Editor’s note: This article was initially published in The Daily Gazette, Swarthmore’s online, daily newspaper founded in Fall 1996. As of Fall 2018, the DG has merged with The Phoenix. See the about page to read more about the DG.
I am currently a junior at Swarthmore College studying Economics. “Inside the Pussy” is a column about daily awkward sexual experiences and sexual encounters. Because I am far from a sexual goddess, many of these stories will detail my flops and failures in trying to find love, recover from love, and get it on. It will be updated on a weekly basis.
I entered college fresh-eyed and supple-skinned, ready to be hit on by some college bros or something like that. Being a freshman is great for so many reasons. Honestly, one of those reasons is being able to get it whenever you want it. I would wear my cute, little, white crop-top and high-waisted shorts and work it on the dance floor at one of the frats.
This past semester, my circumstances were a little different. My body has the chunk of hundreds of bags of Chex Mix and my eyes have the bags of more problem sets than I can count. I rarely go out, and when I do, my roommate has to lure me with the promise of future cookies and chips. Much like the cycle of debt, the cycle of cookie is vicious and hard to break out of. After I broke up with my Quaker matchbox boyfriend, my cookie-body seemed even more unacceptable. I had no idea how to get sex or how to even get all up on it. The lion inside me had become a tame, neutered housecat.
My first experience going out post-breakup was confusing. I had no idea what I wanted. My friends and I held a little pregame in our Hallowell singles with a few other friends. We danced in a circle to “Chains” by post-JoBro Nick Jonas and drank shots out of mugs. A little past 11:30, we headed to whatever themed party the frats were having. My more adept friends were picked off one-by-one, until I was pretty much all alone. At parties, friends told me that I seemed unapproachable. That night, I walked home alone as I always did.
I distinctly remember looking up at the stars while walking back. I always try to do that whenever I walk outside at night. It’s oddly comforting to look at something so vast and incredible. It’s helped me reflect silently on those many lone walks back to my dorm.
The more I considered it, the more I realized I was okay with not hooking up at the frats. I was unapproachable because I did not want to be approached (although sometimes that doesn’t stop people from trying). In fact, I wanted to stay unapproachable. I did not particularly want male attention at a frat party, nor was I particularly good at actively seeking it out. My experience trying to get sex was more of a lesson in how I was okay being single. Getting all up on it is too confusing and too complicated for me, and my dance moves are no longer particularly attractive. They’ve evolved from some girly, infinity hip sway to an awkward shuffle.
This coming Saturday night will be like last Saturday night. I’ll curl up in my sheets, grab some honey mustard pretzels, and watch Broad City for two hours. It’s true that some nights, I miss my ex-boyfriend. Everyone wants to love and to be loved. However, being single and not wanting to go out to a party to get it is completely okay. In fact, being single has taught me how to truly love and express myself from playing with my food to cooking soba on a Sunday night. Next week? The dreaded M-word. Masturbation.
