When we get to college, we can get a little carried away. We just got out of our long-ass high school relationships (or else had been anticipating the fabled college slut-fest for basically ever). Regardless, by the time weâ€™ve unpacked Mr. Snuggle Bug, weâ€™ve already made a list of totally doable prospects. Weâ€™re like kids in an eye-candy store!
So how does all of this hooking up actually go down? I circulated a nosy little survey to find out exactly where, what, and then what…here are my frisky findings:Where do we get down and dirty?
While at Dartmouth, hookups are largely frat-mediated, respondents reported a variety of venues for vixening; house parties and clubs came in as popular choices at more metropolitan colleges. Sometimes, we actually know the lucky fox. Other times, hookups are random and can even come in hick-ups; to quote a friend, â€œIf I hook up with someone, Iâ€™m fairly likely to hook up with someone else the same night. Because I just feel like kissing lots of different people, okay?â€ Well, okay.
But if the hookup is going to click, itâ€™s also probably going to move beyond the frat basement. And this is when things can get a bit, um, sticky â€“ although most reported that roommates arenâ€™t necessarily a problem. â€œWe have a text message system,â€ explained one student, and another revealed that, â€œOnce I had a guy sleep over the same night my roommate brought a girl home!â€ Responded one frat boy, â€œRoommates arenâ€™t a problem for me because I learned long ago that single rooms are the way to go.â€
I somehow didnâ€™t. Instead I chose to share a one-room double with a friend. She was awesome, but the thing is, she didnâ€™t have sex. Like, at all. Ever. And because I couldnâ€™t tyrannically sexile her, every time my out-of-town lover would come to visit, we had some, uh, communication issues. She rarely provided a schedule, so I was left with a great deal of guesswork. And when I guessed wrong, instead of knocking or, I dunno â€“ giving us a few â€“ sheâ€™d waltz right in, sit down and open her laptop. Meanwhile weâ€™d be mildly terrified, desperately groping for blankets and, worst of all, not quite done. To my knowledge she had perfect peripheral vision and not even a touch of autism. Go figure.
But remember, thereâ€™s more than one way to block a cock! This one chick tried to steal my rooster before we even made it to the hay, and one Boston University student wistfully admitted she hasnâ€™t been laid all term, thanks to her dormâ€™s new â€œever-vigilant Lithuanian security guard, Jurgis.â€
How down? How dirty?
One respondent wrote, â€œNormally, I leave it to touching â€” fingering, a hand job, etc. I make it a rule not to have oral sex or intercourse if itâ€™s just a one night stand.â€ Another, â€œEven if I go â€˜all the way,â€™ I never pull out sex toys until the second or third date. Except that one timeâ€¦â€
Besides those days when we wake up and go â€œoopsâ€ (câ€™mon, weâ€™ve all accidentally kissed a couple of fuglies), college women generally claimed feeling some combination of â€œhappyâ€ and â€œhungoverâ€ the next morning. And since the encounter could eventually end in anything from a relationship to feigning amnesia when theyâ€™re standing right behind you for fro-yo, post-hookup protocol can be a little touch and go, so to speak. If youâ€™re still sharing a bed the next morning, interaction typically ranges from awkward (â€œI can never find my underwearâ€¦â€) to hardcore cuddling. But even in the most intimate scenario, breakfast is commonly reserved for dishing with girlfriends!
One such breakfast freshman spring, my friend confessed sheâ€™d finally boned the fellow frosh sheâ€™d been eying for two straight terms. She had found his dude-bro arrogance debonair and irresistible. She had swooned when he waxed poetic on Lost, blacked-out on her floor. But as she began to relay the hookup sheâ€™d so eagerly anticipated, I could tell her infatuation had been abruptly castrated.
â€œHe thwacked it.â€
â€œHeâ€¦ thwacked my clitoris.â€
Her melancholy gave way to hysterical peels of laughter as she demonstrated, furiously flapping her hand in the air, wrist flaccid. The boy had romanced her like a banjo! Turns out eye-candy isnâ€™t always so sweet. But hey, itâ€™s a hands-on learning experience. It is college, after all, and we want some bang for our buck!