There is a Finger in my Anus: A Tale of Love and Heartbreak

At the beginning of last year, I was insanely in love with my boyfriend. Unfortunately, when I returned to campus, I found out he was a serial cheater and found myself in a prolonged, tear-filled breakup. After a semester of binge-drinking, an overconsumption of chocolate, and several regrettable revenge liaisons with two of his best friends, I thought I was truly over him. But that wasn't quite true.

My illusion was shattered one night at a decidedly un-classy end-of-year CMC party, at which I drunkenly started talking to him and then making out with him within about two minutes. This was a morally questionable decision for multiple reasons because he had a girlfriend at the time — I rationalized my behavior because she was one of the girls he had cheated on me with.

After our disgusting public slobber session, my ex and I left the party holding hands. We were followed faithfully by two of our close friends (luckily, his friend was not one of the ones I’d hooked up with, though that would have added an interesting twist to the story.) In a futile attempt to convince my friend that I wasn't drunk, I kept reassuring her that I loved him (Her response: “No, you really don’t. Like, at all.”) His friend repeatedly asked him if he wanted to do this; another friend, who apparently saw us together at the party, kept calling his cell phone.

All their efforts were to no avail. My ex and I were determined to complete our quest for regrettable post-breakup sex.

Though our friends doggedly followed us all the way back to the dorms, they were thankfully forced to leave before the actual sex started. This anxiety-inducing walk was possibly the worst part of the night, but we eventually made it to his suite unimpeded.

The conditions for sex in his sweaty dorm room were less than ideal. As it was the end of the year, he had already put his sheets in storage, so we were literally having sex on a sheets-less, sleeping-pad-less, rubbery mattress issued by the Office of Housing and Residence Life.

He put his sweatshirt down to act as a kind of pillow, but it kept sliding around, and the mattress kept getting sticky from the various fluids involved in our nighttime activities. It was also, unsurprisingly, rather degrading to have sex with someone using condoms that were purchased for their actual girlfriend.

All these unsexy conditions could have been overcome had the sex itself been good. Sadly, this was not the case. I remembered my ex as being amazing in bed, but that night, as he stuck his fingers in my anus without asking, I realized something very fundamental about our sex life: I had only liked it because I was in love with him.

In truth, he never lasted longer than 5 or 6 minutes, he was incapable of doing doggy-style for some reason, and his obsession with anal play grew tiresome after like 20 seconds.

I wasn’t in the best emotional state either. It didn’t help that I felt a nagging guilt about his girlfriend. Plus, I knew from his friends that he’d been calling me a psycho behind my back all year. When we were dating, sex with him felt safe and nice. Now, it felt like getting fucked on a bare mattress by someone who didn’t value me enough to not cheat on me. About halfway through, I started wishing I could check the ASPC menu for breakfast the next day.

We didn’t kiss in the morning. I halfheartedly asked him, “Where do we stand?” but I knew the answer. We were each other’s psycho exes; this wasn’t going anywhere. I snuck out of his suite, desperately hoping not to run into his suitemates (especially the one I’d slept with) or his girlfriend. Luckily, my stealthy escape was successful.

This is probably the part of the column where I’m supposed to impart lessons unto you, the reader. But what can I possibly say? Don’t hook up with your exes, even if the drunk version of you is convinced you’re in love with them? Maybe it’s a bad idea to have sex with people in relationships? While all true, these things are also blindingly obvious.

So I’ll just say this: Cherish the people who are loyal to you, even if they are your platonic close friends who try to prevent you from screwing your ex and then have breakfast with you in the morning. I am so grateful to my best friends for always making me feel better about my life, even when I screw up.

Also, never have sex on a bed without sheets.