What do truth or dare, spin the bottle and seven minutes in heaven mean to you? Without these wonderful sexual fiestas, I would still be a virgin whose make out experience began and ended with sticking my tongue to the inside of a freezer wall (yes it does stick, and the fire department will come).
Naturally, the “Big Three” are most prevalent amongst the adolescent crowd. At college parties, (or so I am told from people who are invited to these things), guys and girls hook up sexually without the aid of a spin or a dare. Now, this sounds a little outlandish to me, but I spend my Friday nights taping over my coveted “Blossom” tapes with syndicated episodes of “Family Matters.” Even if you are a “Bad Larry” or a “Bad Laurie,” a rousing party game can conjure up a storm of sex. The forecast calls for a 97 percent chance of hook up.
Before I signed my life over to the no-cable, non-democratic, money-sucking demon that is Boston University, I had some experience with the fairer sex. In perhaps my greatest spin the bottle moment, I played empty bottle roulette with two girls at once. Yes, things were going great until I pulled my hat too low and stabbed one of the girls in the eye with the brim.
I spent the rest of the day in the emergency room with an irate mother who couldn’t stop asking, “Now Jason, did a squirrel really run up to Becca and punch her in the eye?” Curse that hat, and curse the raging case of bed head that landed it atop my noggin!
Like the ancient art of spin the bottle, truth or dare is a game that isn’t getting the attention it deserves from collegiate audiences. During Spring Break, my friends J-Wiles, P-Diddy and I spent our days soaking up the skin cancerous rays in Ft. Lauderdale. Our quest to meet the fairer sex seemed dismal until Lady Luck came along. Three delicious ladies from Pittsburgh set next to us. Sparks flew, emotions ran high, they actually talked to us. Scheming to get them to hang out with us, we invited them to our condo for a BBQ, drinks and hours of priceless entertainment. They declined vehemently until one of us chimed in with, “Oh, and did we mention that truth or dare will also be on the menu?”
Sure enough, by 11 that night, Nicole was licking Hershey Syrup off of J-Wiles nipples, P-Diddy was rapping into the lovely Sarah’s chest, and Chris and I were performing a striptease duet with only a palm branch to cover us. And why was such an outrageously awesome time had that night? Because truth or dare is slicker than my friend Chaz. Just how slick is Chaz you inquire? I don’t know, ask the girl who does his laundry, or maybe the one who does his homework.
That leaves the beloved seven minutes in heaven. This game is a clever facade for some serious in-closet mid-party groping. I remember the first time I went into the closet and blindly reached out into the darkness like it was yesterday. “Wow, they don’t feel like I thought they would,” I stammered. “Jay, you are touching my elbow and the doorknob.”
If you can avoid strip searching the Hoover Wet-Dry Vac and pay attention to your partner, seven minutes can be a truly educational experience. Sure, a collegiate version of this game could get quite out of control. However, as long as you keep a timer and that roll of paper towels you swiped from Wing-It handy, things should be okay.
I am a junior now, and I feel it is time to break the seal on my party-less Friday night streak. So, if you see a guy in aviator shades with a Hawaiian shirt walking around with an empty Rolling Rock bottle, beware. I will be pulling all the stops to initiate a raging make out festival of some sort. We must dispose the stereotypes that truth or dare, seven minutes in heaven and spin the bottle are only for the youngsters.
If only to swap spit with some delicious co-ed or BU stud without a bribe, the games must go on! So come prepared with a spinning device, some well-thought out truths and dares, and a watch with a minute hand. Parties are about to take a turn for the best thanks to the revival of our horny days of yore.
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