D: Douchebag Donnie
Third Excerpt from B.A.D.G.E.R.S.
I guess there's no secret to what's going to happen here...
Every girl has one. Every girl has dreamed of one. Every girl wants to pull a Carrie Underwood and slash his tires and key his car.
The guy who you thought you could fix, the guy you thought you could figure out, the guy your parents didn’t approve of.
Or even better: a guy you thought was a good guy who ended up to be a scum-feeding jack off.
We’ll start at the beginning.
It’s freshman year of college. I have just had my fleeting moment with Alex and was pretty smitten with him.
I was in my acting one class and trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life.
My acting teacher had a plan.
We were doing this activity where we had to walk across the room, greet the person who was next in line without words, and finish walking across the room. Since we were an even numbered class, it should have worked where we were with the same person every time.
Well someone didn’t show up, so I was stuck with Donnie.
And I didn’t realize how good of a thing that was until after class.
Then, the random person who hadn’t shown up came to class so I was with Donnie again.
After class, the guy friend who I had made from class (we’ll call him Henry) pulled me aside.
“Riley. What did you do to Donnie?”
“I walked up to him, looked at him, and walked away.”
“He had a boner.”
“He had a boner that everyone could see through his sweatpants.”
I had apparently made an impression on Donnie.
The next time the class met, our teacher had our assignments for scene partners ready.
I was playing May in Fool for Love. My Eddie was Donnie.
I guess I had made an impression on my teacher too. He wanted Donnie to be my partner.
I went to the library to read the play after assignments had come out. That was the first thing we were told to do before we could meet with our partners.
Our scene was the opening scene where Eddie and May had just had sex and she was claiming he had been with other women. There’s way more underneath it but I don’t want to spoil anything.
That weekend, I went to my true first college party that I actually wanted to be at. I was trying to just let loose and not think about doing a scene with someone who would randomly get boners for me.
Well, guess who was at the party?
I tried to make small talk with people and ignore that he was clearly trying to talk to me.
Eventually, we did talk. I told him about when my birthday was, that I was excited to work on the scene, and that I really was having a fun time at the party.
He told me about when his birthday was, how he couldn’t wait to start working on the scene, and that he needed more alcohol.
And then the worst word you can hear as an underage college kid swarmed about the party: cops.
I had never seen so many people move so many directions in my life. People were diving into bedrooms, trying to hide in the oven (I wish I was kidding), and figuring out how to act sober in front of the cops if they made it up the stairs and into the apartment.
And I was standing in the middle of the room entirely confused.
“Riley, you need to go hide.”
“But I haven’t had anything to drink.”
“You’re under 21. You need to go hide.”
He escorted me to the host’s bedroom. “Stay in here until I come and get you.” He slammed the door behind me.
It’s a funny thing to be in a dark room with a bunch of drunk people. I’m pretty sure there were people hooking up on the bed in the room as others were trying to chug their alcohol while others were bawling their eyes out.
And then there was me at the door trying to figure out what the heck I was supposed to be doing.
The door opened about ten minutes later. There were no cops. A drunk-stoned chick was hallucinating.
That’s when I knew I needed to leave.
I found Donnie in the party. I told him that I wanted to leave.
“You need someone to walk you home. It’s a far walk and I need my scene partner next week.” He called over Evan. “I need you to walk her home.”
“I can do that.”
“And don’t you dare do anything to her. She’s important, do you understand?”
It was one of the sweetest things I had ever heard from a drunk person.
Flash forward. Tuesday. First day with scene partners.
We sat across from each other with our scripts in front of us. Our teacher was giving instructions on text marking and line memorization.
I tried to tune in; I found myself nervous and unable to focus.
We were released to work on objectives and stage pictures.
We talked about the scene and were memorized before half the class had discussed objectives.
Donnie called our teacher over. “Is it okay with Riley and I do the entire first scene? It’d give a better arc and have more challenges to it.”
“I think that would be a wonderful idea.”
Of course it would be.
I had to read the play again to find where we were stopping this time.
It was right after a kiss/knee to the crotch combo.
Donnie and I met the next for one of our mandatory out of class rehearsals.
“Let’s work on memorization.”
We had walked into our rehearsal room not even two minutes before he said that.
“That way we can work without paper in our hands and really establish a relationship.”
That seemed plausible.
We worked on memorization for a while before we started getting off track. We called it quits for the day and went our separate ways.
Two days later, we had another rehearsal.
We worked on some furniture stuff and developing a relationship at the beginning half of the scene. We got off track again.
“So, do you have a boyfriend?”
“Back at home I do, yeah. We’ve been together for three years.”
Side bar, ladies and gents: I do not condone cheating in any way, shape, or form. This is the whole “I did what was best for me at the time” kind of things.
“He’s a lucky guy.”
I blushed. He was a lucky guy.
I probably should have asked if he had a girlfriend.
Shocker: he did.
We were the furthest along in the next class. We didn’t present that day but could tell we had done more than what everyone else had.
We performed the first chunk of our scene the next class period. Everyone was pissed that we had actually gotten together to rehearse.
We walked out of class completely enthralled with what had happened. We made it down to the lobby of the building before he stopped me.
“What are you doing for your birthday?”
“I haven’t really decided. I’m probably just going to stay in.”
“But it’s your birthday. You only turn 19 once.”
“Which was how long ago for you?”
“I’m serious. Let’s do something for your birthday.”
“You find something to do, we can do it.”
He planned a wonderful evening that I still consider one of the best dates I had ever been on.
We had a rehearsal after class the next day. We were told to work on the second half of our scene.
“So, how is this kiss thing going to work?” I was blunt, direct, and really curious what Donnie was going to say. Especially because of the boner incident and what had happened at the party.
“Well, let’s do the scene up until that point. We can talk about it when we get there.”
We ran through the scene. By the time the kiss came up, I was so confused. I wanted to punch him, I wanted to question him, I wanted to fuck his brains out.
So I just kissed him.
And was still really confused.
We talked about what the kiss should be like. And the confusion was part of what the character needed.
So we tried it again.
Before I knew it, I was just making out with the kid for no apparent reason.
I was totally okay with it.
After our rehearsal, we sat around and talked. About nothing, everything, and all that falls in between.
“Do you want to go grab some food?”
Before I knew it, we were walking into the downtown area and eating pizza in the grassy knoll. He was genuinely listening and wanted to learn more about me.
We went back to his apartment to drop off our leftovers before heading to a theatre.
“What are we seeing?” I had never been in the building that we were in before much less knew what we were going to be seeing.
“It’s a guy performing a one manMoliere show. I figured it could be something fun.”
It was fun. Not fall out of your seat fun, but fun nonetheless. Better than anything I had planned.
The best part was that he put his arm around me in the middle of the show and I felt like I was really important.
He walked me back to my dorm room where my roommates were waiting.
He came in, was polite, and even tolerated me talking to my parents on Skype for my birthday. He joined in on the conversation.
Talk about bizarre.
He got up to walk home and all I wanted was a kiss good night.
He had stopped himself in the elevator and wouldn’t kiss me goodnight.
“I just can’t do that to you.”
Well screw that.
I kissed him instead and went back into my dorm room.
The door had been left open.
My roommates heard everything.
“And what exactly was that?”
“Practicing for our scene. Why?”
“You like him.”
I looked at them both square in the eye.
“No, I don’t.”
It was a big fat lie.
The following day, we were rehearsing again. At this point, we were re-memorizing and making out. That was about it.
“You doing anything this afternoon?”
“Not really. What about you?”
“Do you want to walk around town?”
Well sure, makeout buddy. I’d love to.
We walked around town and ended up back in the lounge of my dorm room. We started talking about sex.
I wish there was some build up to it but there wasn’t.
“So where’s the best place to have sex? If you could design a room, what would it look like?”
“It’s be a small room with a giant bed in the middle.”
“How do you get into the room?”
“A stripper pole.”
“The pole or the room?”
He looked at me. “Both.”
“The pole is silver. The room is red.”
“What kind of red?”
“A dark crimson red.”
“And what’s on the bed?”
“Silk sheets. Black silk sheets with pillows everywhere. And there’s a string quartet in the corner.”
“And how do you know that? There’s no light.”
“There’s candles all over the floor.”
I probably should have said there was also a sex swing and some handcuffs but I didn’t want to scare him just yet.
“And how often is this room used?”
“Often enough where it was essential to the house.”
“And is it called the sex room or something better than that.”
“The Red Room.”
I would like to point out that this all occurred before Fifty Shades of Grey, so I wasn’t being cliche.
“The Red Room. Got it.”
Now what the hell was that supposed to mean?
Flash forward. It’s now Friday. It’s Halloween weekend. I had no plans and was going to stay in my dorm room with my heroin addict roommate (true story) while she got ready to go to some party.
“You’re not doing anything?” He asked after another rehearsal.
“I mean, I’m going to see the show for class but otherwise, I’m just going to my dorm room.”
“How about you come over and we can go to the theatre party?”
“I’ll see how I feel after the show.”
He showed up at the show. He had purchased a ticket after rehearsal.
“We can just walk from here to my apartment. It’s a lot closer than your dorm room.”
Guess I had a change of plans.
After the show, he asked if I wanted anything to drink. There was a liquor store right across from the theatre (a beautiful plan to whoever thought that one up).
“I don’t drink.”
He was amused. “Yet. You don’t drink yet. I’ll grab us some wine.”
He started walking into the liquor store and I sheepishly followed.
“You can’t come in. They’ll card you.”
I stood outside the creepy liquor store for about five minutes waiting for him to find wine.
That’s a long time when you’re a newly 19-year-old and paranoid that someone is going to jump out of a car with full intention to take advantage of you.
He finally came back out and we walked to his apartment.
With two of his three roommates there.
I had not met all of his roommates before this night and didn’t know much about them.
The three boys (we’ll call them Josh, Kenneth, and Michael) lived with Donnie. Josh and Michael were home; Kenneth had been in the show.
Josh had never seen a performance of theatre in any facet. Ever.
Michael was a technician who was often too high to be functioning.
This was going to be fun.
Donnie was being overly flirty. He opened the bottle of wine and poured me a glass.
Moscato. Sweet and a good start when you don’t like alcohol.
Josh started talking about how he had never seen a show.
And that prompted Donnie to start our scene.
Because it fit into the conversation somehow.
So I rolled with it.
We ran through our entire scene in front of his roommates.
And I knew exactly what emotion the kiss/knee-to-crotch combination was.
So, I did it.
Grabbed my shoes.
And walked out the door.
I heard Josh freaking out in the apartment.
“WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!”
I laughed to myself.
“THAT SHOULD BE A PLAY. DONNIE, WRITE THAT DOWN!”
I came back into the apartment and grabbed my glass of wine.
Donnie lost it.
“It is a play, Josh.”
I didn’t see Josh the rest of the night. He was too pissed to leave his room.
Michael got out his beer and started putting on his costume.
“What’s up?” He leaned in close.
“I don’t have a costume.”
“Well, we can fix that.”
He grabbed my hand and walked me to his room.
And kissed me.
I could play this game, too.
“What do you want to dress up as?” He took off his shirt to throw on a basketball jersey.
“I could be a one night stand.” I thought back to my dad’s college days where he made himself look like a night stand. Yes, my dad dressed up as a table for the sake of the joke.
I knew I wasn’t going to dress up as a table but I was going to start my sluttiness early.
“And how are you going to do that?”
“Give me a shirt.”
He threw me a button up shirt. A dark green, soft, comfortable shirt.
I buttoned it wrong, smeared my makeup, and messed up my hair.
“See? A one night stand.”
He smirked. “I could have done all of that for you, you know.”
My heart leaped into my throat.
There was more noise coming from the front room.
“I guess everyone else is here.”
What did he mean ‘everyone else?’
A passel of people piled into the apartment. All theatre people who I was intimidated to talk to and who clearly didn’t know what had just happened in Donnie’s room.
We walked as a group to the theatre party. I was one glass of wine in with no buzz.
Everyone else was either stoned or pretty far gone.
We walked into the apartment and there was a haze.
And a giant stuffed stegosaurus near the door.
We had entered the famed Pangea apartment.
There were couches strewn about in the living room and a kitchen filled with wine bottles and beer cans.
And a beer pong table in the middle of a hallway.
Everyone knew Donnie, who introduced me to everyone.
I took a seat on one of the couches near the stegosaurus while Donnie disappeared around a corner.
When he returned, he had a beer in one hand and a ping pong ball in the other.
“I signed us up. We play winners.”
“Donnie, I’ve never played.”
“You shoot the ball and aim for the cups. If they make one of ours, we drink.”
“I don’t drink, Donnie.”
“Yes, you do. You did it at the apartment.”
“I don’t drink beer.”
“Then I’ll drink every time they score.”
I had no choice.
Well, I did. But I chose to play.
We were playing these two guys who had won every round they played. They were calling trick shots and asking for new formations of cups.
That’s not intimidating.
Donnie and I started. We made both shots. They threw the balls back and we shot again. We both missed.
By some miracle, they missed. Donnie bent down to pick up the ball and trailed his finger up the back of my leg.
We shot back and forth, Donnie drinking any time they scored just as he had promised.
And somehow, we won.
Since I still don’t really understand the game of beer pong, I don’t know how we won.
But we did.
We looked around the party to find that everyone was sloshed. I was done being there (even though the stegosaurus had been quite nice) and clearly so was Donnie.
He put his arm around my waist and whispered in my ear. “Do you want to get going?”
After the leg incident during beer pong, I was beyond ready.
We walked back to his apartment and held hands the entire way.
We walked into the apartment, he poured me another glass of wine, and changed into shorts.
When he came back, he sat next to me and I put my head in his lap.
Then Josh came out.
Donnie didn’t move. He talked to Josh like there was nothing weird about a girl who wasn’t his girlfriend putting her head in his lap.
“I’m going to go lay down.” The idea of staying in the living room was nauseating.
“I’ll be back there in a minute.”
He was actually going to sleep in the same bed as me. With his roommate’s knowledge.
When he finally joined me, that’s when things got really interesting.
He laid down next to me and asked the single best question.
It took me a long time to figure out what he meant.
Right. My ideal room for sex.
“Well, this isn’t what I had in mind.”
He started to nibble my neck.
I could make an exception.
He unbuttoned his shirt (remember, that’s on me) and unclasped my bra. He spent a solid ten minutes just caressing and sucking on my nipples.
That’s not really my thing but I wasn’t going to say no.
I played with his reddish brown hair and knew that this was really going to happen.
I was down to my underwear before he asked the most awkward question.
“Should I get one?”
I hate when people ask that question.
Just frickin’ grab a condom and if I don’t want you to use one, I will tell you so.
It kills the mood when people pause to ask about protection.
I know it’s important and it is very thoughtful.
But in the moment of fantastical foreplay, that question is a huge mood killer.
I nodded and could feel my stomach turn and lurch.
He slipped off his shorts and boxers to reveal a way bigger dick than I expected.
Donnie is about 5’7”. With a dick that’s about 8”.
That ratio still floors me.
He rolled on the condom, laid me down on the bed, and entered slowly.
He thrust in and out, kissed my neck, and awkwardly moaned.
He came (rather loudly and emphatically) and laid on top of me.
I stared at the ceiling.
I had built this sex up to be something that I would remember for all the right reasons.
Not even close.
The foreplay was worth it though.
I sat up after he had gotten comfortable and stared at the closet.
I didn’t know what to do.
And he didn’t either.
“I don’t know who to choose.”
Isn’t that a great way to start a conversation?
“You’re beautiful, amazing, talented, and gorgeous and deserve to be the happiest person in life. But I don’t think I can do that.”
I was always going to be second place to his girlfriend.
And that didn’t sit well with me.
We stayed up a majority of the night trying to hash out what this crazy thing was and if it was even worth continuing or if I should just trek home.
I stayed the night. Very unhappy. But I stayed.
Because somehow, second place was better than being alone.
I woke up the next morning still upset.
I proceeded to get ready and left.
He followed me back to my dorm room.
“I don’t want you to be upset. I still care about you.”
I let him catch up to me. He tried to console me. I didn’t give in until we were near my dorm.
“Know that this isn’t a one time thing. It’s not a one night stand like all of the other people walking around out here who slept with someone for Halloween night.”
I looked around to see people still in their costumes making the walk of shame.
And mine hadn’t been shame. I had the person I slept with next to me most of the way home.
That had to count for something, right?
Donnie and I didn’t rehearse as much after that. Both because we didn’t want to and because I emotionally couldn’t.
But that didn’t mean he stopped caring.
There was one day in class that I had my head on my desk. I wasn’t feeling well and he scratched my back and drew pictures on pieces of paper to make me feel better.
It was like that throughout the rest of the semester.
Our final rolled around. It was the day of and I had a lot of packing to do (I was moving dorm rooms). It was pouring rain outside and I was going to stay in.
I got the text.
There was only one issue this time around.
I was on my period.
I’m fine with period sex. It’s some of the most enjoyable sex I can have. I just find it messy and most guys aren’t okay with it.
But I was content with second place.
I walked to his apartment in the pouring rain.
I’m talking buckets.
I walked up to the door and he smiled. He handed me a towel and helped me dry off.
And penetrated my vagina.
The same, ceiling watch sex as before.
And I left a basketball-sized stain on his sheets.
He got up to change for class. He also needed to grab some food.
I covered the stain and got dressed.
His girlfriend called.
I became livid and knew that I was always going to be second place.
We performed our scene in class.
And I kneed him as hard as I could in his two-timing dick.
I walked out of class feeling empowered.
My parents picked me up from my dorm room and drove me back home.
I had won my own battle.
Until I got a phone call.
“Did you tell someone about you and me?”
I did. I didn’t remember who, but I had told someone. I wasn’t going to admit that to Donnie though.
“No, I didn’t. Why?”
“Because Abigail (his girlfriend) asked me. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page that this doesn’t get out to anyone.”
Now, you are probably thinking that was the end. I learned to not be the side hoe. I felt empowered and was able to move on accordingly.
I slept with Donnie three or four other times in the following year.
My personal favorite is when I almost got us caught by a bunch of professional actors in his summer apartment when he was interning with a Shakespeare company.
I was on top. I rode like a champion. I apparently moaned really loud and his roommates asked him what the deal was.
But I was always second place.
I was always the one to go grab condoms (because Abigail didn’t make him wear any).
I was always the one who had to leave right after sex (because Abigail could be coming home soon).
I was always going to be the one okay with second place.
The Moral of This Story
Being with a douchebag isn’t the worst thing in the world.
Being second place is.
Don’t ever let someone rank you as second place. I let it happen for close to two years of my life and it has screwed me up for probably the rest of my life.
And being the side slut is really sucky.
Donnie wasn’t a douchebag because he cheated with me. He wasn’t a douchebag because I found myself falling in love with him.
Donnie was a douchebag because he made me feel like a second-place side slut who would never be someone’s first place.
And that’s pretty damn douche-y.
A Closing Message to Donnie
I really hope you’re happy. I know you’re still with Abigail. I feel sorry for her that you refuse to admit the truth about me (and every other girl you have slept with since you started dating her).
You’re insanely good at reading people and holding conversation. You helped me create the room that I hope to be able to have in my house someday. That’s about the only thing I can thank you for.
I’m nobody’s second place.
And you don’t even get a medal.
Because trust me, dick size doesn’t matter.
You really don’t know how to use it either. Maybe if you used it like you use women, you would improve.
All anger aside, thank you for being my Eddie. For making me feel something during an acting scene. For helping me realize that that is something I want to do with my life.
And for making me realize that I am not second place.