I lost my Big Cheese virginity

And it was excellent


My Saturday night started off very strangely.

Our News Editor, Robin, handed me a Tab branded condom.

Staring deep into my eyes, he said:

“You’ll be losing your V card tonight.”

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Astonished by these words, I didn’t quite know how to react.

What had I gotten myself into, I wondered.

Thankfully, soon after I was reassured that I’d simply be losing my Big Cheese virginity.

I’d be taken to Potterow to experience something both simultaneously beautiful and traumatic.

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As soon as I walked into trusty old P’row, memories flashed back of my school social six years ago.

The year is 2008.

And there I am standing in a hall where there was a palpable sense of sexual tension between all the sexually repressed boys and girls.

The rugger buggers were standing on the sidelines of the room, judging the nerdy student newspaper types.

And when ‘Crank That Soulja Boy’ started blasting through the speakers, everybody neglected their Home County roots to channel an Atlanta gangsta rapper.

Fast forward six years.

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And there I am once again watching sexually repressed students eyeing up their targets like a slab of meat to lion, being yelled abuse at by the rugby team and waving goodbye to my Hertfordshire heritage to bump and grind just like they do in Atlanta.

Oh yes, the Big Cheese reminded me of a school disco.

But, cor blimey, it was a school disco on steroids.

And I bloody loved it.

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Wearing my Tab t-shirt just to ensure my social ostracisation and to mark me out as a prime bullying target, I walked in to a melodious chorus of “TAB WANKER” and “BIG DOG”.

As if that wasn’t enough, the news of my Fresherdom was soon shared.

Seconds later “DOWN IT FRESHER” was being screamed at me as sticky liquids were being shoved down my throat.

After proving my hardcore LAD credentials by downing a sufficient amount of VKs and Snakebites, I found myself dancing with flailing limbs in a crowd of sweaty, over-excited students.

On the crowded dance floor, I was approached by numerous wolf-whistling four foot tall girls.

Shortly after, a hairy middle-age man even yelled “hey sexy!” at me.

For someone who doesn’t normally get a lot of attention in clubs, all these compliments and being told I looked like a “sexy Harry Potter” gave me a good ol’ ego boost.

The Big Cheese saved me tons of time on therapy.

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With all that flirting, it was obvious that love – or lust – was in the air.

And, unsurprisingly, little after 12pm, 75 per cent of the room seemed to be getting off.

Saliva, falling from the slobbering mouths of young lovers, filled the floor.

As the drinks steadily kicked in and I performed the mandatory drunken task of greeting practically unknown acquaintances with “I LOVE you dude” and an excitable man hug, I thought I’d call it a night.

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Marching through a George Square covered with vomit, half-eaten kebabs and passed out drunks, I thought to myself…

I bloody love uni.