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"Andrea Wysong graduated from Ithaca College in May. She is the second columnist from Cosmopolitan.com&amp;#039;s contributor network. Find out how you can write for Cosmo. &amp;quot;I can&amp;#039;t believe she is doing this to me,&amp;quot; I think to myself as my best friend and roommate climbs on top of a guy she is making out with in the early morning of her 20th birthday. We are lying in our tiny room, in our shared bed that almost touches all four walls, with an\u2026 ahem\u2026 inebriated, naked man passed out in between us. Well, he was passed out in between us. He is now located underneath a very happy birthday girl, while I sit idly by, wondering how this could possibly be happening to me. I guess it all started when we chose to live in this flat. Upon arrival here in London four months earlier at the beginning of our semester abroad, we were required to find our own housing. The best flat Stacy*, I, and three other friends could find within our budget only had a limited number of beds, and to make room for everyone, Stacy and I were going to have to share. &amp;quot;No one is allowed to do anything in that bed without the other person present!&amp;quot; we agreed. Neither of us were to be sex-iled from our own bed, and this was our funny way of making that clear. We&amp;#039;d had no issues up to this point, and aside from the occasional blanket-hog, sharing a bed had been working out just fine. Now here we are, our last weekend in London, and our joke of an agreement is actually being put to the test! At some point during our party earlier this evening, our British friend Sam had completely undressed and crawled into our bed, and we&amp;#039;d decided, in our own intoxicated states, just to go to sleep on either side of him. Within a few minutes of us getting into bed, he woke up, and the two of them became intertwined. &amp;quot;Ummm, Stacy?&amp;quot; I awkwardly interject as their passion becomes more heated, &amp;quot;remember our agreement?&amp;quot; She pulls her face away for just enough time to say, &amp;quot;Go upstairs. It&amp;#039;s my birthday!&amp;quot; Stacy has always loved her birthday, and while normally leaving the room would have been an option, tonight we had friends crashing upstairs after the party. &amp;quot;Where do you want me to go? This is my bed!&amp;quot; The only responses I get involve the words &amp;quot;go away&amp;quot;, &amp;quot;pleeeease&amp;quot;, and &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s my birthday!&amp;quot; Meanwhile, Sam* says nothing. I lay there on my back staring at the ceiling for a few more minutes within inches of their hot-and-heavy makeout sesh, wondering why it&amp;#039;s always Stacy that gets to have all the fun, and what I should do to solve this predicament. For a minute, as Sam works his way on top of Stacy, I think they are so into what they are doing that they forget I am laying there. Suddenly I realize I am wrong. In the dark, I feel a hand caressing my stomach. &amp;quot;Uhhh\u2026.I don&amp;#039;t think Sam wants me to leave\u2026&amp;quot; I say to Stacy, talking about Sam as if he is not in the room. The one hand he is dedicating to me increases intensity. &amp;quot;You have a boyfriend! Go away!&amp;quot; It was true that home in America I had a boyfriend of two years, but we&amp;#039;d been on and off, and most of those two years we were long-distance at different schools. Then, for the first and only time that night, Sam speaks, in a ridiculously sexy British accent. &amp;quot;What he doesn&amp;#039;t know won&amp;#039;t hurt him,&amp;quot; he says, moving his hand down my stomach and towards my legs. For the next few hours, we somehow manage to have what I imagine to be one of the weirdest threesomes ever. Stacy and I calmly talk about the situation as it unfolds, occasionally bursting into spontaneous fits of giggles as if Sam isn&amp;#039;t even there, while he relishes the experience without saying a word. Every so often, Stacy will say something like, &amp;quot;I get to [insert sexual act] first because I&amp;#039;m the birthday girl!&amp;quot; We even take a time-out to have a secret meeting in the hallway once or twice, leaving Sam alone on the bed. He surprisingly enough doesn&amp;#039;t seem to mind our strange behavior, and after a very long night, he finally falls asleep. Stacy and I didn&amp;#039;t sleep much that night, though, partly because we couldn&amp;#039;t figure out the best way to spoon with three people, and partly because our sobering minds couldn&amp;#039;t believe what just happened, so we patiently waited for him to wake up and go home. After overly formal goodbyes in front of our roommates, we ran into our room and shut the door. Stacy looked at me with shock in her eyes and says, &amp;quot;What the hell just happened?&amp;quot; I had no response for her. Almost three years later, we are still best friends. Got a story Cosmo readers should hear? Find out how you can submit it, and don&amp;#039;t miss our debut #WriteForCosmo essay &amp;quot;Don&amp;#039;t Fall in Love in College.&amp;quot; Illustration by Michele Moricci. Find him on Facebook. *Names changed for confidentiality. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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