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Intimate Encounters: Vamos A La Playa



          If you’re anything like me, the start of the spring semester brings about spring break terrors. I’ve already starting bathing suit shopping, planned out my schedule for acquiring a perfect base tan, and promised to go the gym for four hours every day. Which we all know will result in solid black one pieces, a patchy spray tan the night before I fly out, and maybe a few jumping jacks in the airport terminal. However. Spring break is a time to let loose, drink too many fruity drinks, and hook up with strangers– so I’ve been told. I have been in relationships for my past three spring breaks, so as a senior, this is my last hurrah to get it right. So I started thinking about spring break hook ups, and then I had an awful thought: what if I’m stuck in a situation where my only option is beach sex?

            I’ve said it before: I don’t believe in bad sex. Sex is always good, and if it’s really that terrible, you can do things to remedy it. But that’s when it comes down to the people. Sex is like real estate– location, location, location. And if you’re on the sand, there is no way that’s going to end well. My last beach sex encounter was an absolute disaster. I was on vacation with a few friends and I met a tall, dark, and handsome stranger. If my life was a movie the role of this man would be played by Cam Gigandet. Even his last name sounded delicious. Abs for days and we spend all day frolicking on the beach and then we all go to a rave that night. (Who even goes to raves anymore, this isn’t the late nineties. Get it together, Gemma.) By the end of the night we’re covered in glow in the dark paint and all sweaty so we go skinny-dipping. We should have just done it in the ocean. Dolphins do it in the ocean, why didn’t I? Really slipping here, Gemma. We (very stupidly/drunkenly/on some other illegal unpronounceable substances) decided to crawl back onto the shore and we proceed to have sex. It’s amazing. But about two minutes in, it starts to hurt. Like, a lot. He was big, but not scary big, so I knew it wasn’t him. Of course my first thought was He’s giving me crabs. I can literally feel the crabs crawling into me right now as we speak. Which was very ignorant of me because crabs go on your vagina, not in your vagina, but I digress. But I had a panic moment so I stopped him. And then realized that there was sand everywhere. I mean everywhere. I had sand in places that have never even seen the light of day, and I like to be naked a lot, so that’s saying something. I run back into the water and rinse off. He joins me, clearly confused (did I mention there was a language barrier here? Neither of us spoke the other’s language. Great.) I use hand motions to explain what’s going on and he eventually gets it and bursts out laughing. He takes my back to my hotel room and puts me in a bath with epsom salts (invest in these, they cure everything) and wraps me in a big fuzzy robe and puts me to sleep.

            Needless to say I couldn’t have sex for the rest of the trip. Here’s hoping I won’t make the same mistake this spring break. But if I do ladies, rest assured you will be the first to hear about what a colossal doofus I am.

Xx, Gemma

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Intimate Encounters is a new column I'll be writing for Her Campus ND and I decided to become a part of it because I want people (especially women) to start feeling comfortable with their sex life. I’m not here to lecture, preach, or tell you that everything that I have done or will do in my sex life is the right or wrong thing to do. I’m going to talk about mistakes that I’ve made, amazing experiences that I’ve had, firsts (a lot of firsts), funny stories, awkward moments, and people that have made a difference in the woman I’ve become. Hopefully I’ll also be able to answer any questions you might have-- seriously, no shame.
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