Doing You

Forest’s mom always said, ‘Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.’ I say, ‘Sex is like ice cream. There’s something for everyone.

Even if Christmas wasn’t your season to be joyous or jolly, rest assured that for the rest of us, sex over summer wasn’t all paradigm-shifting orgasms on Egyptian cotton bed sheets either. Get your bells jingling for the best and worst of summer lovin’.

There was sex outside. As summer and stuffy, un-air-conditioned share houses and apartments on res lend themselves to outdoor activity, sex outside is as inevitable as the season itself. Sex at the beach or pool is a particular favourite – there’s just something about slimy suncreamed skin underwater and the fact you’re almost naked already. Then there’s the equally inevitable, although less hot, sex at a festival. Sun, sweat and tunes make the perfect environment for romps back at the campsite or, you know, behind the toilet blocks. But hey, you’ve already pissed through your shorts on some guy’s shoulders and no one’s calling you classy.

There was bored sex. So your mates ditched you for some exotic overseas adventure and you’re stuck in Canberra for work or a summer course, or perhaps you’re back home with your parents remembering why you moved to Canberra in the first place. Whichever it is, the lethargic heat is limiting your motivation for much else than lying spread-eagled in front of Netflix and an air con, so there’s definitely time for an afternoon booty call between cold showers. Being stuck living back at home over break brings a certain nostalgia for sneaking old flames in and out the window; déjà vu all over again.

Speaking of déjà vu, there was sex with an ex. Perhaps it’s the lack of distraction that uni provides or post-exam stress-freedom, but December seems to be the season for revisiting exes. Being on the receiving end of messages from three previous flings and, unfortunately, messaging one such fling myself – all within a two-week period – was an unexpected end to the year. Although I opted not to revisit such previously disappointing escapades – they ended for a reason after all – the message I sent was a little more fruitful. Although, like every New Year’s resolution that causes me swear off chocolate for two weeks, I’m not sure whether it was worth it. This isn’t even getting into a whole other category of exes who travels overseas or make some other grand gesture to surprise you which leads to the whole Ross and Rachel/Rory and Logan ‘we were on a break’ fight. Messy.

In your travels, you may just have discovered sex with a foreigner. It could be with a sexy French guy in the bathrooms of a swanky karaoke joint, or the Dutch tourist heading through Canberra in a campervan, or the British lads making their Falls debut, or perhaps you’re making your way through Europe using Tinder. Whichever which way you do it, having someone with an accent other than Dave Hughes’ whispering dirty things in your ear keeps things spicy. Speaking of spicy, sneaking someone into your hotel room when on holiday with your parents was probably the most nerve-wracking and, therefore, stimulating experience of your trip. Being shouted free drinks, quality food and a swanky hotel is a nice change from roughing it backpacker style, so you have to take advantage of an air-conditioned room with turndown service.

And then, there was sex to make you fall in love. Maybe its pseudo-love, induced by champagne and fireworks and the depression caused by countless relatives telling you that a nice young person like you shouldn’t be single, and then asking if you would like to visit Great Aunt Petunia at the nursing home because there’s a nice young girl/boy that volunteers there on Sundays who would be perfect for you? Or it’s a whirlwind romance, intensified by your looming departure – yet another one that got away. Maybe you genuinely fell in love or stayed in love over summer: props to you. Just keep that coupliness to yourself now that uni’s back, ok?