When NY Mag started their sex diaries in the spring of 2007, it wasn’t long before college students cried foul. Harvard junior Lena Chen wrote to the weekly, demanding to know why the sex lives of college students weren’t prominently featured in its pages:

I found “The Sex Diaries” [by Arianne Cohen, April 30] thoroughly entertaining, but I was disappointed by your omission of a critical Manhattan dweller: the college student. Maybe I’m biased because I’m attending school in America’s college town, Boston. In any case, the sexual goings-on of the overly hormonal, perpetually broke 18- to 22-year-old set deserve attention. My friends and I were inspired to take a page from your book and start weeklong diaries of our own. After seven days of awkward dates, booty texts, and drunken hookups, we came to a conclusion: Harvard students are getting more play than New Yorkers.

In between chronicling her own sexual adventures, Chen published her compiled sex diaries on her blog, offering readers “amorous musings for analysis.”

Starting today, with compliments to NY Mag, Arianne and Lena, OTR will begin featuring its own college sex diaries submitted by contributors and readers. Look for them on Thursday afternoons, hopefully whetting your sexual appetite for those hot summer weekends.

The diaries published here are 100% real, unedited (save for grammar) and direct from students themselves. We asked contributors to keep a detailed journal for seven days, recording all things physical, sexual, personal, loveable and romantical. To protect privacy, I will be publishing the diaries under my user name.
 
We hope you enjoy the peek into what college students “are doing behind doors left slightly ajar.”

Our kick-off vixen? An overworked Oregon gal attempting to materialize her hypothetical sex life

p.s. to those who are wondering:
Yes, yours truly has contributed a sex diary that aired on Nymag.com. If you hunt long enough, you might be able to find it. It’s slightly racy, admittedly ridiculous and (sorry Mom!) completely real.
 
And now, without further ado...

21, female, junior at the University of Oregon

DAY ONE
9:00 p.m.: Pack margarita mix into my water bottle to take to my virgin roommate’s drunk-grinding dance partner’s birthday bash.

11:30 p.m.: Start to leave the party to head over to my two-year boyfriend’s place. I’m tipped just enough to make for a good bang. Run into my sluty roommate’s old hook up and his band. I send them inside to the party. Should make for some awkward fun.

11:45 p.m.: Stop by my guy friend’s place on the way to my bf’s. His front door is wide open and I stumble in, lips laced with margarita.

12:10 a.m.: Arrive at boyfriend’s house, guy friend calls, says I should come over if I get “bored.” I drunkenly freak out and accuse him of calling my boyfriend boring. Then I shoot out the door, down the street to guy friend’s house.

12:15 a.m.: Sneak into guy friend’s house and attempt to steal his purple American Apparel hoodie and urinate on it to avenge bf’s good name. Someone is inside, I run out undetected and hoodieless.


DAY TWO
9:30 a.m.: Wake up to the “church bell sounds” from my bf’s alarm clock , adjust my bra to cover my exposed nipples that popped out during the night.

10:00 a.m.: Pick up my virgin roommate from our mutual friend’s house. She got too drunk to walk home. Virgin roommate walks out of the door sporting his boxers and t-shirt proclaiming, “I had beer all over my clothes.” Still believe she’s a virgin.

10:20 a.m.: Stumble into our apartment to find a giant gold bike sitting next to our coffee table.  Meaning?  Someone had an over-night guest.

11:00 a.m.: Attempt to listen through my wall to discover who slutty roommate’s guest is.

3:00 p.m.: Sluty roommate and guest emerge from her bedroom, sex hair and all. Jealously begins to boil under my skin.  Why don’t have I sex like that?

8:00 p.m.: Out to dinner with my boyfriend, try to order something small to ensure we have a healthy sex appetite later. Mission failed. Fall asleep by 11.


DAY THREE
10:00 a.m.: Awake to coffee and pancakes.  At least the bf is good for something.

11:00 a.m.: Bf starts to caress my neck. I’m feeling it, but he’s still rocking the morning breath. 

2:00 p.m.: Tanning in the grass on campus. Jake, “the one who got away,” rides by on his long board. Heart starts to race, haven’t seen him in years. Realize he’s sporting a pony tail?!  Yes, finally over Jake. Thank God.

5:00 p.m.: Sluty roommate is stretching in the kitchen after her run. Still jealous of her night time sexcapades.


DAY FOUR
10:00 a.m.: Admire the cute brunette who sits behind me in my stretch and flex class. Her hair is kind of short.  Maybe she swings?

2:00 p.m.: Learn about the effects of birth control on a woman's sex drive. Maybe my pill is screwing me over?

5:00 p.m.: Run into the cute brunette from stretch and flex and smile at her. She smiles back, but is still wearing her work out clothes. Yuck, fantasy over.


DAY FIVE
10:00 p.m.: Play “grab-ass” at a hot, sweaty house party where me and said roommates don’t know anyone. Final score: Virgin roommate: 22, Sluty roommate: 10, Me: 3. Only five of the 35 grab-ass victims confronted us.

11:00 p.m.: DJ at the party happens to be a former fling. He doesn’t seem to remember our rain soaked kiss session and that’s ok with me.

1:00 a.m.: Show up at bf’s house ready for sex. Two rounds, strawberry flavored condom. Mild rug burn.


DAY SIX
8:00 a.m.: Wake up early for class, determined to have a sexy-fun day. That’s what being 20-something is all about right?

2:00 p.m.: Ride my bike by the river, remember night time cuddles at our favorite grassy patch near the riverbank. Fantasize about outdoor sex. Decide I’d get too cold.

2:15 p.m.: Realize I am too practical and responsible to have an exciting sex life.

8:00 p.m.: Bf comes over, clean shaven and looking nice. Smells like ranch.

11:00 p.m.: Still smells like ranch.


DAY SEVEN
6:50 a.m.: Dream of working on an art project where I photograph women’s breasts, then turn them into Warhol prints. Wake to find bf is caresses my breasts, no wonder I’m a little wet.

8:10 a.m.: While in class contemplate actually making an “art” project where I photograph nude breasts.

11:40 a.m.: Realize that I spend so much time thinking about sex that by time it actually becomes a possibility I’m bored.

2:00 p.m.: Notice that my nipples are usually perky for not being cold. My breasts are a little sore too, period must be coming – at least I’m not pregnant.


Totals:
1 hoodie saved from urination, 62 jealous glares at sluty roommate, 3 sexual encounters, zero orgasms, 2 fantasizes killed.