Creaming Spires: 7th week MT

Oxford is a teeny tiny bubble. We keep on going to the same places, seeing the same faces, and enjoying the brief feeling of fame when somebody recognises us from a particularly fabulous dance move at Baby Love. Recognition, however, is not always so great. Inevitably, one day in the Rad Cam when you’re wearing something resembling pyjamas and when you made the executive decision that essay deadline was more important than a shower, the seat next to you is going to be occupied by somebody you’ve slept with.

I wish I could say that it’s only happened to me once. Or twice. Alas, my tendency to fancy artsy hipsters means that sooner or later we meet again in the humanities hub. More often than not, I am no longer wearing a killer dress and he suddenly has acne. In an ideal world I would look every inch the sex goddess, gaze straight into his eyes and having filled his soul with lust I would walk on into the sunset, hips swaying and heels clicking. Usually I awkwardly scuttle off into a bookshelf instead. To guard you from shame, I’ve compiled a brief list of things to avoid when running into your one-night-stands.

First, don’t run. You’ve seen each other naked. No biggie. And if it were a biggie (innuendo intended), DO NOT STARE AT HIS CROTCH. Similarly, it turns out to be a very bad idea to look disappointed and filled with self-disgust; for some reason people don’t like that. If the only thought in your head is “your-cock-was-inside-me-your- cock-was-inside-me” blurting it out is inadvisable. Thankfully that never happened to me, but I was not so lucky with, “You have tiny nipples.” Don’t be offended if he doesn’t remember your name, who are we kidding — like you even remember which college he’s from. I’ll admit it took me a while to conquer these impulses: the road to social normality is long and rocky, but there is hope. Once we even grabbed a coffee.

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However, what’s even worse than suddenly facing one of your conquests is having someone you just can’t remember call out your name on the street and chat to you with happy, innocent enthusiasm. Is it just a platonic class colleague, or was I THAT drunk? Or, in a turn of events most upsetting to the poor fella, was he just that unremarkable? In those situations awkward scuttling off into a bookshelf is, indeed, most advisable.