Bedroom Briefs

By Kate Minola

Why did I seek out the position of sex columnist, you may ask? I didn’t. I was offered the position. I’d like to think it is because I remind people of a younger, less horse-like Carrie Bradshaw, but it probably has more to do with the fact that I talk so brazenly about my experiences (fine, sexperiences).

Since it is so challenging to separate sex and alcohol at Middlebury, I’m not even going to try. Wine makes me horny, vodka makes me slutty and tequila makes my clothes fall off. Oh, I forgot beer. Beer just makes me feel fat. I guess it is possible that my synapses are uniquely susceptible to fermented drinks. I know that’s not true though. Don’t lie to yourself. You’re a slutty drunk, too. If I’m wrong here, you probably fall into the “whiney drunk” or “violent drunk” category, both of which, I would argue with bias, are worse than getting naked.

Have you ever woken up in a bed far off campus, next to a guy you vaguely remember having a drunken political debate with the night before and realized that the only way to get back to your room is by waiting for him to stir from his alcohol-induced coma and drive you? No? Me neither. Since we’re being honest, I’ve also never done the walk-of-shame at five on the first Monday of classes in September. Nor have I ever peed my pants at a music festival.

I hope you picked up on my sarcasm in the previous paragraph. Despite having done all those things and way more, I have somehow (as far as I know) avoided the “slut” taboo. How on Earth did I manage that? Well, I take Usher’s advice very seriously: “We want a lady in the streets but a freak in the bed.” I won’t lie and say that it’s easy to avoid the offensive and demeaning slurs that go along with being a modern, horny woman. It requires practice. I learned by trial-and-error, mainly during freshman year.

I didn’t really drink in high school, so the novel combination of open access to alcohol and empty beds led to behavior that the Parton Health Center dubs “risky.” No, I was not having unprotected sex – I’m not an idiot. Nor was I charging people for sexual favors – I’m not a criminal. But I definitely took advantage of my freshman girl appeal.

Luckily, freshmen are granted the leeway to act like imbeciles. Just this past weekend I saw a freshman boy introduce himself to an upperclassman girl as a lacrosse recruit. No name, simply a potential lacrosse player. To the youngster’s credit, I saw him walking, hand-in-hand, towards Battel with a nice-looking freshman girl later that night. Apparently you don’t even have to be on the team to score.

Now that I’ve got a few years of college under my belt, my skinny belt (I’ve been avoiding beer), I am thankful for my “risky” freshman year. I learned that there is a way to have a casual hook-up without being denigrated by peers, to laugh off almost anything and most importantly, that anonymity is not overrated. In fact, the reason I am not using my real name in this column is because I would like to be employed someday. Considering our current job market, that may be optimistic, so at the very least, I’ll be confident that my parents, siblings and future children will have no proof that I was anything other than a celibate, doe-eyed prude in college.

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