A Degree in Whooppee: Learning About Sex in College

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This is an anonymous guest post submitted to GainesvilleScene. To submit, email scene@collegevox.com.

Never will I look at Johnson & Johnson moisturizer the same way.

Before college, Johnson & Johnson was representative of my childhood. The sight of that rosy-pink tube would conjure up sweet memories of bathtime with my mom or grandmother, when I’d go from looking less like Donnie of “The Wild Thornberrys” and more like the somewhat cute 5-year-old I used to be.

Now, Johnson & Johnson lotion just reminds me of a guy I went home with during sophomore year.

That depraved man-boy who shall remain nameless (but you know who you are) halted the action that night to eagerly reach for something, which turned out to be a travel-size container of Johnson & Johnson. As he rubbed himself down in the stuff, I died on the inside and cringed on the outside. Excuse me, sir, I thought. Have you heard of Astro Glide? Basic sexual etiquette and norms? YEAST INFECTIONS? 

He ruined my Friday night, and my childhood.

Though I walked away from that experience a bit horrified, I reminded myself that it was, well, an experience. All sexual misadventures are.

As college students, we awkwardly bump and grind our ways to graduation day, each episode as seemingly frivolous as the last. But in reality, they’re all learning lessons. Each time, we become better acquainted with what we like, what we don’t like, our boundaries, preferences and maybe even some new moves. We learn about other people, how to respond to their idiosyncrasies and so on and so forth.

Eventually, we’ll be seasoned veterans like the raisin-y old lady we caught on late-night infomercials when we were kids. (Not really, though. Dr. Ruth’s a sexual Jedi who could fuck circles around any of us. Don’t let the osteoporosis fool you.)

I’m not an expert at sex, but I’m not one to shy away from the taboo, so I’m willing to be candid about my deeds, which is more than you can say, probably.

This is what I, and maybe you, have learned about sex since entering the world of higher education.

Alcohol is a game changer.

Remember that little thing called inhibitions? Yeah, well, say goodbye to those after two Minderasers, three Fireball shots and those watered-down vodka tonics you forgot you ordered.

Binge drinking is the universal lowerer of standards. What constitutes a proper sexual encounter pre- and post-binge differ somewhat widely. That guy/girl who is usually a six is suddenly a nine. Doggie style in a squalid fraternity house? Romantic! Haven’t been waxed since your football team’s last victory during its disastrous season? No problem.

Too many drinks and, suddenly, where you have sex, when you have sex and who you have sex with changes a little bit.

Learn to face less-than-perfect situations and minor regrets with a brave face and a shoulder shrug.

Death, taxes and shame spirals, amirite?

STDs are real. 

STDs seem like folklore until they’re not. You were reckless with that random girl from the post-game, and now you’re waiting for an octogenarian at the pharmarcy counter to fill your prescription for amoxicillin because peeing feels like wildfire in your urinary tract.

Sexually transmitted diseases, like HIV, and sexually transmitted infections, like gonorrhea, are very much real, and you don’t want none of that evil.

Yeah, I know condoms suck. They feel like a ziplock bag. They smell weird. They’re slimy. They ruin the moment. But wrap that shit up. Or use a diaphragm, if those are still around. There’s no excuse to not use protection. Condoms are FREE at your on-campus infirmary. Go get yourself a truckload of Durex.

And that goes for women, too. It’s 2015, and your sexual health is your responsibility. If you’re concerned that having a stash of rubbers will make you seem promiscuous to future partners, bring that train of thought to a halt. Anyone who would judge you for practing safe sex is a small-minded halfwit who doesn’t deserve to get in your pants.

There is more than meets the one-eyed snake. 

Ah, testicles.

The mysterious spheres that are most often tucked away under the headlining act, the penis.

Let’s be honest: Balls are gross. Not to get graphic, but let me get graphic. They have way more skin than is probably necessary, they’re not always reliably fresh and clean, and they’re just ugly.  They are also, however, the key to a memorable blow job, according to a guy friend of mine.

Over dinner one night, he raved about the new girl he was seeing. I listened intently, thinking he was going to describe her great sense of humor or, at the very least, her attractive smile.

Turns out she was a master at fellatio.

“I almost passed out,” he said, full of admiration. His eyes kind of rolled to the back of his head, like he was raving at Dada Life circa Fall 2014. I was surprised he didn’t propose to this blow-job sorceress on the spot.

A little grossed out by his enthusiasm, I asked, “Well, what was so great about it?”

Apparently, it’s all about exploring the nether regions. Craddling, fondling, whatever. I gagged but made a mental note of it.

I can now attest to the efficacy of that technique.

So, yeah. Spread the love.

College boys don’t understand cunnilingus. 

Brazzers is the enemy.

Brazzers and all its XXX counterparts have brainwashed legions of men into thinking that they should use their mouths as vacuums when performing oral sex. I’m here to dispel the rumor that that’s welcome. It isn’t. Please don’t assume it is and Hoover a poor unsuspecting clitoris.

I understand it’s more than a little awkward to straight up ask a girl, “What do you like?” before going south, but if you have the confidence to do it, I’m sure she’ll be happy you did. That quick exchange has the potential to make the overall experience more enjoyable for both parties. Let’s be serious: Few things are worse than staged orgasms and unsatisfied libidos.

Morning-after decorum.

Just be polite, for fuck’s sake.

A checklist does not a perfect match make. 

My list of requirements for partners used to be impossibly long: strong jawline, broad shoulders, witty sense of humor, tall, assertive… I could go on and on and basically just describe a Ryan Gosling/Rob Lowe/Ron Swanson hybrid.

But after a few years of quasiadulthood and encounters with the other sex, I’ve realized that even a vetted checklist of attributes may not do the job in getting the proverbial sparks to fly.

Attraction is more primal than we like to think; the magnetism between you and a perfect-on-paper person could be lukewarm at best, perfect washboard abs/rack withstanding. That’s because biology is at work. Evolution just doesn’t want you two together, for one reason or another. And that’s okay.

Meanwhile, someone you normally wouldn’t consider, like, say, a ginger, gets you going.  (Shout out to Ed Sheeran.) You may be thinking, What in the actual fuck? while your nether regions are purring, YASSS. 

I don’t know. The human mind and sex drive work in mysterious ways.

What I’m trying to say is, just go have sex. It’s good for the complexion.

 

Feature photo courtesy of: G.cz