Getting laid in Freshers – like stealing candy from a baby

So I’ve started a new chapter in my life. Welcome to university! And what better way to make a good impression in front hundreds of new people that you’ll have to endure for the next three years, than to get atrociously shitfaced and complete a series of ridiculous and possibly life-threatening tasks, all in the name of banter?

Freshers is renowned for being the one time of your university career, if not your life, where you can acceptably fill the black void in your soul with a constant stream of alcoholic beverages and meaningless sex, and my experience did not stray from the norm.

Having survived the week, albeit a little worse for wear, I can certainly recount some stories. A flatmate of mine got kicked out of the local Wetherspoons for fingering a girl on their sofa. So you have an idea of the general tone for the week.

My most exciting encounter was on Friday. My flatmates and I headed to a local club called Firestation, but I soon lost them when across the dance floor I locked eyes with the beautiful Pierre. Pierre has the most exquisite French accent, and it didn’t take much of his incredibly sexy grinding to convince me to accompany him home.

I was surprisingly pleased with the skill Pierre was gifted. His foreplay was impeccable, and he was just my type in the sack (even if a little on the smaller side, but hey, a girl can make do). That was, until…

Men. Never, I repeat, never, give a woman a facial unless she asks for it. Especially when you don’t know the girl that well. Just show some fucking respect, come on, now. I got it in my fucking eye, and that shit stings! I don’t want anybody’s fucking semen in my eye, especially some randomer from the club. Jesus.

I was out of there before his vision had come back into focus (unfortunately mine wouldn’t return until the following morning), and no, I didn’t get his number.

Pierre, you may be the sexiest French dancer I’ve ever encountered, but next time, come on your own fucking face.

5/10

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