different mannerisms and people but all shocking surprises. They seem to be just another guy, but you’ll see what I mean when I tell you why. These boys on my floor could be out of a cartoon, your everyday characters from looney tunes
Boy number one, a prince in the eyes of the girls. They swooned and they sighed and they twisted their hair into curls. They would drool and gob over his cheeks and his hair, but I swear to god he looked like every other white boy there. A commie he was, but also a sweet guy. He would walk around half naked, only a towel, no tie. He got me to watch shawshank and I saw him in boxer briefs one time. When I told the other ladies I swear they almost began to cry.
Boy number two, a man of many talents. Wanted to do coke off milkers and smoked weed with his parents. He drank fireball one night, chugging it by the ounce, then confessed his love for me and almost kissed me on the mouth. Then I saw his penis later that night, I dont believe I could forget that sight. He peed at the front on the residence building, shirtless and drunk, red faced just pissing. Why he chose to do that right there and then? I wish I could understand his mind and tell you my friends. This man was a legend but also a fool. He did commit floorcest but he also kept his cool. He showed our floor you CAN have friends with benefits at school. I confided in him once and he helped me rid my anxieties, I guess it makes sense he’s majoring in psychology.
Boy number three was a douchebag and dumb. He had never once made a girl cum. He wore crocs with flames, without any irony; his clothes choices fit into the ugly frat boy binary. He didn’t understand how lesbians had sexy time; I had to explain that using a double sided 12 foot dildo might actually be a crime. The final straw that did me in, the one that still gets me angry, that motherfucker stole my motherfucking smoothie. I asked him to hold it so I could catch my bearings, and away he walked without ever caring. That smoothie from west, that tam that I had to spend, all so he could sip it from beginning to end.
The final boy of interest is boy number 4, who carried around diamonds for a woman he’d one day adore. He was best friends with boy three, why? I’m not sure. To be honest with you, that’s all I know about boy four.
This editorial, I dedicate to the women on my floor who dealt with their bullshit and much much more. Hookups with these men were a sport, of course, and the poor girlies were athletes and strong at their core. This editorial I dedicate to the froshies in their dorms, committing floorcest as we speak, and getting sent to the COR.