For better or for worse, 99 percent of my (random, outside of a relationship) hookups have occurred while I was sober. I've experienced pure pleasure, unadulterated awkwardness, sheer disappointment, and un-obscured lust without being impaired of intoxicated in any way. Not that I think I'm a special snowflake because of this - I know this particular piece of my life's narrative is far from unique.
I think it’s safe to assume that after a few years of sexual activity, most people have a few “oh god” stories of bedroom disasters. These are the ones that make it into the "it doesn't count" category. You know, when something happens that, you know, just shouldn’t have happened.
Between my new-found love for feminism, my interest in volunteering at a local rape crisis center, and the incredibly offensive non-consent debacle on Jezebel, the idea and principle of consent has been in my head a lot lately. It turns out it’s not quite as easy as that “no means no” sheet they hand out in health class – there’s more to giving consent than just not saying no.
While tirelessly working on a PowerPoint presentation for my Foreign Policy class this past Friday, I was forwarded another slew of slides chock-full of facts, images, and evaluations. However, these were far from academic. As I clicked a link in the email, I was led to an article detailing one Duke University female’s fake senior thesis, titled “An education beyond the classroom: excelling in the realm of horizontal academics.”
Alright everyone. I owe you an apology. Last week's article made no sense. Is she done? What happened? Did she mess up? Why is she crying? Just be? What does that mean?? This is really not very man-free!
Regardless of what some of my readers might think of me, I don’t’ have a lot of experience with one-night stands. That’s a lie; I don’t have any experience with one-night stands. I don’t look down upon people who choose to do it (obviously, I write a frickin’ sex column), it’s just not something I’ve done myself.
Was there anything more exhilarating, more energizing, more exciting than grilling a friend over AIM in 7th grade about what base she got to with her boyfriend? Of course at that point, first base was getting matched up with a guy during an intensive game of M.A.S.H, second base was making out in the back row of a movie theater while your friends sitting next to you giggled, and third base was letting him feel your training bra over your shirt.
I was living at home for the summer and trying my damdest to survive. All of my friends were either still abroad or doing the internship thing in New York, so I had no one to hang out with besides my parents. And oftentimes they wouldn't even hang out with me. So I did what any other bored 21-year-old would do - I got a boyfriend.
So. First semester last year this kid and I were kind of "what are you doing tonight" kind of friends, but I always got the feeling that he liked me. Second semester last year, I had drunken sex with him, which I felt bad about, because I had liked him and I felt like I ruined my chances. We continued hooking up that semester. At the end of the year he told me he liked me, but I didn't take it seriously because he was drunk.
A few weeks ago, one CollegeCandy writer asked if blackout mistakes should be forgiven. In a similar vain, earlier this week, a Princeton student asked if we are responsible for our choices when blacked out. More specifically, when a girl is raped while drunk, is it her fault?
I had known Jon (name has been changed since I know homeboy reads this site) for a little over a year. Our entire relationship was based on drinking together; we met through a friend at a bar, exchanged numbers and quickly became one another's drinking friends. You know, the one you call when you're drunk at 10:30 on a Friday and looking for fun people to meet up with.
One Friday night after a long week, a couple of friends who live in the next apartment complex threw a party. After getting all dolled up (and taking a few roomie shots), two of my roommates and I headed over with numerous handles of vodka, while the other two headed to a different shindig. Upon our arrival, my boyfriend met us there and all of us decided this was a night to get really, really drunk.
You just spent 7 hours hunched over a laptop churning out a 12-page midterm paper. Your eyes are dry, your butt is aching from those wooden slabs they call chairs at your school, and the only thing you have on your schedule for this Thursday evening is catching up on some How I Met Your Mother on your DVR and a large bowl of Pad Thai.
It’s true what they say. Tequila really does make your clothes fall off. But a new study says that 50% of women actually prefer a tequila-induced night of passion rather than the regular, old Sober Sally encounter. Apparently, sober sex is so 1999.
So you're on your way to Sexy Town with your boy. There is heavy petting, clothes are flying around the room and you're reeling to go when - oh no - he can't...do it. He keeps trying to get things working, but it's too late. The "moment" is lost.
According to a recent study of 1,580 Australian men (ugh, the best kind), drinking alcohol migh…
Alcohol is my oyster. It is my aphrodisiac. It turns me on. It makes me want to hump anything on two…