Great Expectations

What does it mean when you accept an offer to accompany a strapping young fraternity man to his Vegas formal? (Non-Greek readers, it is tradition for the houses to go on one major trip per year—destination varies by university—for an entire weekend, each member accompanied by a young lady).

Back when I was a naïve freshman, I was asked to such an event. The problem? My significant other wasn’t the one doing the asking. He had his nose in an engineering textbook 400 miles away. Instead, a mutual friend extended the invitation.

Because he was a mutual friend of my boyfriend and me, he obviously knew I was taken. Off-limits. So when he asked me to be his date, I honestly thought we were going “as friends.”

But then when we got to the hotel room, there were only two beds. Another couple had already claimed one. So I guess that meant I had to share the remaining bed with my date, right? If he slept with another guy, that’d violate all sorts of social norms. And plus he had paid for everything; it’d be really rude not to sleep in the bed. I told myself sharing a bed was no big deal. So I put his feelings before mine and I slept with him.

My first slide down the slippery slope of that entire weekend.

The second night was even crazier. We went to a super nice Brazilian steakhouse for dinner, and all of the girls were treated, of course. 

In fact, none of the girls paid a dime that weekend. We were accessories. Not that we minded—being an accessory was sort of fun, in an old-fashioned kind of way. Everything was planned for us, everything paid for. No stress.

But in between the steak dinner and a suite party, I overheard some of the fraternity members talking. They were purposely taking us to expensive restaurants (and buying us expensive poolside drinks, and transporting us from party to party in expensive limousines, and expensive this and expensive that) so we’d feel obliged to have sex with them.

This made me incredibly sad. Obviously my “friend” had other plans for our second night together. But I was committed to my long-distance relationship. Any smart girl would’ve run for the hills, right? Or at least stayed sober enough to have a very serious conversation about how certain expectations could not and would not be fulfilled.

But instead I got very drunk.

And out of guilt I let him kiss me.

I hurt someone I loved. I hurt someone who trusted me enough to go away for the weekend with another guy, to a string of events he knew would involve alcohol.

It didn’t go further than a kiss. My guilt about “ruining” my friend’s weekend was quickly overcome by my disbelief about what I had just done.

Amazing, the way guilt can conquer commitment, if only for a moment.

While my LDBF never found out about my transgression, the experience made me realize how quickly it could have turned into a full-blown betrayal. And why you shouldn't put yourself in tempting situations.

I vowed that night to never stray from my partner (present or future) ever again.

Don’t misinterpret my story as an attack against manipulative frat boys. I was just as much to blame for what happened. Because you know what, ladies? Every time you hook up with the invite date you swore you’d never hook up with, you propagate the belief that it’s okay for fraternity members to expect sexual favors in return for a weekend getaway.

That guy isn’t trying to buy your emotions. He probably couldn’t, anyway. So don’t let him buy your body. 

Maybe it’s his formal, and maybe he has his own ideas about what would be the perfect ending to his weekend. But when you strip away the fancy dinners and the poolside daiquiris and the limousine rides, you’re left with his thin wallet and a choice. 

Just remember that everyone knows what it’s called when a guy pays a girl to have sex with him.