Take a break from midterms and feast your eyes on this tale of booze, campus bars and would-be debauchery. And for all you complainers, this one’s written by a dude. As always, your comments (nice or mean) are appreciated.
“I could totally drink you under the table.”
I waited for her to chuckle. Explain she was kidding. Say she was really drunk. Anything. Attractive girls do this all the time; they try to pique a guy’s interest by challenging him—usually in play wrestling, poker, drinking or some other activity at which males are clearly superior and know it. It is a frequent, albeit juvenile, flirtation ploy. But Teeth Girl stared me down in a way that meant business—no coy glances or coquettish smile, only a stern look that meant one thing: a serious challenge.
I was conflicted. It felt wrong on many levels. She was three weeks into college, too young and stupid to know better, and fairly drunk to boot. Ah, screw it, I finally decided—it’s just a fucking drinking contest, not Russian roulette. Nobody is going to die or get hurt.
Tomorrow, we agreed, we would start fresh in my room. She came over to my place around nine to commence the festivities. We did the first three rounds consecutively. She kicked back shots of Barcardi like a guy. She showed no sign of any strain—her face devoid of the sneer-shudder common after taking shots.
We’re proud to present the first installment of Pennetration, UTB’s new sex diary column, featuring sex, vice and everything nice on our Ivy League campus. If you like what you see and are bold enough to divulge your escapades, send a note to contact@underthebutton.com. We’ll keep your identity under wraps, promise! Without further adieu, introducing our first brave volunteer: The Newly Single Junior Girl.
My sex life as a single chick in college began at the beginning of junior year when I was dumped by my boyfriend of over two years. I was shocked and heart-broken, but probably should have taken a cue from our sex life. We hadn’t had sex in weeks, despite my silent but extremely eager horniness. While I was emotionally destroyed, I still had a desperate desire to fuck. Needing to change my mindset about what was sexually off-limits for me, I threw myself into the flirting game. Even though I was shaking my ass and having fun, this was not the tactic that got me my first post-dumping fuck.
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 contact@underthebutton.com.
If you’re concerned about your reputation, we take anonymity seriously, so your identity will be concealed.
When we came up with the name of this blog that you’re reading, we thought it sounded funny and subversive and a little naughty. You know, since it (not so) subtly references the whole having sex under the Button thing.
So we were pleased when this Craigslist Casual Encounters tip popped up in our inbox, courtesy of DP columnist Lindsey Stull:
Well-endowed and dirty (blonde)? We’re sold. This is almost better than Missed Connections!
Tipsters by the name of “The Girls from Harnwell 12th Floor” sent us these photos, stating, “Over the last three months there have been reoccurring appearances of a sex doll in the window of the {Mayer Hall room} that we look down at.” We wonder if Tufts has any rules about this unique roommate situation.
The pictures are reminiscent of The Great High Rise Sex Scandal of 2005, except the lady is facing the wrong direction and we don’t really care enough to count the windows and figure out whose room it is.
Whoever you are, we’re sure it’s really hard to get human ladies back to Mayer. But that’s what the internet is for! At the very least, this window lady (How very rude of us! Does she have a name?) would probably be more comfortable out of the bright sun and the critical eye of passers by. We know we would be more comfortable if she were placed under your bed, or in a closet, or if she just did not exist, because WOW, gross!
For obvious reasons, we feel a certain sense of stewardship over the “art piece, LOL!” that is the Button. That’s why we were not particularly jazzed upon receiving this photo tip. For the second year in a row, it looks like DZine2Show is soiling our blogging spot with a soft-core pornographic photo-shoot! We are so confused about why students partake in this, and will be interested to see the type of clothing they suggest wearing for sub-button intercourse.
Until then, we’ll be wishing on every shooting star we see that they switch things up for the next issue. Hanging upside down from the peace sign naked, perhaps? Urinating on the Ben Bench? Making love on the Love statue? There are so many public works of art that they have yet to deface!
One of us is getting a BJ right now. Can you guess who?
The media really jumped on that Tufts dorm sex rule story for some reason. Maybe it’s because the public is so interested in dorm life issues? Get over college already! Stop living in the past! Anyway, the Philadelphia Inquirer wrote an article about it and spoke to some Penn students:
“You’ve got to get fist pounds,” said Cory Winkoff, a junior communication major at the University of Pennsylvania.
He and a group of friends high-fived one another when the subject was introduced.
“We’re happy when our friends are hooking up,” agreed Terry Kennedy, a junior political-science major. “It’s college; it kind of happens.”
Come on, guys, you know what it’s like. Roommate getting busy on the top bunk? You throw your fist up and just wait for him to reach down and pound. Because if you don’t, the girl is totally going to say (read: nag – am I right fellas?), “Listen, I had a nice time last night, but I’m a little worried…I didn’t see you get any fist pounds when we were making love. Are you some kind of friendless pansy? YOU’VE GOT TO GET FIST POUNDS.” Like we always say: Bros before strange rules that seem unnecessary because of common courtesy.
Well, this is hilarious. According to CNN, Tufts University has created a new policy regarding sexual intercourse in dormitories. It forbids students from both having sex while a roommate is in the room, and inconveniencing a roommate by asking he or she to leave while you…make love.
No penalties for breaking the rules have been announced, nor has a plan for how one might enforce them. We imagine that at the very least, hanging a rubber band on the doorknob will have to be replaced by something less obvious to the roving RA.
Check out the video to hear what Tufts students have to say, as well as an anchorwoman who defines “sexile” in a dramatic fashion.
Listen, we understand that OCR is stressful and that getting a job is hard, and so we’re usually totally understanding of the fact that you do what you have to do to secure future employment. However, we just stumbled upon this pair of underwear in front of Huntsman, and considering that interviews start today, the whole thing feels a little suspicious.
We have some words of wisdom to impart, as well as a close-up of the garment, after the jump.
It’s the 40th anniversary of Woodstock this weekend. You know that. You can’t not know that. The only way to be unaware of this fact would be to crawl underground with your eyes squeezed shut and your fingers jammed in your ears. On one level it’s kind of annoying; after all, we’re talking about arguably the greatest party in the history of parties, a free free-for-all with iconic performances by real deal rock stars and an audience of half-a-million-strong slathered in mud having sex and taking acid/getting stoned/popping pills like tic tacs/etc. etc. The ultimate musical cultural experience… and we all missed it.
Philadelphia scored rather abysmally in a Trojan-commissioned survey about sexual behavior and satisfaction. Of the top 10 largest metropolitan areas in the U.S., Philly ranked 9th in terms of sexual frequency, with residents having sex an average of 73 times a year, and 8th in sexual satisfaction with a 64% satisfaction rate.
Once upon a time Street conducted a sex survey of its own, with some fairly titillating results. Did you know only 1.3% of you guys claimed to have had sex under the button?
David Grazian, the professor of Penn’s not-as-cool-as-it-sounds Sociology of Media and Pop Culture course once called out a certain Street editor in front of a 300-person lecture for surfing the net during class. The problem with this accusation was that Grazian indeed saw said ed online…five minutes before class was scheduled to start. Said ed, a wee frosh, cried in front of the other 299 students and never quite forgave the Gladwell-worshipping prof.
Today Grazian popped in a Men’s Healtharticle about meeting women. He is quoted as saying, “Men are possessed by the myth of the pickup…[They think bars and clubs are] teeming with anonymous females who are dying to have sex with any guy who is confident enough to talk to them.”
And thus endeth today’s too-good-not-to-post professorial musing.
Where would UTB be without Carlin? This week, our campus coquette makes a list and checks it, um, 13 times.
At the beginning of this semester, I admitted to my ritualistic behavior of listing (and editing) my sex life. I now find myself, in the week that will culminate in Fling, making yet another list with a friend of equal sexual credentials. Facebook open and BBM conversations up for review, we each crafted the Final Countdown of lists: who would/should/could you hook up with before you graduate? Clearly, I am a fan of all things circular this term. Call me sentimental.
This list, as was that of “Sex, a History,” is multi-tiered. It is important to note that regardless of the classification, the overall tone is that of carpe diem: this is meant to be fun, and there should be no repercussions. Like, why the fuck not? Seize the day, man. I see two types of hook ups involved in said evaluation: there’s the obvious and simplistic “I’d Make Out With You” class of Pennsters. Meet up at Smoke’s (or Blarney, if it gets too crowded/ugly), and end up on the couch while watching a movie -– the bra stays on, maybe if you’re feeling it, you’ll rest your hand on a thigh. Then there’s the “One Night in Paris” list -– night cam optional. Finally, there’s the month-long fuckathon. Not sure how often that happens, but call me?
After another weekend of partying, are you worried that you caught something — perhaps something sexually-transmitted? Today from 11:30 to 4 p.m., Penn Red Cross is putting on a bake sale with some naughty treats in order to promote STD awareness. Bodek Lounge in Houston will host a blood drive as part of National Public Health Week, but more importantly, you’ll be able to decorate your own “boob cupcakes,” “rice krispy balls” and other provocative goodies. Proceeds will benefit the nonprofit ActionAIDS. While you’re there, learn about prevention and treatment and and play some interactive games (“Fit the Condom on the Baseball Bat”…is that like Pin The Tail On the Donkey?) led by FLASH, the student sex-ed group. Thank you, FLASH, for momentarily making us feel like giggling middle schoolers again.
If you’re a regular to the Starbucks on 34th and Walnut (or if you have the misfortune to live across the street at Hill), it’s a safe bet that you’ve been harassed by Greenpeace canvassers. Sure, most of us choose to ignore them, put off by their piercings in places that we honestly didn’t think could be pierced. When they get you with that “do you have a minute to save the environment?”, we feel intense pangs of guilt as we pretend to be horribly late for an appointment but promise to do our part later. It’s rare that we actually stop and chat– and now that we’re in a recession, even rarer that we give up our cash to donate to their cause.
But after hearing the story of a friend, we’re convinced that the environmental crusaders have finally found a failproof way to secure our donations. Greenpeace devotees are now essentially prostituting themselves to save the Earth.
For obvious reasons, we feel a certain sense of stewardship over the 
It’s the 40th anniversary of Woodstock this weekend. You know that. You can’t not know that. The only way to be unaware of this fact would be to crawl underground with your eyes squeezed shut and your fingers jammed in your ears. On one level it’s kind of annoying; after all, we’re talking about arguably the greatest party in the history of parties, a free free-for-all with iconic performances by real deal rock stars and an audience of half-a-million-strong slathered in mud having sex and taking acid/getting stoned/popping pills like tic tacs/etc. etc. The ultimate musical cultural experience… and we all missed it. 
Philadelphia scored rather abysmally in a Trojan-commissioned 
David Grazian, the professor of Penn’s not-as-cool-as-it-sounds Sociology of Media and Pop Culture course once called out a certain Street editor in front of a 300-person lecture for surfing the net during class. The problem with this accusation was that Grazian indeed saw said ed online…five minutes before class was scheduled to start. Said ed, a wee frosh, cried in front of the other 299 students and never quite forgave the Gladwell-worshipping prof.
At the beginning of this semester, I admitted to my ritualistic behavior of 
After another weekend of partying, are you worried that you caught something — perhaps something sexually-transmitted? Today from 11:30 to 4 p.m., Penn Red Cross is putting on a bake sale with some naughty treats in order to promote STD awareness. Bodek Lounge in Houston will host a blood drive as part of National Public Health Week, but more importantly, you’ll be able to decorate your own “boob cupcakes,” “rice krispy balls” and other provocative goodies. Proceeds will benefit the nonprofit ActionAIDS. While you’re there, learn about prevention and treatment and and play some interactive games (“Fit the Condom on the Baseball Bat”…is that like Pin The Tail On the Donkey?) led by FLASH, the student sex-ed group. Thank you, FLASH, for momentarily making us feel like giggling middle schoolers again.
