Sneaky Sex

Sex in the stacks: Perhaps something Mademoiselle won't be indulging in this term?

After a few scarring disturbances and substandard sessions out in the real world, I had ceased all 'dangerous' activity and instead widened my range of bedroom antics. However, with summer fast approaching, short skirts and skimpy tops cry out for quickies in the library, King’s Manor and the fields.

My issue with public sex is not the idea of getting caught; that is often more awkward for the onlooker than for the perpetrator. Instead the logistics of positioning, achieving adequate nudity and potential pain and dirt accumulation are extremely discouraging.

After an insightful game of “never have I ever”, I was shocked to discover that everyone is doing it, all over York. Favourites include the laundry room, JCRs and the Vanbrugh toilets. Embarrassed by my inexperience, and annoyed by my soberness, having had very few opportunities to drink in recognition of my naughtiness, I was prepared to give sneaky sex another shot.

My target for Term 3 was therefore set. However, on the YUSnow ski trip, I succumbed to the trend earlier than anticipated. Finding a hottie from Alcuin, territory still unknown to me, I went for it on a social. Things escalated and we found ourselves back in the hotel. Sharing a room with three other girls, I couldn’t bring him in. We searched the hotel for a place and settled on the ski boot room: spacey, secluded and sexy.

This certainly was the mother of all sneaky sex escapades – unlacing my ridiculous snowboard boots and peeling off layers of thermal clothes was the antithesis of the sex I’d envisaged. Despite the trusty pain killer, alcohol, it just wasn’t that great. Indeed on the next day I discovered bruises down my back and on my knees. Needless to say boarding was less than awesome. Nor was my conversation with reception regarding my “inappropriate” behaviour that had been caught on camera. The ski boot room is filmed from several angles to prevent theft of gear.

Mortified at the idea of having displayed myself so blatantly in front of a team of French security men, I spent the rest of the week desperately avoiding the reception area. At least I had a good story for subsequent "never have I ever".

Sneaky sex is only enjoyable in its recounting, not in the deed itself. I much prefer safe sex, it’s much less painful, despite being drastically less interesting. I suppose that when all else fails, public frolicking will do, although only when no cameras are present.

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