THE PLOY OF THE SWEATER DEBS

Two weekends ago was my 30th college reunion.
Latent dormant memories and experiences were remembered, refreshed and resurfaced.
Sometime the truth is even funnier than a well writ joke.

THE PLOY OF THE SWEATER DEBS

A sunny Saturday, and I’m walking out with a friend.
Across the college green there were coeds end to end.
Boys sitting under trees with books, girls sunning on the grass,
A pastoral late autumn day that shall too quickly pass.
“There’s talent on the quad today,” my friend then warmly said,
“And everywhere is tail in play, a good day to come out.”

As we passed by the all girls dorm, he stopped and gazed above,
And smiled almost pruriently as he peered up in love.
“Now I have heard,” he said to me, “Though maybe not first hand,
Of secret goings on in there, the tales I’ve heard are grand!
Some Senior girls, some Juniors too, will befriend Freshman girls,
Who naively, or knowingly, will fall for tricks they play.
And when the Senior girls have worked to gain a freshman’s trust,
They’ll make a move to reel her in, say,
‘Hey, come to my room.
My Freshman old School sweater’s shrunk,
But it should fit you well.
You look so thin, you’re so petite,
And no you’re not too drunk.’
It’s a game that they all play up there, to catch new girls undressing!
She’ll watch her change her sweater then, from one into the other,
And if she likes what she has seen, she’ll move in then to get her.
She’ll say like;
‘By the way, you’re cute, 
And I like what I saw.
I’m lesbian and proud of it, and there’s no shame at all.’”

I interrupted “No!”
“Yes! I’m telling you. And then they totally put the moves on them.”
“Oh, no way, come on! You’re making that up!”
“You’re a freshman!”
“Yeah but really. No one, not even the dumbest freshman, would fall for a lame move like that!”

Then he said;
“There’s something in my room I need, come with me for a minute.”

We walked back to his dorm room just like guys will often do.
We smoked some righteous weed he had, and heard some Grateful Dead.
And when the joint was just a roach, all that was in my head was;
Girls!
Dorms! Filled with girls. And girls!
To tease, to please,
In need.

“I’ll go back there,” I dreamt.

My friend stood up and walked to where his closet had no door,
And held before me bespoke pants like I’d not seen before.
“I bought these at a charity thrift, but they’re too long for me,
But you’re a little taller, dude, I think they might fit you.”

“What, you want me to try on these pants?
“Don’t worry, it’s not like I’ve never seen tightey-whiteys before,

And then he turned around and said, “I will not look at you.”
So I stood up and I dropped trou, and stepped into his pants.
Unknowingly, yet trustingly, an innocent on view.
They seemed to fit.
I turned around.

“Now those look good on you.”
“Really,” I said, “They seem a little tight in the front.”
“I don’t mind. ”
Then he said, “Listen, I’m Gay, and I like what I saw.”

“Wait, what just happened?”
 

(June 2013)