Brittany Witters by yaohongm

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									Brittany Witters




                                  ANIMAL INSTINCTS




       I had gone out like that, but there was something different in my desire that

night—something more desperate, more aggressive, or maybe, just more consciously

considered than before. Other nights I had been a silly mouse, drunken and innocent in

my vulnerability. But that night, I was the cat, a first time huntress hungry to prove that I

could control the chase.

       Laura, a slightly awkward British girl, accompanied me that night as a friend. She

arrived to my dorm room around 10:30 with her face thick with makeup. As usual I could

see a long, bronze streak running along the entirety of her jaw line. I was busy finishing

my own makeup when she walked in. I promptly put down my bronzer.

       “Are you ready?” I asked.

       “Hmm… I haven’t really started drinking.”

       “Oh, me either. Here, I have SoCo and sprite,” I said, pouring us two big drinks.

       I played my favorite Ying Yang Twins songs to get us in the mood, even though

the club we were going to played mostly ‘80s music on Thursdays. This was one of my

common rituals before going out, but this time I reveled in the dominance expressed
                                                               Witters, Animal Instincts


through their blatant objectification of women. I prepared for my dominant role as we

had one drink.

Then another. And another.

Then I had one more for further preparation.

       “Ha! Brittany, you’re already stumbling and we haven’t even left!”

       “Oh, I’m ready! I’m gonna get a guy tonight,” I moaned with excited, “a sexy guy

who will do me right!”

       “You slut!” Laura exclaimed jokingly. “That’s so cool how you can just go out

and do that. I could never go up to a guy and hit on him or anything like that. I get so

nervous.”

       “You talk like I have special powers,” I replied humbly. “Really, its not that hard

when your wasted.” I laughed at my own ironic ridiculousness. “I am gonna get myself in

some trouble tonight, girl, you better watch out for me,” I said, ushering us out the door.

       We stumbled out into the hall, but on this occasion, the alcohol pumping through

my bloodstream took a hold of me in a way it usually hadn’t. I felt the control of my

limbs and facial expressions slipping away with each faltered step. I clung to Laura’s pale

arm like a needy girlfriend at Prom, laughing unreasonably loud through the halls of my

infinitely quiet honors dorm. Most of the students in residence at Gilchrist Hall took their

schooling seriously. I had managed to find the handful of those who didn’t.

       When we entered into the crisp fall night, a small shiver of adjustment trickled

from the top of my nose to the tips of my fingers. Neither of us dressed for the weather;

my attempt at warm clothing was a brown, three-quarter-sleeve shirt and calf-high brown

boots paired with a jean mini skirt. Laura smartly chose jeans but her spaghetti-strapped,




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white linen top ousted any usefulness they might have had. In the college atmosphere of

Tallahassee, we certainly were no exception. Hormones outweighed any practical

discussion of clothing. Alcohol was the coat of choice for many single girls on campus,

including Laura and myself. There certainly were no coat closets at the bar we were

headed to.

       Potbellies was the kind of bar that shamelessly catered to the inherent alcoholic in

almost every college student and was the notorious hang out of Florida State’s Greek

population-- students who chose to adhere to the rules of their organization when they

were finally in a place of freedom. At the time, I just didn’t get it. Why would anyone

want to be lead when they can just as easily control their own life?

       My criticism for everything they stood for aside, I was still pretty apprehensive

around these people. As vapid as I considered most of them, largely the girls, I still felt

intimidated. I never took time to make my hair picture-perfect or paid much attention to

fashion trends, and I didn’t sit around envying those around me who did, but when it was

a bar filled with Barbies, and the norm of society told guys to go for Barbies, and I was

trying to go for these guys that night, it produced some intimidation.

       “Damn, look at all these girls here, Laura,” I nudged her and continued softly so

as not to be heard by them. “They all look so made-up. How the fuck do they do it?”

       “Lots and lots of patience—“

       “Fuck patience, I need a drink.”

       As Laura and I were standing in the entrance line, or queue, as Laura would have

it, I slipped my real ID into the left, rear pocket of my skirt and the fake into my right, out

of instinct. There were no formidable thoughts forming, just movements and reactions.




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                                                               Witters, Animal Instincts


We pushed our way through the blurring crowd of shiny cheeks, glossed lips, and gelled

hair gathered at the door to the empty dance floor and bar inside.

       “Whoa, there is no one dancing,” I said.

       Laura checked her cell phone. “It’s only 11:42, more people arrive after

midnight.”

       “Psssssshhhhhhhh. I’ll dance without them!” “Like a Virgin” began blaring

through the large speakers surrounding the DJ in the left corner of the bar. “Ha-ha! Like a

virgin, my ass! Laura, check me out!”

       I scuffled to the empty dance floor, noticing for a second how much of the décor

centered on wood. My body moved freely to the beat. My hands tousled my wavy, brown

hair as my head moved from side to side. My full lips pouted out a bit more and my hips

slide back and forth. I sensually caressed my sides with flat palms. I have never been a

particular fan of the 1980s as a generation, but I could always appreciate a song that let

me act sexy-- even if I did look drunk and ridiculous doing it alone.

       Fifty new arrivals and two spilt rum and cokes later, a total of maybe twenty

minutes, the place around me had become a chaotic mess of colors, sounds, and sweat. I

could not move from the dance floor without absorbing the scent of others onto my

chestnut blouse. I was at the edge of my drunkenness, the point before instinct tells the

body to sit down, shut up, and have some water. That’s when I met him.

       “Let me get that for you,” he said, handing five dollars to the bartender for my

beer. “I’m Brian. You wanna dance?”




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                                                                Witters, Animal Instincts


          “Sure!” Even through my drunkenness, I could tell he was gorgeous. He had

strong facial features, brown hair, a fit stature, and big hands—just what I had been

looking for.

          We moved back toward the dance floor, and I did my best to keep balance and

grind my hips deep into his pelvis. He grabbed them with a firm, wanting grip, guiding

his movement along with mine. I leaned in close to bask in his hot musk, a familiar scent

of man sweat and Old Spice that had attracted me to my first boyfriend. I wanted to

straddle him right then and here.

          Suddenly, he stopped dancing with me at the sound of his name and

acknowledged a friend at the bar by a wave of his Bud Light bottle.

          “Hey, my friend’s over there—I’m gonna go say what’s up,” he pronounced in

my ear. His breath wasn’t as thick with alcohol as I suspected mine to be. He began

clearing a way through the crowd before I could think of something to say.

          A quiet panic swelled within me. I needed him. I grabbed him tightly around his

bicep as he began to turn away. “I want to fuck you tonight so don’t go far,” I said.

          His blue eyes widened in a strange mix of disbelief, then of understanding, as he

looked me over one more time and realized his opportunity. He didn’t go over to his

friend.

          Two songs later, I was hunched over the curb outside, waiting for him to get me

anywhere, however he could. Laura was somewhere inside still; I had snuck past her to

avoid any cautionary speech she might want to give.

          In the next instance of my memory, we slowly opened my dorm room door incase

my roommate was sleeping inside. To our surprise, it was empty.




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                                                               Witters, Animal Instincts


       “Looks like we have it to ourselves,” I said.

       “Then you better get on the bed,” he commanded. He grabbed me by the sides and

tossed me onto my pink jersey sheets.

       As he took off his pants, I scrambled in the desk door next to me to find a

condom.

       “Fuck, I can’t find a condom.” We looked at each other, uncertain of what to do.

       “It’s OK, I’m on birth control,” I said, disallowing anything to ruin the

culmination of my conquest.

       With that, he climbed on top of me and forcefully pulled down my skirt and

panties with one motion. I wrapped my legs around his muscular waist, and they quivered

with his first push inside me. My hands flung behind my head and grabbed onto the

wooden pegs of my headboard, bracing my body for each forceful thrust.

       The headboard banged heavily against the wall, ignoring my efforts to silence it. I

could not even quiet my loud, drunken moans, exaggerated as though I were performing

on film. Each sensation inside me felt as pronounced as an orgasm. He added into our

soundtrack with monotone bursts of pleasure.

       “I’m coming!” he said suddenly and pulled himself out from me. Both of us

panted heavily, trying desperately to regain our composure.

       “I’ll get a towel,” I said, carefully easing myself out from underneath him. I

walked over to the sink, dampened a red hand cloth, and carefully wiped it across my

soiled stomach. My head felt like it was full of air, unable in any way to help the

functions of the rest of my body. I quickly climbed back into my bed and passed out.




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                                                                Witters, Animal Instincts


       The next morning, I woke up alone in my bed, which had moved a good seven

inches from its place against the beige wall. My head pounded mercilessly. My hair had

tangled into a web of knots and saliva had crusted along the rim of my mouth. I looked

like a hot mess.

       “Well, well, look who’s awake,” my roommate said in her Georgian accent. “I

hope you had fun last night because I had to sleep down in Mike’s room until you were

finished.”

       “Oh, sorry, you weren’t home. I didn’t know where you were.”

       “I was downstairs with everybody. Everybody in the whole dorm practically

could hear you last night, ya know. The bed sounded like it was gonna break. We heard it

scratching along the floor.”

       “Oh shit,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

       “Who was he anyway?”

       “Uh… a guy I met at the bar, um…” I faltered. I couldn’t remember his name. I

could vaguely make out his face in my memory. All I had were flashes of his strong body

on top of mine, pushing deeper and more aggressively inside me with each moan.

       “Brittany,” she said, glancing at me like I had just said bullshit in front of a

classroom full of kids.

       I hated her glare but deep inside I knew she was right. I seized him at exactly the

right time, dug my claws in his flesh. I had hunted my mouse. But still, the next morning

felt the same as they did when I was the mouse. I had nothing now to show as my prize,

except a painful hangover and a disapproving roommate.




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