Cornellians like to have sex (I mean, have you read this column before?), and who can blame us? Between the never-ending stress of classwork, the brutally frigid winter, and the crushing fear that we’ll all end up dying alone, people here would likely explode (literally, in some cases) without the opportunity to fuck around a little bit. In a school of 14,000 undergrads — and 7,000 graduate students if you have a thing for that — Cornellians have their pick of a broad selection of sexual partners. During your four years in Ithaca, you’ll probably encounter a variety of snuggle buddies. Here are the 10 types of people you’ll have sex with at Cornell:
The First: It’s o-week, and you’ve ventured out into Collegetown with your 50 new best friends you met on your floor.
Yet, as our adventure progressed, I felt closer to my friend than ever before. We knew exactly what each other liked because we had spent years revealing our sexual experiences to one another, so it was easy for me to please her and to guide the guy to do the same.
It is a stereotype of male arousal that it tends to go one way or the other. That is to say, you’re either turned on or you’re not. While such platitudes are mostly true, they do overlook the realm of partial tumescence, the delightful stage in-between full erection and full flaccidity.
Yesterday my friend bought a dirty magazine from a gas station in Cortland. Smut, as my grandparents would have called it. Later, while poring over it in a semicircle of four or five rapt gentlemen, I caught a wave of nostalgia for the bygone days of print pornography. The magazine itself was printed on paper, of all things. There were no play or pause buttons or volume sliders, either.
Sexual fantasies. When a girl mentions this term, I assume most people imagine some steamy, hot bondage sex scene with lots of rope, blindfolds, and other sexy kinks. But to me, the term “sexual fantasy” means something else. It refers to my private, creepy, does-this-reflect-a-hidden-part-of-my-character thoughts when I’m touching myself, or sometimes even just daydreaming in a coffee shop after seeing a hot guy. Yeah, neurotic.
There’s something oddly exciting about anonymity. Albeit it’s extraordinarily difficult to be completely anonymous, with IP addresses and all, the simple act of covering your face in the midst of a lewd act is enough to excite me all over. Yes, I’m talking about public, but not so public, masturbation. It all started quite early for me. My best friend Alyson and I were sexually adventurous and we would do anything for attention.
One of the problems everybody deals with at college is where to get their hair cut. If you have a long-standing relationship with your barber at home, you don’t need to describe the cut you want. Presumably, your home barber knows you well enough to know how you like it. But even if you go to a new barber, there’s a standard “hair lexicon” you can use to succinctly and precisely describe the coif you’re into. “Six on top, four on the sides, tapered in the back and sideburns mid-ear,” for example.
It’s a long night in Collegetown, I’m batting my eyes, flirting with a few guys. I just got a number, and this one particular guy eyeing me at this bar has this dark mysterious aura surrounding him (maybe it’s just the fact that he’s wearing all black and alone). I go up to him, speak in a low, sultry voice, and after a few minutes ask him to come back to my place. Of course, he’s surprised, this is typically the guy’s part, why would I skip the flirting that most girls require? Why am I so hungry to have him over?
Is it my sultry stares? My pushed-up-too-much breasts? But isn’t that typical of most flirtation methods nowadays? I really am unsure about why people (in this case, guys) are so willing to cheat on their girlfriends. More specifically, why has it happened so many times with me?
A group of 15 American girls wandering the streets of Amsterdam’s Red Light District, stumbling into a “coffee shop” only to have our nostrils fill with the stench of weed smoke and eyes darting to all the Amsterdammer’s rolling flawless joints. We’re giddy and laughing, while all still questioning what we are doing here and how our night led to what was about to go down. Let me back up. I studied abroad last semester in Europe. While I had all the similar trips as most of my peers did, my semester was a little bit different than most.