When asked what being vice-president of the English Student Union (ESU) entails, I normally launch into a tired, boring spiel about student involvement. But beneath that blither-blather is an erotic truth I hold back for fear of it sensuously overcoming me.
Beneath the exterior of engaging discussions on literature, slam poetry nights, and other festivities, the ESU is by far home to the most sexually charged group of student volunteers this side of the Academic Quadrangle. You might find this incredulous — I once did as well — but once you hear my story, I think you will be quite tantalized, dear reader.
My first erotic encounter occurred when I noticed an unfamiliar lady, with a chest region that would make the bravest of warriors blush, lounging about in the ESU common room. I brazenly entered through the doorway in an almost model-like, slow-motion fashion, pretending not to notice this stunning creature, before extending a warm, “Hi.”
She naturally looked impressed by my casual entrance and masculine mystique. I asked the dashing woman what name she had been given at birth and she replied with some basic shit like Tiffany or Brittany, but that was unimportant. I knew she had to be mine. Throwing all inhibition and care to the wildest winds, I requested with the eloquence of a poet: “Can I touch them?” A look of shock grabbed her face, enraptured by the sheer force of what a sexual tiger I projected.
The woman replied, with passion burning in her eyes and hesitation in her voice, “I have to go to the bathroom.” I bowed a gentlemanly bow and stepped aside, suggesting she take all of the time that she needed and that I would be still be there upon her return — which I’d hoped would be soon. As soon as she left I flung my shirt onto the floor, the fabric dancing to the ground, and struck a flexing pose, my biceps aimed towards the door.
Needless to say, I’m sure a familial emergency arose for the mysterious vixen, because she never returned for our orgasmic evening together. Alas I can only hope that one day the fair lass will have dealt with the familial emergency and return for a tongue lashing of the nether regions, which I could sense she required.
The second of my sexual sojourns that I wish to recount to you, dear readers, occurred when a gorgeous temptress in my Victorian Literature class required tutoring; naturally, I took her to the pleasure house that is the ESU Common Room. She said she’d like to focus on Dickens and I replied sensually that I had a Dickens of sorts she could focus on. The poor creature! My cleverness slipped past her and she replied only with an unimpressed look.
Afraid she was confused about my romantic intentions, I then proceeded to establish a more appropriate atmosphere by lighting a scented candle. Surprised and overwhelmed by the sexual power I exerted, and assumedly wanting to remain chaste until marriage, the maiden defied all temptation and whispered, “I think I have to be home,” before leaving the room. I called after the dame, shouting, “That’s cool, you know where to find me.” It’s really my own fault she hasn’t returned yet; I should have called out the room number, so she’d know where to find me again.
This erotic life of mine contains such an enormous amount of encounters that a simple Peak article couldn’t cover the whole experience. Perhaps one day I shall write a novel of it all. In the meantime if you’re interested in a sojourn in sensuality, hit me up in the ESU common room. Oh, and one more thing: can people please stop using the doorcode to have sex in here; that’s for execs, not everyone else.
