Tricolour Sex Diary: Sharing sex stories

Writers unpack their awkward hookups

Delving into the truth of hookup culture.

This article discusses consent and may be triggering for some readers. The Kingston Sexual Assault Centre’s 24-hour crisis and support phone line can be reached at 613-544-6424 / 1-800-544-6424.

The summer of 2021 was a hot girl summer for me. As a freshly vaccinated woman, I enjoyed swiping through Tinder, seeing if there were any prospects for a good one-night stand.

When I swiped right on Eric*, we immediately struck up a flirty conversation. After chatting for a few days, we decided to have a late-night drink at my house, and we ended up getting physical pretty fast.

Eric was cute—he had curly dark hair, was a good kisser, and seemed like he knew what he was doing. When we were about ready to do the deed, he jumped off my bed and took off his pants.

I’d never seen a micropenis before and didn’t want to react in any way that might make him insecure, so I lay there while he put a condom on.

When he got back on top of me, he handed me a small black bag and said he had brought me something because he—and this is a direct quote—“knew his limitations.” I looked inside the bag to find a gold bullet vibrator. He was thoughtful.

We ended up doing the deed and had some nice pillow talk afterwards, and he left about an hour after we finished. However, when I woke up the next morning, that’s when things went wrong. I noticed he had left his vibrator on my nightstand. 

Just my luck. 

We ended up playing tag over text for the next few weeks when he realized it had gone missing. When I finally returned the toy a month later, I returned it with dead batteries. 

—Anonymous, ArtSci ’22

First-year me was definitely enticed by the hookup and party culture at Queen’s. 

One night, I went out, met this guy, and invited him over to mine when I got home. He came over and once things got started, it became really clear to me that sleeping with him was not something I was particularly down for. 

I expressed my feelings to him, and he took it as a challenge to convince me.

I heard my housemate come back from her night out, and when my guest said he was going to use the bathroom, I told him I was going to go chat with her. Her room was next door to mine, and we left the door open so that he would feel welcome to join once he finished. 

After 15 minutes went by, I poked my head out of my housemate’s room to see that he was still in the bathroom. 30 more minutes went by, and for some reason he was still in the bathroom—or maybe that’s just what I told myself to have an excuse to sleep in my housemate’s room that night. 

Morning time came, and I was dreading having to check if this man was in my bed, sleeping, without me. Turns out that was exactly the case. 

I crawled back in and told him I fell asleep in my housemate’s room because I thought he’d left. He told me his jacket was in my housemate’s room because we’d smoked there the night before, so he couldn’t exactly leave. 

This was at the end of January, peak wintertime. 

I, albeit unknowingly, trapped this man in my house for the night while barely spending 30 minutes with him. 

This made for an awkward goodbye, and he left. To my and my housemate’s excitement, he left nearly three grams of weed and we spent the day smoking it all. 

—Anonymous, ArtSci ’23

*Names changed for anonymity.




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