Grazia

There is an interview with yours truly in this week's Grazia, and I suggest everybody run to your nearest newsagent to buy it. The story about Angelina is absolutely fascinating! (They put in a plug for my blog, so the least I can do is plug their magazine, which I love and read religiously.) However, they had also requested initially that I write something myself. Which I did. They left out most of what I wrote, namely the sex, in their article, so here is what I wrote:

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I enjoy casual sex with men. A lot. I also enjoy life as a student at one of the most prestigious universities in the world. It is unlike anything else. Surrounded by some of the world’s most intelligent and talented students and academics, how could I not be turned on? As a woman I find it absolutely sexy to be in the company of someone who is trying to cure cancer, or who will be representing their country at the London Olympics. I tend to gravitate towards the latter though . . .

My recollection of the Rugby Blue who wanted anal sex is perhaps the most famous of the sex tales I’ve told thus far, but it was nowhere near as comical as my encounters with Rower Blue. The best way to describe the sex with Rower Blue would be 'wordy'. He would not stop with the pornographic chat. It’s really not for me I’ve found, the whole talking whilst doing it. Despite my reluctance to reciprocate in the dirty talk, Rower Blue simply did not get the hint.

“Ooh, yeah babe, you like that?'

I briefly considered what might happen if I went motionless, looked him straight in the eyes and said, “No. Actually, I’m reconsidering my decision to sleep with you more and more every time you open your mouth. If you would kindly shut up and get on with it, it would be greatly appreciated.”

The only thing more interesting than Rower Blue’s porn chat was his porn positions. However, if my knee is going to be next to my ear I need some warning. A stretch would be nice beforehand if I’m going to be performing gymnastics in bed. Despite what was potentially permanent damage to my hip flexors and the terrible chat, Rower Blue was not bad in bed. Lots of stamina, and once things had heated up and I was feeling more flexible, the different positions were quite enjoyable. He managed to seamlessly shift from one position to the next in what became the most full-body workout sex session I’ve ever had. His rhythm was definitely better than his dialogue. It's a good thing he was a rower and not the little guy who steers the boat and does the shouting, I can only imagine what kind of motivational banter he'd come out with. "Yes boys! Harder! Harder! Yes! Right there!"

Success at Oxbridge requires a very high degree of selfishness. You need to put your health, your studies, and just yourself in general first if you want to be the best at what you do. I was in a relationship for over a year and it was a massive distraction in that I found myself prioritising it over almost everything else in my life. Going back to being “me” instead of “we” was liberating, and it took an unnecessary element of stress out of my life. It did leave a significant void in the sex department, but that proved easy to fill.

Finding someone to sleep with on a night out in town is like being pennied while out in the pub – inevitable. When it comes to the Blues, get enough Pinkys or Tomahawks in them and they’ll want to shag you in any dark corner they can find. However, on a particular night out, far from the La La Land of the Blues, I met a young gentleman who asked me back to his accommodation after snogging for a solid hour on the dance floor. I kindly obliged and we made our way back to his. When visiting a college which isn’t your own it would be a wise choice to take note of your surroundings, or in my case I should have just left a trail of the contents of my handbag from the entrance to his room. This would have ensured that I wouldn’t be wandering around one of the largest and oldest colleges two hours later trying to find my way out.

We got to his room and immediately onto his bed. I couldn’t help but glance around, as we kissed more and began removing clothes, and notice that his room was significantly larger than mine. Sure, give the low-maintenance boy the big room while I’m stuck in my glorified closet of a room with half my clothes on sale at Oxfam because I didn’t have room for them. I shook off my momentary temper tantrum as he took off his trousers, and five minutes of foreplay and one drunken stumble across the room to grab a condom later we were down to business.

I had a lecture early the next morning, as well as a growing irritation with his room size, so I kissed him goodbye and legged it out the door once we were done. It wasn’t until I was outside and locked out of his building that I realised that I hadn’t a clue where I was. This was before I owned an iPhone, so there was no google mapping my way out of this one. I set about trying to find a break in the brick wall which encased the college, hoping to find a Porter wandering around somewhere, but the best I came across was a section of the wall which was slightly lower than the rest. I heaved myself up and straddled the wall, peering over the side to make sure I wasn’t anywhere near the river. Just pavement, but a considerably longer drop to the other side of the wall. I was running out of options, getting cold, and now straddling a brick wall in a skirt, so I dropped my handbag down onto the pavement and swung my other leg across, dropping (well actually it was more like falling if I’m honest) to the other side.

I titled the blog “Sex at Oxbridge” not only to conceal as much detail as possible about who I actually am, but also to appeal to as many readers as possible. Two universities has to be better than one, right? I certainly never expected it to make it big time outside of the medium of student newspapers. Sex blogs aren’t exactly high on the list of things I believe are lacking in the world, and my intention isn’t to enlighten people to the glories of sex. What I’m doing is in no way unique, and I’m certainly not the only person who enjoys having sex, but I also enjoy writing. When I was younger I had a teacher who began her review of one of my essays with: “To my future Jane Austen…” I have always been encouraged to write, but I’m not sure this is exactly what they meant! One of the most clichéd pieces of advice for writers is to write what you know, and for me that is sex.

The fact that I am a girl at Oxbridge blogging about sex is unique in a few ways. First, a lot of students barely have time to sleep, let alone have a cheeky workout in bed and then get online to write about it. Second, if you are having sex you are not meant to tell everyone about it, and you certainly aren’t meant to publish blogs for the world to see on it. It’s completely taboo for a girl to even admit to masturbating, let alone having casual sex and bragging about it. There’s no stereotype that Oxbridge students don’t enjoy sex, but if you do then Mum’s the word!

Oxford and Cambridge are the oldest institutions in academia, and with that of course comes a stigma and expectations of greatness. As students, we represent a mili-fraction of the global population. I have received responses to my blog from people in Delhi, Malaysia, Australia, Brazil, Ireland, Turkey and Hong Kong. If I can humanise the Oxbridge population to the extent that a student from Monash University writes to me telling me they know exactly how I feel, then I think the only thing I’m blowing the lid off of is the fact that we’re just like anyone else struggling to survive uni, and that we’re trying to have a laugh in the meantime.

At first I doubted the blog would be read by anyone in Oxford or Camrbidge, let alone students around the world. I didn’t think much of the blog getting a mention in a student paper, but once the story was out, the reality that someone might recognise my stories sunk in. After reading the article in The Cambridge Student online from my mobile, I stood motionless on the pavement outside my college, staring into space as students walked past. My heart swelling with anxiety, all I could do was stare at my breath as it crystalised in front of my face. What the hell had I just done? In the course of four days I wrote a story about sex, agreed to let a student paper write about it, and now it was out there for anyone to discover.

I ran home to scour over the blog and the stories to try and sort out whether or not boys I had written about would be able to link me to the story. Did they have the kind of photographic memory I had when it came to these things? I eventually calmed down. Maybe no one will read it, maybe no one will care. The article was written based on a gmail account, an anonymous blog, and a Twitter account. It was nothing more than a blurb in a student paper.

I glanced at the blog mid-afternoon. Two comments. People were reading it! My heart seized for a moment and my mouth went dry as I read, 'Well done with the free advert in the Evening Standard.' I quickly googled the blog and there it was. As emails from Andrew, the Cambridge reporter, forwarding requests for my details from larger papers came in, what ensued was a four hour panic attack. I cycled to a small pub that was usually quiet and sat in the corner getting pissed by myself since I had temporarily lost all ability to function socially. In less than a day I had a couple of hundred people following me on Twitter, and as one of the followers phrased it, “Is @SexAtOxbridge the first blogger to have more newspaper features than blogs?”

Since the media explosion around the blog I can honestly say that I have not heard a word from anyone about it. Twitter sends you a message every time someone starts following you and I always find it amusing when a friend of mine pops up on that. I know some of them are reading, but they clearly find it un-newsworthy since it hasn’t been mentioned in the company of my social circle.

This blog was never created with the intention of anyone discovering who I am. It isn’t a cry for attention, just a way to share some funny stories which I wouldn’t otherwise consider proper chat for the college bar. I receive more than enough attention from men in my day-to-day life, so this blog is in no way an attempt to solicit sex with strangers, nor do I ever intend to out myself and become “that girl” around college. The men I’ve slept with may be strangers to the world, but they aren’t some countless list of random shags to me. I can name every man I’ve ever slept with, and would stop to talk to any one of them if I ran into them on the street. I’ve found sex to be a very satisfying and often amusing way of taking a break from the responsibilities of student life, and writing a blog about it has just become a creative outlet for my love of sex when I can’t be bothered to go out on the pull.