Tri-colour Sex Diary: A drunken princess takes on Queen’s

An anonymous Queen’s student documents a weekend in her sex life

A locked diary on a desk.
Photo: 

Once upon a time, a hopeful princess came to Kingston for Frosh Week, ready to down some vodka sodas and drunkenly find a storybook ending with her Prince Charming.

Unfortunately, this story isn’t a fairy tale, and I didn’t find anyone close to royalty. 

The story I’m about to tell is a shameful, messy, and very true recap of my first official weekend back at school. To protect reputations, all identities have been hidden and names have been changed.

If I’m being completely honest, sometimes I don’t like that I have a lot of sex. I’m concerned that if I sleep with someone who I’m really interested in the first time we meet, they won’t see me as anything more than a late-night hook-up.

That being said, I’m not embarrassed by how many people I’ve slept with. I’m very open about it because I believe I should own up to my decisions. I don’t consider myself to be sexually promiscuous or anything—I just like to have my fun. 

Due to the shortened frosh week, I had to cram all my sexual endeavours into a short 72-hour time frame, so let’s get started.

Thursday

The plan for my Thursday night was to hit up Stages for the first Stage Rage of the year. 

After losing all my friends immediately after getting to the club, I ran into a guy—let’s call him Z.*—who recognized me from sleeping with his friend earlier in the summer. 

I don’t know why I didn’t think Z. recognizing me as “that girl who slept with my friend,” wasn’t a red flag. I brushed past it and left the club with him. 

He brought me home and within five minutes we were fooling around. After some drunken sex—I’m not even sure if it was good or if I was just really drunk—I abruptly left Z. in his bed.

I checked my phone on the way home and saw that an ex from high school, H., was in Kingston. He doesn’t live in the city, so naturally, he had to come over. 

Friday

I woke up with H. in my bed earlier than I would’ve liked to, and then had some classic, very average morning sex. 

After kicking H. out, I had a hungover breakfast and slept all day—preparing myself for another night of booze and sex. 

I matched with B. on Tinder earlier in the day, and we decided to meet up later that night.  But after seeing both of the long lines at Stages and Ale, we went to his place instead.  

In talking to B., I realized he happened to live with Z.—who I’d slept with less than 24 hours before. At this point, I was too far in with B. to bail, so I just owned up to sleeping with his roommate and decided it would just make for a really good story.

After bragging about my oral skills to B.—and then showing them to him first-hand—I proceeded to pass out on his bathroom floor, definitively proving I’m the hottest mess in Kingston. 

Saturday

I woke up in B.’s bed and we had sex twice before I took my "walk of shame" home. 

I spent the next day sleeping again. My friends and I decided to close out Frosh Week at Stages that night because that’s the only way we know how. My roommate, though, ended up getting a little too drunk and because I’m a good friend, I took her home to sleep. 

If you’ve made it this far, you could probably guess that I’m not the type of girl to sit at home on a Saturday night. I invited over a grad student, S., and we slept together. He was out the door as quickly as he came, literally and figuratively. 

To close out my weekend, I ordered UberEats, went to bed and shut the book on my eventful first weekend back at Queen’s. 

My relationship with sex is an interesting one. Before I was who I am today, I didn’t have much going on in the looks department. Growing up, I genuinely thought I was going to die a virgin. 

As a result of that mentality, I’m shocked any time anyone wants to have sex with me, and I often do it out of fear no one will ever find me attractive again.

Ultimately, I don’t think sex is anything to be ashamed of. It’s 2018 and slut-shaming is getting pretty old. Sleep with who you want, even if they're not your Prince Charming.

Want to submit your own tricolour sex diary? Email journal_lifestyle@ams.queensu.ca and tell us a little about yourself.

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