Sex on Tap
For those of you still reading, unencumbered by a compulsive slide into a masturbatory spree at the mere notion, I’ll explain. Freshers’ is a magnificent time for new experiences, heavy […]
For those of you still reading, unencumbered by a compulsive slide into a masturbatory spree at the mere notion, I’ll explain.
Freshers’ is a magnificent time for new experiences, heavy liver wear and tear and, of course, bonding with an entirely new crowd. You’re free of those pesky parental restrictions, no longer restrained by school rules – Team America nailed it in one with “Freedom isn’t Free”, but for the cost of a student loan? It’s pretty close.
For the first few days, everyone in your halls corridor are bosom buddies; over-sharing and knocking back drinks together like they’ve been confidantes since Y2K was a fear. That hot piece of tail in the room next door, that reminds you just a bit of Jennifer Lawrence? Or that George Clooney-esque hunk with the chiselled jawline and dreamy eyes – god, but once the alcohol is flowing and mummy’s curfew rendered ineffective, it’s just tempting to screw their brains out…am I right?
Here at the Soton Tab, we positively encourage any and all student debauchery. If you can distinguish between the centrepiece of Ring of Fire and the less toxic household cleaning products, you’re doing it terribly wrong. But even we would hesitate before encouraging inter-flat relations. The politics are awful and the pros pale in comparison to the cons. Unfortunately, the pro of ‘convenience’ is by far the shiniest, putting paid to rationality and common sense for short-term games. I mean, sex on tap? YUS. Yet think twice, horny freshers!
Seriously, the internal machinations involved should have you all fleeing at the concept. If it’s just a one-night fling, it might only be an awkward encounter in the corridor during which all parties develop a furious interest in the ceiling tiles. Why would you keep it to once though – I mean, Christ. It’s meters away, all day. It’s cheap, too. No more offering a drink to a potential conquest, and being forced to stump up an entire weekly shop for the watered down elephant piss from Voodoo. In the immortal words of Pringles, “once you pop, you can’t stop”. Or won’t.
Whatever your motivations though, several things are a constant. One or both parties will develop feelings – if they aren’t mutual, one will pine awkwardly and feel miserable for much of the year while the other shags their way through the Solent population. If they are – well, cue a relationship where every other occupant of the flat feels justified in probing and nosing, wave goodbye to privacy and contentment. And if it does end terribly, this third-party involvement can schism an entire friendship group. It’s just not worth it. One unnamed friend hooked up with the girl next door during Freshers’, and for the rest of the year enjoyed her own special brand of cock-blocking on nights out – three nights of passion for six months of pain.
It’s cheap, easy and convenient. But if that’s all you’re looking for, rent a hooker. At least they let you do the dirty shit. People become infinitesimally more attractive when they’re available – but that chick that looks like J-Law? You can see the real thing on the internet anyway, and at least she won’t fuck back for the rest of the year. Lawyers might though.
This has been a Soton Tab public service announcement. If you choose not to heed our warning, why not write an exposé on how disastrous it actually was?
Got any horror stories of inter-flat sexual relations? Tell us in the comments below (if you dare).