When I came to Penn, I thought of myself as a poster child for anonymous hookups. As a naive freshman, nothing seemed better, but the trouble with having a bunch of one-night stands began at my freshman year sorority bid party. I started making out with a good-looking guy. I was confident with him, kind of bitchy; it was hot. He asked me to guess which frat he was in, but I couldn’t. “You’ll see when we go there,” he said. It wasn’t a suggestion or a question—and I liked that, because it was obvious I was going home with him. He was teasing, being kind of an asshole. Exactly what I wanted. He never even asked my name.
We went back to his house, where we put on some music, drank more, danced around and made out. He finally asked my name when he was saving my number in his phone, but part of the excitement of the hook up—all hook ups, for that matter—was the anonymity, so I didn’t tell him. “Just save it as Wednesday Night,” I tried to say seductively (it was probably just embarrassing). After I spent the night, he never called. I was slightly disappointed, but I took it in stride. Read the rest of this entry »
This year for spring break, I didn’t go to the Acapulco or Cabo, like most Penn students. I didn’t even do something “different”, like go on Alternative Spring Break. Instead, I took the most boring possible route and went home for the last ten days, to my boring, tri-state area home and hung out with old high school friends.
Seeing high school friends brings back all sorts of memories—as a Junior, I’ve been away long enough to really lose touch with all but the most important people. One of the few people I do keep in touch with is my former boyfriend; let’s call him Adam.
We dated, in a very high school sort of way, with lots of public break-ups and intense make-ups, the summer in between senior year of high school and freshman year of college. It was summer love at its best—very passionate, and based on very little actual substance. But if nothing else, Adam and I had a great physical connection. I decided to give Adam a ring (or, more honestly, an awkward text) to see whether he’d be home and what he was up to this Spring Break.
He was properly excited to receive my awkward text, and responded in the affirmative that he would be around, so the textual flirting began around Valentine’s Day.
It started out innocently enough, but one too many Long Island Ice Teas at a Blarney’s Sink or Swim and the dirty texting commenced. At first it was just the standard (“What are you wearing?” “What are you thinking about?” “I want you so badly,” for those of you who do not engage in this kind of licentious behavior), but after a week or two, the real fantasies came out. Read the rest of this entry »
Since it’s Spring Break, there’s no Pennetration this Monday. But we want to implore you to get off your computer and go do something scandalous! Just remember enough of your adventures to send them in for next time.
As always, you’ll be totally anonymous by spilling to email@example.com. Bonus points if they involve a sombrero, a ski instructor, or both.
In this week’s installment of Pennetration, we bring you across many timezones to Australia. The famed junior semester abroad is supposed to be a “cultural experience,” but usually ends up being fueled by sex, drugs and techno music. You take your pick with this tale from way down under:
Before I set sail for my semester abroad in Australia, I frequently fantasized about the possibility of getting lucky on a beach with a gorgeous Australian surfer boy who would rock my world down under, over, and every way in between. But a month and a half in, my fantasies had not yet been translated into reality, leaving me frustrated, horny and on edge…going out every single night with a mission to get some from any man, nationality aside.
Until one night, the most bizarre, coincidental and sexy encounter of my life occurred. My friends and I arrived at a swanky Sydney nightclub, and the first thing I did was look for the nearest bathroom. The downstairs line was ridiculous, so two friendly Australian girls insisted I go to the upstairs bathroom with them where the line would be shorter. I was standing the bathroom line in this bar I wasn’t even planning on going to in the first place, when a hot Aussie man in line behind me decided to strike up a conversation. I mentioned I was from New York, and he responded that he had spent a summer there as a camp counselor. Instantly I realized why I kind of sort of recognized him. Read the rest of this entry »
I was a prude. It’s pretty undeniable. In high school, the pool of eligible bachelors (if you can call them that) seemed exponentially smaller every year, so let’s just say the sex scene at college was a shock to me. Here I was, the same skinny long-haired brunette I had been four months earlier, but now boys were not just interested, they were pursuing me! Things moved rapidly: the second night of NSO I innocently asked an older boy where the bathroom was and five minutes later he was convincing me to come back to his apartment. Needless to say, my freshman year very quickly became an experiment in regrettable hookups.
Fast forward to second semester. I felt infinitely more comfortable in my skin than I had just months before. And after yet another relationship/hookup/arrangement/whatever-you-want-to-call-it fizzled, I had no qualms about going out with the intention of getting some. And that is exactly how the following story started.
Read the rest of this entry »
In the second installment of Pennetration, your one and only source into the scandalous lives of Penn’s sexual elite, a Penn gal writes of her encounter with the infamous blogger/self-proclaimed asshole Tucker Max.
Let me preface this with: Tucker Max is the fucking man.
I could try to describe his greatness, but I’d prefer to use his own words. As Tucker writes in the introduction to his website, “I get excessively drunk at inappropriate times, disregard social norms, indulge every whim, ignore the consequences of my actions, mock idiots and posers, sleep with more women than is safe or reasonable, and just generally act like a raging dickhead.”
I’ve always sort of fancied myself the female equivalent of Tucker Max. He has unquestionably been one of my biggest influences, in both my personal conduct and my writing style.
When I was a sophomore in high school, one of my male friends introduced me to the Tucker Max website. Right away I thought, “This dude is awesome!” I read through his many chronicles of drunken debauchery, which many times made me laugh so hard that I cried, and found myself strongly identifying with Tucker. When I heard Tucker was going to be in town…Continue reading.
Given the name of our blog, we figured it was probably about time we got a little sexier and a bit more scandalous. After all, sex sells, right?
With great anticipation, we announce UTB‘s newest venture: a weekly series of Penn sex diaries.
Have you ever done it under the button? Slept with a TA? Had an epic walk of shame? Whatever your story is, we want to hear it. If you’re interested in spilling your hot and heavy beans, let’s get in touch. Send us an email at firstname.lastname@example.org.
If you’re concerned about your reputation, we take anonymity seriously, so your identity will be concealed.
Check back next Monday for the first installment.