The Cornell Daily Sun (https://cornellsun.com/tag/sex-on-thursday/page/2/)
It’s been almost three years since I’ve had a boyfriend, and I’ve barely dated since coming to college. Do I land in one of the aforementioned categories that make me undateable? Besides the “sex addict” category, of course.
Today I write with a confession of my own naivety, willing to admit that despite my self-proclaimed breadth of knowledge regarding Cornell’s sexscape, there is one element of our campus’ sensual situation that I have critically overlooked: I did not realize that people were actually fucking in the stacks.
If waltzing into an adult outlet and buying the skimpiest pair of lingerie and a 12-inch strap-on makes someone happy, so be it. If waiting until marriage makes you feel more confident and secure in yourself, do it! Orgies? Not for me, but wonderful for anyone who desires them.
Over the summer I called into question this nonchalance toward cutting off all romantic partners that never earned the title of “MY partner” when it came time to actually tell them that I would not be seeing them any longer. Even though we had spent loads of time together out getting drinks, going for walks or in bed, I was incredibly tempted to dismiss it all and just use my lablelessness as a fog cover to fade away into obscurity.
Why does it always feel like when we’re in a relationship, we’re yearning for the single life we once led? On the other hand, why does being single for too long feel like an endless search for a decent partner in a sea full of Mr. Wrongs? Our partner asks for too much, and we yearn for the times when the only person we had to please was ourselves. They ask for too little, and we worry that they’re about to call it quits.
Let’s rewind: the year is 2019 and I’ve been sexually active, much to my best friend’s knowledge, for almost exactly two years. We’re sprawled out on the floor of my childhood bedroom, wine drunk on Barefoot’s Peach Fruitscato, praying my parents don’t overhear our inebriated conversation. Somehow the topic of vibrators presents itself, and it comes out that I’ve never owned nor used one of the magical machines (I’m not sure how the logistics of using without owning would work).
All in all, sharing a room with a virtual stranger for the first year of college is potentially the most significant cockblock you will ever experience. Even when they aren’t physically present, their influence lingers and dramatically contributes to your celibacy. For the sake of yourself, your future partner(s) and the individual(s) you share space with, get to know your roommate.
I kissed a girl. And yes, I liked it. But I am not ready to become the covergirl of whatever company still needs a one-month-contracted gay spokesperson to top their float at pride. See, I am American and have grown up on a healthy diet of watching old, rich men walk down red carpets with young and beautiful women. Of watching deodorant ads where the company expresses the quality of the scent they sell with women becoming sex-crazed in its prescence.
ask you to close your eyes and reminisce on a purer time, when the world was yours so long as you grasped it from the backseat of your mom’s Honda CRV (or her Audi R8, I don’t really care what your mom’s prerogative was). Focus on the universal memory, exclusive to summertime, of peeling your legs from a hot car seat. Ouch.
Working in a women’s assisted living and dementia care facility has meant effectively working in a sorority house full of 80-year-old cougars who’ve forgotten their ages — and most of their manners.