A college-student contributor friend of ours, who wishes to remain anonymous, has a confession to make:
I woke up one morning after an evening chugging most of a jug of $3 wine and several cups of that uniquely collegiate concoction â€śjungle juice.â€ť Head pounding, eyes squinting, and stomach lurching, I realized there was a half-eaten piece of pizza on my dresser and I had absolutely no idea how it got there.
On my way to the fridge to grab a bottle of water, I tripped over the answer: a pizza box from a pizza place Iâ€™d only ever order from when drunk. I checked the label: delivered at 3:42 a.m. I opened the box: four pieces missing. I had ordered a pizza, eaten three and a half slices, and couldn’t remember a second of it.
My friends now refer to this as the night of the â€śaccidental pizza.â€ť And while Iâ€™ve gotten into a choreographed routine of telling the story, Iâ€™m really embarrassed about what I did. I lost complete control of myself, mind and body. Which got me thinking: what else could I accidentally end up doing when Iâ€™m acting purely on drunken instinct? Or who else?
So at the start of this school year, I made a resolution: no drunk sex or hookups. If I canâ€™t be trusted not to spend $15 on a large pizza for one, how can I trust myself to pick out a guy when Iâ€™m drunk?
As a college student, this is a tall order. On any given weekend night, Iâ€™m out bar- and party-hopping, downing drink after drink in rooms packed tight with every type of guy I could want (or, more to the point, not want). And Iâ€™m drunk enough to forget about my own self-consciousness and talk to anyone. But each time I’m tempted to go beyond talking, I think back on the drunk hookups I have had: the sloppy (a guy grabbing my butt so hard that I found five tiny fingerprint-sized marks on it the next day); the slobbery (a makeout session so moist that my friend asked me afterwards if I had contracted rabies); and the blooper-y (in the midst of making out with a guy in a stairwell at a party, I tilted my head back and smacked it hard against the wall).
Granted, they were fun and funny in the moment, but did any of it actually feel good? Negative. The guys stopped paying attention to technique or courtesy and just started grabbing and groping with no respect to what actually romanced me or turned me on.
By eliminating the staple of the college studentâ€™s sexual diet, I’m not getting nearly as much action as my friends, which does make me feel left out sometimes. And for that reason alone, I’ve been tempted to give in on a few occasions — but then I remember that having a good dirty story to tell in the dorm room is a terrible reason to hook up.
To me, the best part of being intimate and sexual with someone is developing a whole new way of connecting. After Iâ€™ve developed some comfort and trust with a guy, I know I can trust him with something a little riskier than my favorite movies and music.
And Iâ€™ll be able to remember every moment of it.