But it was true. It was so true. When Gregory Steinwitz’s booty ‘13 hit the dance floor, everyone, including Big Freedia zirself, stopped and gasped in reverence. Right here in Eclectic, God was amongst them. In the audience, Pamela ’15 struggled to keep the buttons of her sheer blouse closed. She felt the overwhelming desire to tear off her grandmother’s bed-jacket and offer herself to the Krump Lord to be ravished. She wanted to feel his oversized member, hard as a zeppelin, against her generous thighs as they melted together on the dance floor.
At long last, tickled to frenzy by desire, she danced toward him, her molten amber eyes locking with his. He could see in her hardened face that Pamela was not just another “biddie.” Having been spoiled by the heated, cutthroat dancing at the underground hip-hop clubs of Scarsdale, New York, Gregory had come to Wesleyan jaded and unsatisfied by the weak grinding typical of the WestCo Raves and Psi U Formals. He wanted passion. He wanted fire. And looking at the way Pamela booty-dropped, he knew that she was the one, that he must seize this moment and pounce before that atomic she-devil escaped and he never got to hold her in his strong, scrawny arms.
Seventeen minutes later, Pamela threw Gregory onto her bed, mounting him with the fervor of a rabid jaguar. He ripped off his Morning Benders t-shirt and threw it to the floor of her Fauver dorm room in a flourish. Although Pamela’s roommate, Gladys Merkin ‘15, was by now asleep on the twin bed a mere six feet away, nothing could quell their funky lust. As Pamela throaty and fermata’d moans pierced the ears of the P-Safe officers driving down Foss Hill Drive, the patrolmen could but laugh mirthlessly.
