I was in school in 1999. The economy was great, and everyone who was a year or two older was getting fantastic jobs straight out of college. Everyone seemed to have money, even those of us on scholarships. There was a sense of living high--cocktails flowed like water. We had some great parties.
At the last party of the school year, we had a big barbecue at my friend Ben's house. I rode my old red motorcycle, which I'd bought used. It came in handy around school, easy to park, easy on gas. And popular with the girls.
At the party, my friend Sarah climbed on my bike. Taking the handlebars in both hands, she pretend to ride it. She made vroom-vroom noises as she twisted the throttle. People laughed. Clearly, she was wasted.
A crowd of guys circled around her, and several began snapping pictures. She was cute on the bike. She had straight, sandy-blonde hair. When she straddled the motorcycle seat, her oversized shirt went up, and showed her bare thighs. It was a cute, almost sexy sight; I could understand that. I didn't understand why so many guys kept coming over for photos.
"Man, she's totally out there," said one of them.
My friend Ben came over to assess the situation. Holding a burger in one hand and a beer in the other, he draped his arm around me, and said, "You better drive her home before one these guys gets any funny ideas."
"She seems ok," I said. "Sarah's always a little nuts."
"Better take a closer look," advised Ben.
He was right. I could see why the drunk guys crowed around her and cheered her on. I found Sarah's best friend, Kim, and had her take her back home to sober up a little and find some underwear.
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