Red and Rosé may not lack scandal in their lives, but this has never found itself a place on the blog. Now, after a long period of silence, it seems like scandal is the exact thing needed to revive the blog.
For this series of posts I’ve enrolled the help of some of the most wonderful ladies ever to set foot in Stirling. Enjoy our anonymous tales of some of the best, some of the worst, some of the raunchiest and some of the most dramatic moments of the 4 years we spent living in small town Scotland.
(Though full of obvious references, 50 Shades of Stirling University is a much more innocent read than its namesake.)
“Hey, how are you doing” said the innocent text I received one night while nursing a hangover at the old man’s pub my friend worked at. “Fine but who’s asking?” I responded equally innocently. The texter was clearly a male. I enquired as to his whereabouts and profession. “Postgrad, Union Street” he admitted. Aha, so this couldn’t just be some random chancer trying his luck. He lives in Stirling. But how did he get my number and why was he being so mysterious? More inquisitive texting ensued, and he began to call but never once plucked up the courage to speak instead of breathing heavily or playing Bruno Mars. “I don’t know who you are but I’ve got your number saved as Best Ever,” said the final message I was ever to receive from him. Though he continued to call, his true identity remains until this day a mystery.”
“I kissed my boyfriend’s best friend on the dancefloor at Fubar. He wasn’t my boyfriend at the time, we were just dating. Does that make it ok?”
“We Stirling students are so lucky. Who else has a forest and mountain range made for midnight canoodling on the doorstep of their halls? On those long, chilly Stirling evenings there’s nothing more romantic than a late night stroll and a hilltop kiss and cuddle with the one you love.”
“I was having a lot more sex than I have now when I was at Stirling… I was in a long term relationship with a boy who still lived at home so we only saw each other on the weekends and holidays. The waiting and frustration led to some pretty wild times. And what is still the best sexual experience I’ve ever had.
J had come over for the weekend in my second semester when exams were about to start, meaning we probably wouldn’t see each other for the next 3 weeks. Classes had ended so we could give each other our complete and undivided attention.
He was my first, as was I his, which made it really easy to suggest new things. Positions, toys, food… you name it, we’d probably tried it in some shape or form. That night J got me into porn. Holed up in our private room at Murray Hall, in blissful ignorance of all the university’s rules and regulations, we sat down together on the lowly chair provided by Residential Services to watch a couple in action in a bath tub.
Of course, one thing led to another. Suddenly, J grabbed me and lifted me onto the fake granite worktop that I used to plough away at my essays. Little did I know it was great for ploughing something else altogether…”
“My then-crush had slept with both of my flatmates. It seemed only appropriate that I sleep with his flatmate.”
“She couldn’t possibly be…It was too crazy to believe. And yet…Miss X`s fingers shook as she studied the test stick with the horrible blue line that was trying to tell her she was pregnant.
A baby! When? How? …The night of the barbecue had been the wildest she’d ever experienced; the one night when she’d decided to be a free spirit – to sleep with a man and leave him in the morning without a backwards glance. She’d planned to be bold and seductive. Miss X would be like the women her age she most admired – sophisticated and utterly in control.
It had been a brilliant idea in theory. She’d flirted and danced and let herself be free. She’d even found the right man. He was tall, suave and handsome. And unlike some of the others there his breath didn’t smell of the awful combination of garlic and mint. He was gorgeous and she was mesmerized. He made love to her so tenderly, so perfectly, that once it was over she`d wanted to know him. She felt so disappointed that she never would. But they’d agreed…
Miss X swallowed the fear that rose in her. She chewed on her lip, her heart beating like a drum. She set the test stick down and decided to head to the doctor’s…”
“So I know this girl who contributed to breaking the bed of one of the university football team’s most prominent members.”
“The moment I was sure it wouldn’t work out was when he touched my foot in public, at a dinner party that he arrived an hour late for, with 5 drunk friends in tow instead of the 1 sober one he was invited to bring.”
“It so happened that I lived on the ground floor of university accommodation, right next to a path that most people had to take to get from halls to lectures. This very interesting geographical location had a great impact on my romantic encounters, most of which happened through my window, overlooking the path. In retrospect, how very old-fashioned.
So, when I liked a guy and he would get to know where I lived (most of the time I would “subtly” show them on the way back from class), he’d knock on my window every time he passed, and we’d have some silly, uncomfortable converstation. Only a few times did I dare invite a boy in and only a couple of times did that end with more than a cup of tea. Oh, those good old innocent days!
Anyway, this window situation caused me many sleepless nights and some disturbance. One of the innocent window romances turned into a more frequent one. Unfortunately, the boy seemed to forget that I also had a phone. Most of our communication happened through the bloody window! Sometimes I would receive a very drunken 2am guest knocking on my window, or sometimes, if I wasn’t home at the time, I’d be told that he made the effort but I wasn’t there. I don’t remember receiving a single call. So when I started wanting things to go further than random window-dates, I just kind of sat there waiting. Making a long and not so exciting story short, the relationship didn’t progress.
I spent an awful lot of my time at that bloody window. Although it did come in handy at times: boys and friends bringing candy, music, light drugs or even eggs (!), and leaving them on my windowsill, late night discussions with strangers and bizzare aquaintances made through it, in the end, I stopped thinking that living on the busiest path was cool. It felt more like living in a corner shop.
Still, every time I pass it, the memories of first year come back to me vividly and it will always remain my campus window.”
As of two weeks ago, one of the most gorgeous boys in Stirling is single courtesy of me. Take good care of him ladies.
(Don’t forget to read Part 2 😉 )