Okay, how hot is that?!? (Those are my boys from The O.C., if you were wondering.) Anyway, if the word 'sex' in the title and the image of hot SoCal boys didn't scare you off, here's the entry:
"I don't want somebody to love me. Just give me sex whenever I want it." - Rufus Wainwright, "Instant Pleasure"
If I were making a list of my five favorite things about college, the unbelievable hotness of college boys would definitely make the cut. It's a whole new breed of sexy in college from high school and it does not go unappreciated. Sure, I can't have the hot religious boys (they�re seeing Jesus), but they're still nice to look at.
People don't like to talk about sex, though, which contributes to the larger social problem (see below). At least, that's what they tell you: officially, they don�t want to talk about it. But really, deep down, everyone has a story they're dying to share, a question they're dying to ask. There's an intangible quality to the whole thing, an air of mystery that only complicates the fact that sexuality has permeated every corner of our culture and seeped into the collective subconscious. It's out there, for sure, but some still treat the subject as though this were the 1950s. I'm amazed that such a basic human desire, an insatiable need, was so successfully systematically repressed for such a long period in history. It ended up not mattering, though, because look at us now.
Excuse me for a second, but I think I feel a PSA coming on.
This is my entire argument for honest sex education in our schools, too. Everyone � teachers, administrators, parents, crazy religious people � needs to understand this: teenagers are having sex. It�s what they do. It�s what they�ve always done. There are absolutely no scare tactics you can whip out that are going to change this fact. Thus, they need to know how to have sex safely and responsibly, so teach them that. We can all stop pretending those abstinence campaigns actually work (didn�t you see that MTV movie?) and watch as the STD infection and teen pregnancy rates drop dramatically. I�ve never understood what all the hoopla was about free condoms. Free condoms, people! That means you don�t have to go out and buy them yourself! How can free stuff be wrong?
Thus endeth the PSA. I now resume my regularly scheduled naughty sex talk.
And if you've ever been lucky enough to meet someone who shares your sexual orientation, practices good hygiene, and is not a serial killer, perhaps you hooked up with that person. You may have been even luckier and found yourself caught up in the whirlwind of marathon sex, and so you know that everything else in the universe ceases to be important: food, email, work, and -- gasp -- even television take a back seat when you're getting some. There's a 'get it while you can' mentality, I guess because you never really know where your next sexual meal is coming from.
It would be ridiculous of me to suggest that I'm the first person to compare sex to a meal, but the reason it's such a clich� is because it rings true. When you're really hungry, having just returned from a week in the desert where you subsisted on a steady diet of water, nothing could be finer than a feast of Thanksgiving proportions: turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, the works. You linger over the meal, taking the time to savor over each bite, and when you're done, nothing hits the spot like a nice nap. Sometimes you're in a hurry so you just grab a quick burger and fries. It gets the job done and you know the drive-thru will be open later if you get hungry again. Maybe you're not hungry enough for a full meal, so you can just get yourself a snack. Masturbation: the Oreo of sex.
There are smells I remember, too, just like with food: the unmistakable scent of fresh ky; a certain brand of bar soap whose smell I have always associated with dirty boys; sexy B.O. (note that the B.O. is only sexy if the sweating happened during sex); sheets the morning after; hair; fingers; skin. It's a sensory overload of sexual stimulation.
An advantage to being eighteen is that I can date without looking for a relationship. Great sex and they don't call the next day? Oh, well. Who's next? I don't need a boyfriend and I'm not sure if I even want one at this point in my life. Sure, I feel that little pang of longing when someone mentions their significant other, but this is my first real opportunity to be single and play the field. I'd be a fool not to take advantage of that. There are no rules. Well, there are a few rules, but they're just common sense, really. It's an exciting time in my life. How many opportunities will I have to be a slutty college freshman?
It's a perfect day for unrequited crushing, too. Summer is unofficially over and something is in the air. (Mercury is in retrograde, yes, I know. Believe me, I know.) I'm not sure exactly what that something is, but I know that it's taking every ounce of self-control I've got to keep me from jumping on that football player's back. The self-control will keep me out of the hospital, though, and I'll be content to sit here on this park bench and enjoy the view.
I thought of another thing for my list. I love the fact that it's the middle of the afternoon and I'm sitting on a park bench writing about sex. College rules! Pass the Oreos. And don't forget to play safe.
Someone got here by searching for: "underwear OR underpants OR undershorts OR skivvies running around -her -she -girls -women" Yeah, I don't know. Someone was trying really hard, though. Reading: Tubaboy's diary at Diaryland. This place is addictive. Listening to: Jeremy Broomfield. Check this out: "Cast-iron bitches with mercury switches are plotting the theft of our souls." Good to know. The CD rules, though. Watching: The first of the two final episodes of The O.C. before the October hiatus. I must get my Adam Brody fix. Was he in any good movies? Eating: Oreos. Not for real, though.
