On being an erotic writer in St Andrews

I’m sitting in the library. My knee is tapping with an obsessive neediness that reverberates my sexual frustration. I’m reading Waiting for Godot for the second time, and coming up with silly puns from the title rather than doing anything productive for the 2,000 word essay due Monday.

And then I hear it. The word slowly, seductively whispered, “penis”. While most people would laugh, or check to make sure they hadn’t left a porn site running on a different tab, I pause, open up a new Word document and entitle it, Fucking for Godot…and begin to write.

It’s not my essay; not at all. It’s erotic.

Estragon: Didi, I have a game that will amuse us. Keep your pants down.

Vladimir: We haven’t played this game since that one time.

Estragon: It was a couple years ago.

Vladimir: Or maybe it was yesterday, I’ve forgotten.

[Estragon moves towards Vladimir and begins to stroke his penis. He kneels down]

Vladimir: Gogo Gogo GOGO GO GO GO Gogo.

I have a problem, just a little bit. I’m an erotic writer in St Andrews. I am inspired by the sexual events of my life, as well as the thoughts I have as I wander around our shared, three streets. As much as I want to show my work to people in St Andrews, I feel worried and uncomfortable.

Maybe it’s me. Maybe I am too self-conscious and shouldn’t care what people think. Maybe I should be more open and confident.

Or, possibly, it’s the place. St Andrews is not as sexually open – or not as open as I want it to be, especially about female sexuality. Possibly, St Andrews just doesn’t have the right vibe to be openly vulnerable.

I wish I had a pair of Hunter Boots and a Barbour coat, so I could hide behind it like armour, and protect myself from rejection and from getting hurt. I wish we had a corner in the library where people went to have sex, like in other universities. I wish we didn’t walk around with pent up sexual frustration, waiting for the next night out on the town with a bottle of gin. I wish casual dating actually existed in St Andrews.

I want to read at open mics, to be open with everyone, and share the sexual stories in my head, yet I don’t feel safe enough. I am afraid to show my work. I am afraid of getting laughed at. I am afraid of being called a slut because of the sexual thoughts that I have. I’m afraid of losing the respect of my peers in my tutorials. I am afraid to become gossip when I’m just trying to explore who I am. The overarching patriarchal nature of St Andrews makes me afraid of being condemned for writing about fictional orgies in the forest with the devil.

When I imagined university, I envisioned a safe, open-minded community of peers, and together we would explore ourselves. We would be whoever we wanted to be. Instead, I have found a place where exclusivity, connections, and how much money your family has determines who your friends are. And this sort of environment makes me resistant to share my erotic writings.

I don’t know if it is simply my mindset or the mindset of our student population, but I’m just not yet comfortable with embracing my sexuality as a female in St Andrews, at least not publicly.

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