Trophy boys

An undercurrent has been occurring in Durham for quite some time now, one many of you won’t be willing to confront head on: It is the silent phenomenon of sexual experiences shared between heterosexual and homosexual boys.

This isn’t something exclusively bound to Durham, but my past experiences, and those of gay friends, illustrate that it is wider spread here than at other venerable institutions.

Growing out of a frustration that your typical malnourished, heavily backcombed, Topshop laden rah ladies are able to bag themselves a boy on any night of the week, the weeping gay has long let their imagination wander. It is the ‘lad’ who so blazingly exerts their sexuality at any given chance, be that in their desperate pursuit of stash, lash and, dare I use the repugnant noun, gash, that I came to Durham fixated by.

Go on, experiment

I wondered if I could one day ‘have a go’. I never had one go, I actually had a few. Of the sexual experiences I had whilst at Durham, the majority were with these ‘straight’ men.

Young, dumb (I have a penchant for the Geography boys) and full of cum, these carriers of testosterone (and creatine, no doubt) remain the ultimate ‘gay conquest’: and to think it only took a few stray hand strokes and a knowing glance over the dance floor in Klute to a blasting Grease song (Oh, the irony…).

Do fool yourselves in thinking these are solely drunken escapades. Many encounters grow out of long friendships with guys who appreciate the gay ‘sensibility’, and Durham’s uniqueness in this regard may stem from its large public school demographic.

Public schools are not breeding grounds for homosexuality, but they certainly act as foundations of toleration, where (believe it or not) diversity is encouraged and boys grow to accept each other’s differences by constant exposure. With this comes a relaxed mentality, and a fondness for male closeness. Seminars and lectures are proven stomping grounds, arenas away from the prying eyes of the college gossip, and daytime meetings in my room always promised anonymity.

It then becomes less stash, lash and gash, and more clash, mash and dash.

Whether or not these ‘dabblers’ are “in the closet” is a question nobody has the right to ask. They presumably do not admit to their wide sexual appetite because of the social and cultural implications that are perceived to come with it. Straight guys are hugely fearful of the fact that in committing the cardinal sin of buggery, of fornicating with somebody of the same sex, they are therefore one of ‘them’, a ‘gay’.

It is because we live in a heterosexually governed society (and Durham being the prized example), and where gender is an extension of one’s sex, and where sex is an extension of sexuality, any dislocation will cause alarm lights to flash.

After all, a guy is just that – an anatomy and a social identity. Any ‘dabbler’ will be frightened that in consenting to the act with another boy, they therefore have to discard of their heavily regulated identity and take on the material and cultural uniform of the ‘gay’. I am talking pink whistles, bootcut jeans, mesh vest, “I’m here, I’m queer”… You get the idea.

So my message to those driven by this fear is this: embrace your desires! Heaven knows the outspoken Hatfield rower who I shared a brief sexual encounter did. As did a certain Hill (cough cough… Grey) rugby player who my friend slept with when we were in second year. And there was the Castle hockey player ‘thinking about it’, who seemed happy to introduce his girlfriend to his gay ‘acquaintance’ in Marks and Spencer post ‘sesh’.

University is probably the last time where you are able to test the water and blame it on ‘experimenting’; after all, ahead of you is a life of mortgage, marriage and monotony. We’re left to mince about and wait for the inevitable. For the time being you have nothing to lose and a blow job to gain.

‘Name and shame’, I hear you say? I’ll end on this: You don’t kiss and tell, so why should I? Xoxo