You know you’ve been there: One lonely Friday night you hear a nearby houseparty recycling the same Kendrick Lamar song for the second week in a row before a ceremonial, drunken rendition of “Don’t Stop Believin’.” You even consider going — you check the group chat and see that your messiest friends are going and, after all, you’ve got that new shirt to show off from [insert fast fashion brand here].
Tinna Lam / Daily Nexus
So, you go to your dresser fully ready for a night of hijinks and shenanigans (no tomfoolery, not since the accident). But what’s that next to your nice, new shirt? Your senior class sweatshirt made of that unnaturally soft material. Sure, it’s calling your name, but you resist the temptation; you start getting ready, but then you see it out of the corner of your eye — the face mask.
One thing leads to another, the mask is applied, the sweatshirt is thrown on, Domino’s is ordered, Netflix is opened and a romantic comedy is played. As you sit there and watch Bridget Jones, Cady Heron and Elle Woods make questionable choices, you can’t help but wonder, “Why is no one bending and snapping for me?”
Not one to be defeated, you do what any lonely Gaucho would do — you reach for your phone. What’s on your phone? Tinder. Who’s on Tinder? Don’t worry about it. Is this a good idea? Probably not. Yee? Haw.
You suddenly forget the most important lesson that Dora the Explorer ever taught you (Swiper, no swiping!), and you just keep swiping — indiscriminately. Once there’s no one left in your area, the high fades away and you finish your pizza and head to bed.
In the morning you have a wave of new matches, and after a bit of filtering and a lot of cringing you get your first message. You go, Glenn Coco. Sure, maybe the pickup line was questionable, but then some flirtation ensues and somehow you’ve got a date. Lizzie McGuire was right — this is what dreams are made of.
You go on the date and everything goes pretty well, and one or two dates later you decide to invite them back to your place. You’re not really in the mood for debauchery in your good Christian home; you genuinely just want to watch TV, but your date has other plans.
There you are, sitting innocently on the couch, and suddenly there’s an arm around you. This seems fine until you notice that there’s no room for Jesus left between you two. Much to your dismay, the movie ends, and all you’re left with is wandering hands and an increasingly awkward silence.
For whatever reason, sex just isn’t on the table. Maybe it’s because your date’s breath is rich with that heavenly aroma of dining commons pizza, maybe they forgot deodorant or maybe you just plain don’t want to. Nonetheless, you’ve got some great sexpectations on your hands.
In situations like these, I normally uncomfortably laugh and go hide in my bathroom, but I realize that’s not exactly socially acceptable, so I reached out to two other Gauchos to get their advice. First, I sat down with my friend who was brave enough to discuss her harrowing, romantic encounter with the man now known as the “One Titty Wonder.”
“I was on a really boring date with this guy who really didn’t talk to me much at all, and when he did it was mostly just to make bad jokes with sexual innuendos. I would’ve tried to leave, but he was my ride home, and when we pulled up next to my house he stopped the car and I could tell he kind of wanted to say something.”
“I was about to break the silence and he reached over and grabbed my boob out of my bra, so I was just sitting there with one boob hanging out of my T-shirt. After that I just kind of scooped my boob back in and skirted out of there. My advice would be to make sure that your date respects your boobs’ dignity.”
If your date isn’t quite so invasive and you feel like you can just talk your way out of it, don’t you worry — I spoke to another anonymous Gaucho who has just the excuse you’ve been looking for.
“So I had this cuddle buddy last year that I knew from back home. I made it clear that he was just a cuddle buddy, too, to avoid confusion. The last time I saw him was when I invited him to my room to cuddle. He started making moves and I wasn’t into it. Then he tried undoing my belt and said, ‘I wanna see your vagina.’”
While UCSB is a very sexually liberated campus, sex is always subject to consent and respect; it’s not something you can buy with a shot of Kirkland vodka or expect after a set number of dates (I know sharing nachos is an intimate experience, but please be a consensual Casanova).
“To that I brushed his hands away and got up quickly as I said I was on my period and was super heavy. Tampons and pad type of day. He looked confused and sat down in my chair. He had to stay in the awkward silence for his dick to be less visible through his pants. There ya go.”
These stories show that sex is often seen as an expectation after two or three dates, or even one if a big spender drops upwards of $10 on your food. While you can make excuses not to have sex, you’re not obligated to do so — no is always a valid answer.
While UCSB is a very sexually liberated campus, sex is always subject to consent and respect; it’s not something you can buy with a shot of Kirkland vodka or expect after a set number of dates (I know sharing nachos is an intimate experience, but please be a consensual Casanova).
So, just remember: Whether you’re hiding in your bathroom, waiting to see if you need to call a doctor for an erection lasting more than four hours or putting your boob and your last shred of dignity back into your shirt, you’re under no obligation to meet great sexpectations.
Max Hampton wants you to remember that you should never pressure anyone into having sex.
