Sex on Thursday

SEX ON THURSDAY | Lock Him Up

“You’re so fun at parties because you always have the best stories,” Austin joked. “Tell them what you told me.”

Austin and I had been friends since high school, and I was standing among a group of his friends at a party back home over Thanksgiving break. He was asking me to share the story of what happened during sex with my summer fling. I tend to be pretty open about sex, so I didn’t mind talking about my experiences, though this one elicited a bit of shame. “Well,” I started, blushing, “you have to understand he was a teenager and loved the fact that I was a few years older than him.  I’d never been with a younger guy.” Austin was already giggling.

Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan) carries Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson) in Fifty Shades Freed.

Freed At Last! Fifty Shades is Finally Over

There’s nothing I hate more than a mediocre movie. As weird as it may sound, bad movies are usually fun to watch through a critical lens. There are far more usable synonyms for “bad” than for “meh.” I’ve come to love the Transformers and Fast and Furious franchises because they make it easy for me to exercise my growing superiority complex. However, when faced with a truly middle of the road film, I’m faced with a dilemma. If I like it too much, I’ll lose credibility as a “critic.” On the other hand, if I like it too little I get told I’m being negative for the sake of being negative.

LETTER TO THE EDITOR | Don’t Get Choked Up

To the Editor:
My son, a Cornell student, sent me and his friends the article “On Choking” by Essie M., appearing in The Sun on Feb. 25. Not much bothers him, and he doesn’t contact me often since he’s in college. However, this article appalled him, as it does me. Pornographic personal narratives should have no place in a college newspaper, to say nothing of a Cornell publication.

GUEST ROOM | On Choking

It was just a regular, run-of-the-mill one-night stand last semester. I had been beaten squarely in a rousing drinking game of pong by a handsome stranger. If we talked beyond “Wow, you actually made a cup” or “for fire!” I don’t recall, because that’s not what made this encounter special. After a brief consenting exchange, we were stumbling around Collegetown bound for his apartment. Upon arrival, we made our drunken presence loudly known to all of his cohabitants in the way that intoxicated lovebirds do in the wee hours of the night.