Just the Tip to Candle Sticks: My Bad Sex Stories From Freshman Year
By: Anonymous
I think I can speak for all of us when I say…I like sex. I am both a little ashamed and a little proud to say that I fall into the trope of ex-Christian girl that went to college and went a little crazy whoring myself out my freshman year. My overall sluttiness and tendency to attract androgynous bisexual men has led to some of my best sex stories… and some of my worst. In order to free myself from my dark past, I am unlocking the vault to my sex dungeon and doing what any sane woman should do: I’m baring my (literally) naked shame to the internet.
Boob Exam
I’m hooking up with this cute guy in my dorm room. Things were getting a little hot and heavy – and he looked so edgy – so I had my heart set on some freaky sex. We were at the point that I took off my shirt and he sort of stopped and took in my tits like the work of art that they are. This pause starts to go on for a little too long until he reaches out a hand and gently cups my boob. I laughed, thinking he was "warming up" (or something) but then he continued to, using four fingers (not all five, God forbid), pat my voluptuous titties with the pressure of a small butterfly landing on me. Despite all of my prompting, I could not convince him to touch me with more pressure than a gentle pat. My freaky sex became a medical exam and my BU insurance was not covering the emotional damages. There is something deeply disturbing about watching a grown man (who claimed to have been with many girls) try to figure out how to touch a boob. Let’s just say he didn’t make it past second base.
Dropped Off the Bed
Sometimes (re: always) I hate the audacity of men. Specifically: the full pride and belief that they have in themselves to accomplish absolutely anything. I was staying in a hotel room with an old friend from high school. By “old friend,” what I really mean is “booty call that I had classes with and pretended our relationship was deeper than just sexual tension.” In the room we were staying in, there was a mirror positioned on the wall near the foot of the bed. Being the narcissist he was, he obviously wanted to fuck in front of the mirror. I am kneeling on the very edge of this bed, balancing like one of those circus trapeze artists, and I warn him: "I'm going to fall” (kids, don’t try this at home). He grabs my waist and says some bullshit like "I got you babygirl,” à la Christian Grey. I have about 40 pounds on this man and he does not, in fact, “got me.” I watch myself in the fuck-ass mirror as he drops me, and with the grace of a baby bird, I do a half-front flip and fall four feet off this bed directly on my head.
Just the Tip
It was the end of this ill-fated freshman year. My exams finished early, I was stoned out of my mind every night, and I was swiping through Tinder like a cat in heat. I found a man that looked enough like a beautiful woman that I was vaguely aroused. I agreed to show up in his Warren tower dorm room at 2 am on a Tuesday. I should have known this night wasn't going to go well when he proceeded to spend two hours showing me every piece of music he'd ever listened to in his life – this included multiple Beach Bunny songs, followed immediately by Mitski herself. Around 4 am he finally decides I passed some sort of indie guy vibe test and we start fooling around (I say “fooling around” in the sense that this was the most foolish thing I’d ever committed to). A hand around my throat, I hazily remember a sentence including both “be a good girl” and “just the tip.” I say yes of course, because at this point I’d waited long enough for this man to get the idea that I didn’t just come to his room to see his entire Spotify discography. This man proceeded to do the following: get up, put on a condom, put the tip of his dick inside of me, took 2 strokes, and told me he was tired and going to bed. I hadn’t even fully taken off my shirt yet. I laid there Winnie-the-Pooh style and we were done. It was in every sense of the word one of the most anticlimactic experiences I’ve ever had.
Threesome Walk In
There was this guy who I had made out with a couple times. He came to my dorm to hanky that panky on a Saturday night, but all of my friends were hanging out on my floor and I didn't wanna leave the function just to smash. I’m a classy woman, of course. What I wasn't expecting was for another one of our girlfriends to get roped into our drunken, steamy make-out, thereby turning it into a cheeky threesome. Of course, we brought this threeway into my dorm room. Just as I get a titty into my mouth, there is a knock on the door. I throw on a shirt and toss a blanket over the other two suspects–just in time for my roommate to stumble into the dorm. That sweet, sweet drunk woman looked me in the eyes and says, dead serious and down for the cause: “You guys keep going, but I’m gonna go to bed because I have work tomorrow, so I’m just gonna put my AirPods in.” As tantalizing and well-meaning an offer it was, I very quickly kicked out my two partners in crime while she was in the bathroom (to find a different threesome location, obviously). I did not have a threesome next to my roommate, but my respect for her increased 100 percent to know that she came home, saw two people in my bed, and would have let that happen.
Candle Sticks
We’ve made it to the beginning of my villain arc. I had a partner who bought a dildo to essentially use on me. This dildo, however, had to have been bought on one of the sketchier sides of the Internet. It had a bendable spine, made a creaking noise, and was essentially “half hard” at all times. After mutually deciding that that was not going in me in any capacity, they started explaining to me something that I, in my heart of hearts, thought was a bit. They pointed at one of the long candles recently purchased for their altar and said something along the lines of “what if I hold this between my legs while you ride it.” I laugh and agree, thinking it was a joke (I make this mistake often). To my absolute horror, I then watch them get up, get a condom, put it on the candle, and “position themselves”. Guys please, please hear me out. I wanted this partner to have the affirming experience of fucking someone, for I am nothing if not a team player. I got on the fucking candle, okay? And they put it on that fucking altar. My Coochie’s spirit owns that bitch. I am not proud of my actions, but there is a beauty in how the fuck I managed to get myself in that situation.
There are two morals to this incredibly embarrassing diary entry.
- Be a whore. Get in weird situations. They make for fantastic fucking (in every sense of the word) party stories.
- You are not defined by the embarrassing stories of your past. Accept the cringe choices you made as a freshman. You learned from them, grew from them, and have a whole novel worth of embarrassing choices to make in the future.