Hello readers..I’d like to preface this blog by saying I’m not a slut. Really, I would…but if that were the case I wouldn’t be here right now. Though I’ll be the first to admit my own promiscuity, I’d rather label myself as the “Classy Trashy.” You know…the type that doesn’t kiss and tell, but instead keeps an ongoing list of every hook-up she’s ever had stowed beneath her bed, away from prying eyes. Or the girl that hooks up with her best guy friend’s entire circle of bros save for the BFF himself, just to maintain that friendship. That’s more my style…or at least I’d like to think.
I swear I was innocent…once. My entire middle school posse had known what it was like to swap spit with their boyfriends, before I had ever received even a peck on the cheek from a braceface. In retrospect, though, I realize I was just a late bloomer. My first kiss was a full-blown make out sesh in the middle of the dance floor at the 8th grade Spring Fling. Guess what song was playing? Get Low. Naturally, I was always an attention-seeking whore, so what better way to begin the true teenage years than by sticking my tongue down a stranger’s throat in front of my English teacher?
But you guys aren’t here to read about my awkward high school blind dates to the movies (aka the perfect place for a guy to get his first hand job without any awkward silences.) Last time I checked, this is a sex column…so it’s time for me to cut to the chase.
Ironically enough, I preserved my virginity until the ripe old age of eighteen. Well…I guess that depends on whether or not 69ing in the trunk of a rando boy from Facebook’s car or showering with a guy in a “committed” relationship constitutes as purity. Nonetheless, I waited until the end of my senior year to finally begin having sex, and I started the next chapter of my life in style. The night I lost my virginity involves nothing out of the ordinary…some vodka, some beer…hey, I even knew the guy’s name. Surprisingly enough I was even kinda-sorta dating him…something a girl like me never does. Or admits. Anyway, the truly special moment to my otherwise classic first time was the dual fact that a) it actually occurred in a bed. A nice queen sized one in a guest room and b) said guest room was in the mansion of the direct descendants of the #1 Guido mobster family in America. I’d name drop but I’m too scared that they’ll track me down.
Anyway, lets progress. This Virginity Stealing boy and I actually got along pretty well. I guess I could go as far as saying it was the closest thing I’ve ever felt to love. Too bad I only figured this out after having sex with guy #2, due largely in part to the help of my best guy friend. (No, BFF wasn’t guy #2…but when driving home the morning after my second sexual encounter it was my best guy friend himself there in the passenger seat to support me…aka to burst my bubble. Details to come shortly.)
So everyone says sex hurts the first time, right? That it kills for days…you can hardly move. The whole nine. But I actually felt fine. Great, in fact. Since my experience was seemed out of the ordinary I figured I should resort to none other than Google. After some intense research, I figured the only solution was because I’d been fingered so many times in high school. Logical, right?
Wrong.
Though Guy #2 can mainly be equated to a One Night Stand (Even though he’s one of my older brother’s best friends…oops…cat’s out of the bag on that one.) he actually did a lot for me…even beyond the bedroom. Between my Best Guy friend spelling it out for me in the car the morning after, and the painful- but great-sex I had at the party…I’d come to realize that Mobster Mansion boy (My Virginity Stealing “Boyfriend”) just couldn’t satisfy me. To put it pleasantly, he was “hung like an elf.” As if that summer in limbo before college wasn’t awkward enough as is…having sex with Mansion for the next 2 months developed into a comedic routine. What better way to gain sexual experience than on a boy you no longer craved for but who would provide you with free condoms?
To fast forward to my Cornelian transition, I’d like to pretend, again, that I came to this fabulous institution as a fairly innocent girl. Though I’m not exactly sure why the sluttiest of us like to feign innocence, I’ll stick with it since it makes me feel slightly better inside about the raunchy stories that are about to ensue.
Two guys isn’t so bad…I mean I can pass one off as a boyfriend (Ok, we were just steady hook ups for ½ of senior year until we went to college…but a girl can dream.) and the other guy was just that one time. So I thought maybe I could come to Cornell and be someone different. Someone tamer. Someone who didn’t still have traces of mono in her immune system on the first day, or who hadn’t just finished reading Tucker Max’s I Hope they Serve Beer in Hell and drafting her own version of the story on an iPhone sticky note on the plane ride over. (Seriously though, get off my blog if you haven’t read that book. He’s literally a god. You want sex stories? They’re the real deal.) Anyway, I figured I’d be angelic here…or perhaps begin the next chapter of my life as such. But that all went down hill within my first 12 hours on campus.
Introducing…OWeek. Night #1 to be specific. Guess you’ll have to stay tuned ‘til next time to hear about what really went down after my parents left the dorm.
Xoxo,
The Classiest
