The Walk of Shame

The Walk of Shame

Aka Senior Streak, aka All dressed up with nowhere to go

© Karrie Kirchner 2020

Written 8/4/20

Bibliography

• Paper Doll ©1992

• Connecticut College Magazine - unknown edition

• Vintage knitting magazine

College was a lot of fun.  I partied a lot - probably appear on pace with typical college culture.  In retrospect, I see a young woman drinking to drown out pain and seeking to fill the void of connection through insatiable sexual desire.

It was extremely easy to “hook up” in college - all upper class students, sophomores and above, had single rooms.

I was addicted to orgasms.  I didn’t care who it came from.  Even writing this makes my body feel sad.  I feel more compassion now, as I look back on 20 years ago.

So..., Walking home across campus in the early hours of the morning - in the clothes worn the night before.  Mascara migrated to below the lid line.

One night stands. Campus culture of drinking and sex. Bingeing.

Senior Week was held after all the underclassmen went home.  All of the graduating class remained on campus for the week leading up to graduation.  The college hosted great events and parties - cookouts, dances, casual sports competitions, concerts.  It was a wonderful way to close out our college experience and say our goodbyes.

The week culminated with last hurrah - The Fish Bowl and Senior Streak with Donuts at Dawn.  

Seniors would disrobe and make the journey from one end of campus to the other.  You could decide how fast or slow you made your way from the Student Center to the Art Hall.  Some strategically brought sneakers for a jaunt - others were more into moseying.

I ended up doing the staggered stroll. One of the last to leave the starting point.  Much of that time period is black.  A vague felt physical memory of flinging my bra into a tree - slingshot style.  

I remember mingling in the square at the end.  The 15 foot gong donging now and again.  Attempting to act naked casually - as if it’s no big deal.

Exposed naked.

As we are born

So are we born again

Into another phase

With our minds all full of knowledge

Our bodies with new learned experiences.

Our hearts hope-full of exponential evolutionary goodness. 

The next day - afternoonish - I headed to the library to find my roommate.  She had another final to take.  I located her on the uppermost floor of the library.  Only serious studiers - silence and stares if you shuffled your slippers too loud.  

My roommate listened to my recount of the night before.  I couldn't find my bra.  

A studious and prim classmate asked if it was beige. 

Yes.  

“Bandeau top?,” motioning horizontally over her chest. 

I nodded vigorously.  

“It’s on the tree in front of the library.”

OH!

Happy to have found a lost item, slightly ashamed of drunkenness, jazzed about randomness.

I jauntily dislodged my bra on my way out of the library and proceeded with my day.

Image Reflections…

Bareness and cold of winter.

Packaged up beautifully

Empty face. Stark.

My sexuality was a weakness. Addiction. I tried to look at my sexuality as a power.  I just used them to give me an orgasm.  See?  A female could objectify masculinity.  I just needed a cock.  Having sex filled up silence.  Sex helped my marathon swimmer’s body discharge extremely high pulses of energy.

I see now that this energy could have been transmuted into a more active role in self-evolution.  I turned away from my hurt, but my body went through processes of discipline- swimming, breath-work, martial arts, yoga, meditation, garden tending.  The 20 year old hurt.