BY KELSEY CLARK
We’re going to start this column by getting intimate with each other.
By which I mean, I will know nothing about you, and you will know far more than you ever wanted to about me.
This is a shame because this column isn’t really supposed to be about me, yet I just can’t stop talking about myself.
This year I moved off campus and into a house–finally, an escape from mandatory hall meetings, fire drills, and quiet hours! Not that any of those things are so awful, I was just feeling particularly independent and saucy when I made my housing decisions.
Though there are wide array of advantages to off-campus living (like paying bills?), the most initially appealing was single bedrooms with space for double (or queen! or king! I dare to dream.) beds.
Friends who came to visit when we first moved in even commented on how sex-friendly the rooms were. Tours of the house frequently ended with three or four guests lying on one of the larger beds and discussing its seduction potential. Needless to say, after decorating our space to sex-den perfection, we were all anticipating a good year.
But alas, it’s been weeks since everyone returned to the ‘burg, and our soft, spacious beds have remained heartbreakingly empty. The only housemate that’s gotten any action thus far? The one sleeping on a tiny piece of foam on the cold basement floor. This seems unfair, considering the adjectives in that description are “tiny” and “cold.” Not too sexy. Though in the interest of defending this housemate’s honor (and sexiness), he’s not a basement troll or anything, he’s just less interested in furniture than the rest of us.
I’m not just explaining our situation to humiliate my housemates or to lure single, male readers to fill the lonely space in my bed (or even my heart…), there’s a lesson (or two!) to be learned here.
First: you can’t have many expectations when it comes to sex. Of course you should expect respect, consent, safety, etc. but beyond that, too much planning, anticipation, or presumption will only lead to disappointment and embarrassment.
Enough sitcoms and “American Pie”-style movies have documented the awkward shenanigans that ensue from overly-calculated sexcapade. Not to mention the sexual letdowns and humiliations recorded in each and every one of your angst-ridden teenage diaries. We should know better by now.
Second: you don’t need a king-sized bed in a private room to get some—don’t waste your whole year complaining about what a cock block your bunk bed is.
Beyond the general theory of making lemons into lemonade, there are some practical advantages to sex in dorms. For starters, it’s not as if you need all that extra mattress space when you’re on top of each other. Or if not on top of each other: spooning, whispering sweet nothings into one another’s ears, or what have you. You don’t have to have sex to enjoy the proximity that a twin bed forces upon you.
As far as roommates go, communication is key! Just be clear about how much private time you need and as long as you’re courteous and respectful, things should work out just fine. Plus, you can avoid the awkwardness of bringing someone back to your messy personal space by pretending that your stuffed panda and your Pokémon card collection belong to your roommate.
Granted, my housemates probably hate me for revealing their sexual habits in a public forum, so you might not want to take roommate mediation lessons from me.
If you struggled through all of my BS about the life lessons of dorm furniture and didn’t get it, then take the simplified version: don’t take sex (or yourselves) too seriously, and enjoy all Mary Washington has to offer you!