Another year, another flock of rampant freshers are let loose onto the streets of Bristol. Mere weeks ago the M27 was a grid lock of Range-Rovers en route to Stoke Bishop full with suitcases and other various belongings. However, this is not the only baggage these freshers were carrying to their new homes. Although many of the new students at Bristol University can boast of their A*s in Classics and Chemistry, their Duke of Edinburgh Gold Award and ‘soul searching’ experiences in South East Asia, it appears very few can brag about their sexual experiences (without lying). Yes, while us state school kids had our tongues down each others throats at the Year 6 disco, the privately educated and boarding school crew appeared to have been learning how to read Latin and play lacrosse a million miles away from the opposite gender. However, I am not suggesting slutty behaviour is the way forward, my respect lands solidly with all of you virgins out there waiting for ‘the right person’. My issue lies with these inexperienced fools sauntering around campus as if they are the next ‘Ben Dover’.
Primarily, whatever happened to normal male and female interaction? I vividly remember this time last year wandering nervously around the Hall bar answering the three most sinfully boring ‘getting to know you’ questions: ‘What’s your name?’ Where do you come from?’ ‘What are you studying?’ Yet if you were a girl having this conversation with a boy and you happened to hold eye contact with him for long enough to make him believe he has a chance with you, you may have been lucky enough to receive the last bomb shell question: ‘So, do you have a boyfriend?’ I would then courteously inform them that I was in fact in a relationship, at which point the point the boy would pivot 90 degrees, scan the room and abruptly bee line for the next potentially willing victim. Then my slightly drunken self would futilely call after them “Bye, nice to meet you too!”, a sarcastic sentiment lost on all levels as the boy in question had probably already forgotten what I looked like.
However this rudeness soon passed and the males slowly but surely learnt how to hold a conversation with a girl for at least two minutes without trying to take off her knickers. Therefore after Christmas I found myself boyfriend-less and ready to make up for the lost times of first term. I stumbled across a boy in the friendship group of guys that appeared to have the most confidence. In hope of finding a nice bit of rebound fondling, I came across your typical weed smoking ‘cool’ Bristol specimen. He had potential. He consumed more marijuana than oxygen, a year older (so potentially relatively mature) and dressed moderately okay. After a few long weeks of heavy petting I thought it was finally time to open my legs to something that was hopefully new and exciting. So one drunken night we stumbled back to mine. In typical girl fashion I was prepared with matching underwear and I had even gone all out with the fake tan too.
It all got off to a smooth start. We engaged in the standard routine of overly passionate kissing followed by a bit of awkward dry sex. Then as his hands ventured down south I began to realise what I had gotten myself into. I soon became unsure as to whether he was attempting foreplay or trying to dig his way to china. After mere minutes of discomfort I managed to free myself from this awkward situation. However much to my dismay, this freedom consequently led to him positioning himself naked on top of me. I couldn’t back out now, the poor boy had had blue balls for weeks now so I thought I may as well give him a second chance- besides, I was in the mood now. My legs were spread and he made his move, which ended up with him wriggling about on top of me for all of five minutes. I remember thinking to myself ‘am I in an episode of ‘The Inbetweeners?’ This boy had been educated at one of the top British boarding schools since the age of 13, he had an impressive collection of A levels, had travelled half the world and yet he failed to complete the simple task of thrusting backwards and forwards in an appropriate manner. You can only imagine my disappointment. A combination of his poor efforts and my inability to hide my disgust led to our short romance coming to an abrupt end.
There was one thing I gained from this whole experience. From then on every time he was hyperbolically describing one of his amazing ‘soul searching’ travelling experiences to a group of mindless students in awe of his maturity and ‘coolness’, I could quietly mutter to myself ‘ haha but you’re shit in bed’.