The nine types of sex we’re having in St Andrews

Despite ranking in the outer-fifties in the University sex league tables of 2014, there is something in the September air in St Andrews. Some believe it to be excitement; an effervescent buzz emanating from the 1000+ new residents of our cobbled streets. Others – the more cynical of us – believe it to be a hefty mix of testosterone, post-shag smokes, and the promise of an STD. But, whatever you think it to be, its root is undeniable: it is the end of Freshers Week in St Andrews, and the air is tinged with the promise of fornication. Here are ten examples:

• First Time Sex – The place is swarming with so many virgins it’s almost like a ball pit of, well, unleashed balls. Released into the wild for the first time, do not be afraid if you see at least one form of genitilia in your first week.

• Not-My-First-Time-Sex – Putting on a snorkel whilst having a wank a-la-Inbetweeners style does NOT constitute as losing your virginity on holiday. Just be brave and admit it. You truly belong to No. 1, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.

• Guilty Sex – You caught the eye of that burly basketball player and the thought of giving his ball skills a run for their money ultimately dissolved the memory of the ‘undying’ lover back home. Don’t worry, it happens to the best of us.

• Scheduled Sex – You know the drill. You met your alright-looking roommate and both found yourselves running out of things to say in the kitchen, aware of a weird spark forming over the hob (and it wasn’t your dinner). A few days later and it goes along the lines of “You. Me. Bedroom. Have to be quick – pres are in fifteen. Bring some condoms and don’t forget the lime for the tequila.” Just keep telling yourself that it doesn’t really matter that you can’t remember their first name.

• Bunny Boiler Sex – Come on pal, it’s three weeks into term and there is no way that you still have trouble finding your room at three in the morning (there are only two floors in the halls). You’re running out of that previously worn scent because you keep spraying it outside their door in the hope that they thought you’ve just run past (they can see you in the keyhole). You’ve used all your heart shaped post-its, sticking them on the subject of your affection’s food in the fridge (covering the use-by dates in the hope they’ll get food poisoning and you’ll have to nurse them back to health). Retain that dignity, box up that memory of your night of passion, and move on. For all our sakes.

• Accidental Sex – Once again, we have that well renowned excuse of “I don’t know what happened. I must have fallen. On his penis. Either way, it’s easily avoided. Won’t be happening again. Except, perhaps, on Wednesdays.”

• Weird-Cross-Cultural-Transatlantic Sex – Sometimes, it only seems when two people are between the sheets that they truly see how other cultures work, and how a village in the Cotswolds compared to a cul-de-sac in West Virginia can have vastly differing uses for passages of The Bible. Lets just say, that cultural education can never really have an ending.

• Heavy Petting Sex – At five in the morning, when one too many G&T’s have been sunk, and you’ve braved the walk home through the badlands, you realise it’s just not gonna happen. This is ok, folks. Really. It will all be ok.

• The Sheer-Unadulterated-Chaotic-limbs-everywhere-frenzied-sweaty-tufty-sun-coming-up-no-holds-barred-awakening-of-life-that’s-never-been-felt-before-you-never-want-to-leave sex — The kind of sex that cements people, sometimes against their will, for an indefinite period. Sparks flying over the cucumbers in Tesco forevermore. The kind that is the excuse for Baby George. That kind of sex; the best kind.