Note: This article was written by one of our amazing interns and tbh you go girl, live your best life.
Once upon a time, a hopeful princess showed up in her small college kingdom for frosh week, ready to drink some vodka sodas and drunkenly find a storybook ending with Prince Charming.
Unfortunately, this story isn’t a fairy tale, and I didn’t find anyone anywhere close to royalty.
The story I’m about to tell is a shameful, messy and very true recap of my first official weekend back at school. To protect reputations, all identities have been hidden and names have been changed.
The plan for my Thursday night was to hit up one of the three nightclubs that my small college town has to offer. After losing all my friends immediately upon getting to the club, I ran into a guy—let’s call him Z.*—who recognized me from sleeping with his friend earlier in the summer.
I don’t know why I didn’t think Z recognizing me as “that girl who slept with my friend” wasn’t a red flag, but I brushed past it and left the club with him.
He brought me home and within five minutes we were fooling around. After some drunken sex—I’m not even sure if it was good or if I was just really drunk—I up and left Z. in his bed. I checked my phone on the way home and saw that an ex from high school, H., was visiting some of his friends who are a year below me. He doesn’t live in the city, so naturally, he had to come over.
I woke up with H. in my bed earlier than I would’ve liked to, and then had some classic, very average morning sex. In high school, I had made a point of telling him I wasn’t going to take his virginity and within good reason – it was nothing to write home about.
After kicking H. out, I had a hangover breakfast and slept all day—preparing myself for another night of booze and sex.
I matched with B. on Tinder earlier in the day, and we decided to meet up later that night. But after seeing both of the long lines at the only 2 clubs worth going to, we just went to his place instead. In talking to B., I realized he happened to live with Z.—who I’d slept with less than 24 hours before. At this point, I was too far in with B. to bail, so I just owned up to sleeping with his roommate and decided it would just make a really good story.
After bragging about my oral skills to B—and then showing them to him first-hand—I proceeded to pass out on his bathroom floor, definitively proving I’m the hottest mess since Britney circa 2007.
I woke up in B.’s bed and we had sex twice before I took my ‘Walk of Shame’ home. I spent the next day sleeping—again. My friends and I decided to close out frosh week at the same club that it started at, because that’s the only way we know how. My roommate, though, got a little too drunk and, because I’m a good friend, I took her home to sleep.
If you’ve made it this far, you could probably guess that I’m not the type of girl to sit at home, drunk, on a Saturday night.
I invited over a grad student, S., and we slept together. He was out the door as quickly as he came, literally and figuratively.
To close out my weekend, I ordered UberEats, went to bed and shut the book on my eventful first weekend back at school.
My relationship with sex is an interesting one. Before I was who I am today, I didn’t have much going on in the looks department. Growing up, I genuinely thought I was going to die a virgin.
If I’m being completely honest, sometimes I don’t like that I have a lot of sex. I’m concerned that if I sleep with someone who I’m really interested in on the first time we meet, they won’t see me as anything more than a late-night hook-up.
That being said, I’m not embarrassed of how many people I’ve slept with. I’m very open about it because I believe I should own up to my decisions. I don’t consider myself to be sexually promiscuous or anything—I just like to have my fun.
Ultimately, I don’t think sex is anything to be ashamed of. It’s 2018 and slut-shaming is getting pretty old, so go sleep with who you want.
By: Anonymous Intern