There’s a time in our lives – if we’re lucky – when opportunities for sex are so abundant and plentiful as to render the need to actively seek them out redundant. For me and, I suspect, most others, this time was University. The first year specifically, where everyone is finding their feet away from home for the first time, and is eager to both stretch and part their legs to explore all the new found freedoms that independence can offer. A unique period during which casual sex is no trickier to find than sand on a beach. Especially during ‘Freshers week’ – a seven day period wherein the only agenda in any budding student’s diary is to visit as many drinking establishments in your new town as is possible, and begin making acquaintances for the next three years of your life.
And fucking. A whole lot of fucking.
While it would be exaggerating to say that *everyone* was purely being driven by their newly ignited and explosive libido that week – there were certainly a fair share of High School sweethearts intent on holding out for their first romance back home, and plenty still too shy, nervous or just plain socially awkward to consider wading into the free-for-all – those of us who had experienced a modicum of sexual activity and were hungry – or in my case, utterly ravenous – for more, and eager to make the most of the opportunity as it presented itself.