Last week at Winthrop Stein Club, someone I met called me a “sex goddess.” Quite the compliment considering that he’s never so much as seen the inside of my bedroom. But I suppose he was making an educated remark, considering that I do write a sex blog after all. Unfortunately, he and most other people have no idea just how stale my sex life is. Other than my roommates, who are privy to what (and who) goes down, no one knows that I’m gunning for Santa’s nice list this year.
The common perception among readers seems to be that I have an uncommonly active and satisfying sex life, that I’m a tiger in the sack, and that I’m always up for more action. If only. While freshman girls have called me their “hero,” “idol,” and “role model” (actual quotes!), the truth is that my sophomore self really hasn’t done anything — or anyone — worth emulating. Believe it or not, my sex life is actually really boring.
I have had sex maybe five times in the past two months, possibly less but definitely not more. The number of partners? A grand total of two, one of whom is Berklee (an ex who really shouldn’t count because we slept together in the most platonic manner ever). Promiscuous? Hardly. Everyone seems to think that my hypothetical bedpost has been whittled down to nothing when it is actually several notches short of scandalous.
What’s even more unbelievable is that I haven’t even indulged in the occasional casual hookup. Apparently, kissing with tongue has became a huge deal to me, because I can no longer handle friendly lip-to-lip action, even when drunk. I’ve turned down every single guy who’s tried to hook up with me this semester, Aidan included. Call me a control freak, but I only let things happen on my own terms. This wasn’t last year’s mindset. Making out with someone never caused such a fuss before, yet the only person I’ve kissed without hesitation so far is the ever-sexy Miss Sue and I don’t think she counts.
Public hookups were my freshman forte, but kissing someone mid-dance floor now seems inconceivable. I don’t even grind with guys anymore. The only dance partners I’m comfortable getting dirty with are either gay (Rody), platonic (ZAP), or so-not-an-option (one of Aidan’s roommates) that my vagina doesn’t feel threatened. In fact, I’ve noticed that I purposely avoid situations where someone might try to hook up with me. Alone with a boy in his bedroom? Rare. Alone with a boy in mine? Never. When did I become such a prude?
Just about the only nights I do have sex are weekends, and usually I’m several sheets to the wind (i.e. drunk). Alcohol is my aphrodisiac, sad to say. Without it, I’d be hopeless. Maybe I have performance anxiety, but I’m just not particularly confident in my sexual prowess when sober, nor am I keen on initiating. But thanks to the liberating effects of liquid courage, I pounce without shame. I’m also much louder than usual — great for my partner, not so great for his roommates or my red-faced self come morning. I never had problems with summoning my inner minx before. Could it be that I’ve actually developed a sense of modesty? It’s a shame.
My blockmates are the ones who should really be writing a sex blog. They’re doing far better in bed than I am. One pal’s still in the honeymoon period with her new boyfriend so I can only imagine the ferocity with which they hook up. JB’s informed me that his sex sessions with the BU beau are quite … vocal. Hell, even Terra’s pulled crazier shit than I have this year. The Brit’s publicly made out with not one but two young gents from a certain club that will remain nameless.
What’s worse than my lack of activity is my lack of desire. Usually, I’m not horny at all. My sexual appetite has been crushed under the heavy weight of my extracurricular commitments. Sleep, not sex, is the prevailing desire nowadays. Even if I’ve got company in bed, I’m more apt to cuddle than I am to fuck. At the end of the night, who has the energy to engage in multi-hour romps when last-minute reading awaits in the morning?
So I guess my point is that my sex life is more myth than truth. To the girls out there: you’re probably better off looking up to one of my blockmates. And to the guys: sorry, I’m afraid I have an early section.