[One of the greatest aspects of college life is the morning-after recap with friends. You stumble out of bed, grab your liquid of choice, and gather around the living room to replay (and remind yourself of) the events of last night. You laugh, you cringe and you share the highest of highs...and the rock-bottom lowest of lows. We thought we'd bring the fun of the recap to CollegeCandy, so grab that coffee and take part in the deliciously awkward moments your CC friends have to share.]

Last week, my boyfriend and I met for dinner in Manhattan and ended up going to his friend’s apartment afterwards to hang out. It got pretty late, and one of the roommates said that we could crash in an empty room (the guy who lived there was vacationing in Brazil) if we didn’t want to go all the way uptown in the rain.

Although I had my doubts about sleeping in someone else’s bed (What if he has some bodily lice? Is it so wrong if we have sex here? Where am I?), we decided to accept the offer. After all, we were in a fabulous building in the financial district overlooking the Brooklyn Bridge, and I was starting to get a headache from a little too much red wine at dinner. Navigating the subway wasn’t looking too hot.

In the morning, when we thought that everyone had left the apartment, my guy and I took a shower together. Why we felt the need to shower in someone else’s apartment (with someone else’s loofah), I do not know, but we did. And, since everyone knows that joint showering is no fun without at least a little touching, we decided to have sex. Hey – it seemed like the cleanest place to do the deed in someone else’s house, there would be no need for cleanup, and, well, it’s just inevitable when you’re in a steamy bathroom with your devilishly good looking boyfriend!

Needless to say, it got pretty hot and heavy…. Read More »

Once upon a time, I lived in a very small apartment with my significant other. The price was right, the location ideal to school and the complex, if not especially fancy, was at least fairly clean and had a tennis court.

For all that we liked about it, this apartment had one major drawback, which we discovered with some surprise the first night we moved in: The walls were paper thin.

After carting what seemed like thousands of boxes, a big screen TV and a king sized bed up a few flights of stairs in the heat of the Florida summer, the last thing on our minds was making love.

Not so for our neighbors, who started having sex so loudly that I could hear it in the shower at about six o’clock in the afternoon.

At about nine, my boyfriend and I had given up all pretense of affording our new neighbors their modesty and had our ears fully to the wall, listening intently as they changed position, talked dirty, even spanked each other.

Usually, I would get some perverse amusement from a scene such as this, but it only made me feel, well, sad. I didn’t know if the couple next door had been moving all day like we had, but they obviously had the energy for a marathon lovemaking session. I thought with some embarrassment that the time we had spent listening to the rabbits on the other side of our wall, not unpacking or resting, could have just as easily been spent having sex. Not crazy end of the world sex in which our neighbors were engaging, but sex nonetheless. Read More »

I was rudely awoken this morning at the ripe hour of 6:45 to the sounds of passionate sex being had above me. This was after falling asleep to the sounds of wild passionate sex being had above me. And right now, as I type this, they are going at it again; this time in the living room above me.

I think I am starting to go crazy!

Not that I haven’t experienced this phenomenon before; I did live with 8 girls in an old house during college. The walls were paper thin and I could hear everything from giggles to bed springs to even the slightest breath. But those were my friends. I had no problem marching up the stairs, gently knocking on the door and reminding said roommate that not everyone needs to know how “good that feels.”

I don’t know the dude who lives upstairs. In fact, until I heard two male voices moaning in the throes of sex last night, I had no idea that he was gay. And it is not like that makes a difference for me at all; I don’t want to hear anyone – gay or straight – screaming “F*$! ME” at 6:45 on a Sunday morning. Nor do I care how either of the parties “likes it” or where their next fornication location is going to be. (Yes, I did hear one boy throw out the idea of “taking this to the shower.”) But my point is that I barely know my upstairs neighbor, making it virtually impossible for me to broach this touchy subject with him. Read More »