sex diaries

The Contemplative, Not-Getting-Any College Student

Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the contemplative, not-getting-any college student, 20, female, financial district, straight.

12:30 p.m.: At school. Contrary to popular belief, there aren’t many romantic options for female college students in New York. Or, I should say, for girls who don’t want to either (a) be in relationships with much older men, (b) have sex with guys who wear bronzer, or (c) hook up with the rare straight college males who are very aware of what a commodity they are.
1 p.m.: I’m walking down the hallway and a guy passes me in skintight, orangey-red pants. He’s on that point between gay and straight that makes him your quintessential New York college male. Despite the odds, I’m on the hunt for a laid-back relationship. I want a boyfriend to go to church with and have emotional intimacy with in this weirdly disconnected city … and also take the air conditioner out of my window.
9:30 p.m.: I think the guy at my corner deli has a crush on me. I’m not really interested, but it’s flattering.
10 p.m.: My friend comes over for dinner. She complains that she hasn’t “gotten any” since spring break when she “had sex with strangers.” I rack my brain for someone to set her up with, but can’t think of anyone.

Noon: I contemplate masturbating this morning to put off my homework, but I feel too lazy to even bother. Maybe like a chameleon, my sex drive has adapted to its surroundings.
2:30 p.m.: Trying to put off my homework even more, I scan through my Facebook account, my BlackBerry, and my in-box trying to think if I am friends with any guys who I haven’t hooked up with already. Zilch.
7:30 p.m.: There is a girl in my class in a mini-miniskirt, a tight, black tank top, and black leather boots. The girls at my school dress like prostitutes. I think the guys like it, but I think they also think less of the girls because of it. The sexual vibrations on campus revolve around women pleasing men. Gen Y has such a diseased relationship with sex.

Noon: I walk by one of “those” Gossip Girl ads with Nate and Blair in the pool, conveniently positioned near three college dorms. I think a lot of college girls live vicariously through Blair’s vagina.
7:30 p.m.: One positive aspect of my college workload is that I don’t even know when I would fit dating into my schedule. Although I can’t speak for all college students: I purposely overschedule myself. I kind of like being so busy.
9 p.m.: I’ve come to terms with the fact that hooking up doesn’t work for me — I need relationships and affection, not its consolation prize. Dating in an age group that wasn’t raised with these things also doesn’t work, though.

3 p.m.: Almost all of the kids at school from Long Island, New Jersey, and upstate New York (particularly Westchester) go home very frequently, often to get laid. I’m going up to Albany this weekend. There are a few people I hooked up with in high school who I could text this weekend.
8 p.m. I’m reading through Sex Diary archives and I feel like my diary pales in comparison. Literally nothing interesting can happen in Albany, besides walking my dog and watching TV. But it’s the truth.

11:30 a.m.: Brunch, friends. One girl just ended things with her boyfriend of three years. She even nixed his number from her cell phone; good for her. My other brunchmate doesn’t have any interest in getting a boyfriend or pursuing sex, which is a complete mystery to me. I wish I felt content on my own.
2 p.m.: I drive by the park where I lost my virginity and feel really mopey for a minute. I totally didn’t appreciate how gentle the guy was and how carefully he treated me, as opposed to the rough, borderline misogynistic sex in college.

2:30 p.m.: En route back to the city; my iPod is out of batteries so I’m getting a lot of thinking done. I resent this idea that college students are getting laid all the time. I think the majority of students in this city are sexually frustrated and disappointed. I wonder if it’s easier to find boys in Brooklyn … or Jersey City?

11 a.m.: I’ve been hysterical all morning: angry and crying and really physically uncomfortable.
2 p.m.: Got period. That explains it. It’s like a surprise every time. God, I’m a walking female stereotype.
7:30 p.m.: I have no plans, so I take myself out on a date. I do my makeup and have solo dinner in midtown. No reason to miss a perfectly good night out … and it certainly beats eating Cup-O-Noodles in the dorms.

TOTALS: Zero acts of intercourse, fellatio or cunnilingus; one aborted act of masturbation; two gab sessions about boys with girlfriends; one surprise arrival of red tide.

The Contemplative, Not-Getting-Any College Student