Romance is ubiquitous. From Adele’s “Someone Like You,” to the box office chart-topping film, The Notebook, love is a ceaseless theme. Here in the United States, we dedicate an annual date- February 14th– targeted at no other than those who have a significant other. Here is a taste of what Plymouth State University students have experienced in the name of a thing we call love.
Valentine’s Day Virgin
I may or may not have hooked up with one of my co-workers. Hypothetically speaking of course, this is a bad idea. Regardless of one’s personality and aesthetic appeal–gorgeous, intelligent, and funny. It is still never smart to; pardon my French, “shit where you eat.” Like most relationships, my initial affiliation with this guy was simply platonic. However, his body language made me feel differently, and when it came to the opposite sex, I could tell that he was quite shy. Nonetheless, there is something to be said about introverted men- oftentimes I find that they make up for what they lack socially, in a sexual manner. Feeling both lucky and sexually aroused, I invited him back to my place for some coffee, but within five minutes of his arrival, he gave me a seductive look in his eye and I knew he had caught my bluff. He knew that I had sexual aspirations for this social rendezvous. But I could not help myself; I was entranced by his smile, scruff, and stature and I brazenly let him know it. In a nutshell, we both left our “coffee date” satisfied. However, this is no fairytale. In the days following our hookup, he and I spent every waking moment together. And slowly but surely, he opened up to me. That’s when I learned the horrifying news. He was a virgin. Little by little, I began to see what I have heard described as a “stage five clinger” tendencies. Everywhere I went, he was there. He infiltrated my I-phone inbox, “collaborated” with me on school events, and even went so far as to leave items in my room so that he could come back to see me. I felt as if I was being suffocated. The two of us had plans for this year’s Valentine’s Day. But, I don’t want to spend my day of romance teaching a dog new tricks. So, I ordered myself some flowers and bought a big bag of chocolate. My night instead of a guy will be filled with candy, The Notebook, and myself. Happy Valentine’s Day to me.
Cupid is the Culprit.
While it is supposed to be a day dedicated to love and sweets, my Valentine’s Day history has been filled with nothing but bitter emotions and plentiful disappointments. Of all of my encounters with the romantic holiday, February 14th of last year takes the cake. I had been dating my high-school sweetheart until my second year of college. After five-and-a-half years of dating, I wasn’t completely sure that the whole “relationship thing” was for me. My best friend, who happens to be a female, called it my “wandering eye”. If you were a blonde haired, petite, bright-eyed beauty, you had my undivided attention. My girlfriend, on the other hand, incessantly complained about my disregard for her emotional needs. However, we had been in a long distance relationship for a year and a half and no amount of phone calls and Skype sessions could amount to physical touch. So, on a whim, I decided to fly my girlfriend out to my campus for Valentine’s Day. I mean, as crazy as it sounds, I hated sleeping alone. On the eve of the holiday, I had a long day of classes followed by a short shift at work with no break in between. My roommates and I decided to wind down and go out to the bars for a few drinks. My girlfriend’s flight was scheduled to land on the evening of Valentine’s Day, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to get a little bit reckless. Six beers and a couple of shots later and I was feeling nice. So nice, in fact, that I somehow ended up meeting a hippie chick when going to order another round at the bar. She was not quite my type, but…there was something about her. She continued to ask me to dance, but my roommates were there and unfortunately for me were “fans” of my girlfriend. Oddly enough, we had a moment alone and she whispered in my ear, something to the effect of “let’s go back to your place.” At this point, in a lucid state of mind, I agreed. And off we went. It was as if I was in high school again. We held hands on our way to my apartment and made out in the elevator; I could not remember the last time that I felt this “warmth” when in the presence of a female. Although I knew it was wrong, I remember it feeling so right. It was as if cupid had shot me with his arrow, right between my legs. As soon as I placed my key into the door, she was all over me. Taking off my shirt and unzipping my pants…but I realized something. The lights were dimmed, and when I looked to my left there was food on the table. Before I could register my surroundings, my girlfriend appeared on the upstairs balcony. “Happy Valentine’s Day, A$@hole,” she said, as she threw down what appeared to be a shredded homemade valentine with a remnants of a photograph of which I couldn’t make out. Come to find out, my girlfriend made arrangements with the airline and caught an earlier flight. All of my roommates knew. In fact, shortly after we left for the bar, one of them left to pick her up from the airport and let her into the apartment so that she could surprise me. Well, I hate surprises. And this Valentine’s Day, I am avoiding Cupid at all costs.
Fresh Out of the Oven
As cliché as it sounds, I am head over heels in love with my girlfriend. The two of us met here at Plymouth State our freshman year, and three years later, we are still inseparable. Notwithstanding, we have had our fair share of issues. One issue in particular is recurring. My girlfriend is what my father would call an “oven”. Meaning, she takes a while to warm up. More specifically, when we are attempting to have sexual relations, I cannot just put “it” in. I have to caress her, kiss her, and most terrifyingly…eat it. As close to perfect as my wonderful girlfriend is, the appearance of her vagina is misleading. Though its visual appeal is phenomenal, its taste is quite questionable. A mixture of salt and tart, I find myself gasping for fresh air after only a few minutes of baking. For Valentine’s Day weekend, the two of us decided to rent a cabin up north for a romantic getaway. When we arrived at our cabin that Friday evening, my girlfriend was extremely lovey dovey– much more than usual. Though it didn’t take long for my sexual arousal to match hers, and almost immediately, we were both unclothed and sprawled about on the nearest piece of furniture. I am not sure if it was a spiritual effect of the full moon, but for the first time since the advent of our relationship, I was dying to go down on her. So I did. And you know what? It was not at all what I expected. She tasted like water with a hint of sugar and I was so impressed that I stayed down for longer than I typically would. Unfortunately, that was my downfall. As soon as I picked my head up to breathe, a horrified look appeared on my girlfriends face, and I simultaneously felt something stuck in my teeth. I reached to pick it out, and to my surprise, it was a piece of toilet paper. No amount of love can prepare you for an experience like this, and as a hormone driven male, I was completely thrown off. Most people would expect our relationship to end shortly after the incident, but in fact, not only did our relationship continue, but it – along with our sex life improved. My girlfriend evolved from an oven, to a microwave, and I don’t even have to pre-heat anymore. Problem solved.