Sex in The Cam: Week 2

I have an Incredibly Suave Male Friend at another college. I’m wary of the white-jeans-and-espadrilles thing he has going on but in Cambridge anything that isn’t too-jolly-hockey-sticks makes it to the second round for me. We can’t afford to be too picky while sifting through the jumble of dweebs and poshos, and the ISMF is hot enough that I can look past the Topman uniform.

We go for (what I thought was just) a friendly drink and head back to my room after the pub closes. I haven’t even put on any mood lighting and he’s methodically playing the evening, positioning himself beside me on the bed in a no man’s land between regular social distance and golden retriever-style snout on snout. No escape.

I feel like the kid at the magic show who’s old enough to know it’s all a lie but still can’t help but shriek with delight when the rabbit comes out of the top hat. He’s fit and I’m quite impressed by his game – I’ve been unwittingly lured into the trap while I was busy gazing at the scenery – so I concede to his next move: a hand on the back of my neck and a smooth dart toward the mouth region captioned by some bullshit morsel of charm about having been wanting to kiss me for a while now. I’m smiling at his ability to make his intentions seem like an inevitability, our hook-up some world-historical feat of sexual chemistry, and he mistakes the amusement in my face for coy flirtation.

Pretty quickly I’m experiencing my room from all kinds of new angles: pinned up against the wall, dangled near upside-down on my armchair, splayed across my desk… in each position supported by something pretty serious going on in the crotch of those white jeans.

As much as I’m enjoying the ride – albeit in a detached sort of way – I just don’t want to give him what he wants. He’s probably never been rejected: the ISMF is suave enough both to make sure he’s totally confident of success before he makes his move and to be to some degree fancied by the kind of girls with which he surrounds himself. I just don’t want him to think it’s always this easy. I firmly manoeuvre him away from my face and tell him good-naturedly that it’s not a good time (this has some truth). The next twenty minutes is a confused dance: I’m happy not to stop abruptly so I let him go in for a kiss a few more times; he interprets each instance as a passionate change of heart. I re-reject. Then he is totally cool and understanding and I kind of don’t really mind kissing him again…

Eventually I direct this routine towards the door and we say our goodnights. Of course we’ll still be friends and he’s probably already hooking up with someone else much less spiteful, so it’s all good. You may be surprised to hear that I’m not out to fuck anything that moves. I could write you a strong essay on the health (physical, emotional and mental) and educational benefits of casual sex – and I’d greatly enjoy letting you squirm through the supervision – but just because there’s a being in your bed and he’s wielding a penis doesn’t mean you have to hop on.

I know this is something you’ve all heard but it’s always worth emphasising that everybody reserves the right to say no and nobody should expect it, however Incredibly Suave they are. And everyone should have the opportunity to joyfully shovel some poor sod out the door while he shiftily tucks his cock into his waistband for the long journey home. Even the sexiest of goddesses aren’t always in the mood.

That being said, I do feel there is a lot of prudishness in Cambridge around casual sex. Often it’s totally acceptable to work through every intra-college permutation in a drawn-out tournament of tongue hockey, but a night with a stranger is seen as slutty. The moral of the story is that everybody should do whatever the absolute fuck they want, whether that fuck is your long-term boyfriend from home, your college spouse or some bloke you met in Cindies. (Or your Ann Summers dildo – thanks for the retweet! Big fan of your work!)

A couple of days later, I spoke to a mutual friend of the ISMF and was tickled to hear the ISMF’s version of events: “Yeah, we’ll definitely bang sometime soon, she seems pretty keen on me”…