TYPING: It should be the air, the people, the rush.
The browning leaves of trees circling around the cobblestones beneath my feet, students tampering with the wind-slicing atmosphere generating their own buzz for the excitement of reopening, the sweeping staff brushing palm fronds across the floor and eyeing students with envy. I did a once-over of the campus I’d grown to love despite a year of struggling to fit in. And of course, the furtive, surreptitious actions of students bent on mixing business with pleasure.
I moved towards one of the ringed benches, clasping my laptop in mid-use and trying not to be perturbed by all the sordid action going on around me———
TYPING: Whatever it is, everyone is doing IT. IT against a wall. IT on the bark of a tree. IT on the phone. IT. IT. IT.———
“Hi.” I smiled at a girl in pig-tails who was already occupying a side of the bench, clutching her phone tightly to her ear. She smiled back hastily and waved me off when I made the gesture of inquiring if the seat was already taken.
“Oh, so where were we?” she asked in a husky voice as I began jamming my hands on my keyboard. “Right, you were slipping your big, thick, magnificent, enormous...”
My hands froze on the keys, praying my guess wasn’t right and this guy wasn’t about to slip his dick into her mouth right in my presence. Do not be surprised this titbit of info doesn’t get me horny!
“… fat, gigantic, tripod into my mouth.”
I sighed, relieved. At least, I hadn’t been right. Photo equipment could also be slipped in and out of people’s lips. Photo equipment could be nipped with the teeth all over. Photo equipment could be slapped against people’s faces. Photo equipment could cum all over people’s faces.
I excused myself. I stood. I walked. I made an effort not to run———
TYPING: And I am here, an 18 year old virgin, watching everyone around me. Overwhelmed. Not doing IT.
“I knew it must have been you.” Raymond, my roommate, accosted me from behind as I was struggling not to break into a run.
“That girl is having phone sex.” I whispered wide-eyed, aiming my pointy chin over my shoulder.
“Oh, right. You are fazed by that?” He asked unperturbed. “Well, then, it’s a good thing I met you out here. You might want to explore the campus more.”
I stared at him curiously. “Like for minutes?” I demanded through gritted teeth, realizing his intent. “When should I come?”
“Noo,” he shook his head in mock-sorrow. “You wouldn’t be the one coming, do you mind?” I watched him walk away, a feeling of distaste curdling in my mouth.
TYPING: My friends, my acquaintances…
I waved at the politics course mate who walked by with his hand yanking a girl’s face closer to his. The girl shot up her hands to wave at me instead…
TYPING: ...even my crushes…
I looked away, blinking back the tears.
TYPING: Oh, and my family… who decide they’d stay over and do IT.
My phone trilled. Grannie-Grandma’s ID flashed across the screen.
“Hi Kobs,” Granny’s voice sounded distant.
“Oh, Gran. Thanks for calling! I feel sick. Crush Girl just crushed my heart.” I immediately lamented, happy I had an attentive ear to rant at.
“Oh.” Was her answer. “Hon, I guess this is a bad time to break it to him you and I are on campus playing lecturer and failing student.” She said to someone who I guessed was her fetish priest husband.
“Wrong!” Fetish Husband screamed at the top of his lungs. “Lecturer and failing student who would do anything to keep her grades up. Now, get on your knees!”
Oh, no! Oh no! Oh no! I stared at the disconnected call session in horror. Granny beat cancer, but I’m not sure even superman could beat arthritis!
TYPING: This is just your ordinary campus. With lots of sex.
I watched as a trio of squealing busty girls approached. I wouldn’t be checking out their boob regions if I hadn’t read, ‘We Do Love’ emblazoned in red across their matching white tees. And neither would I have been checking out their bums if I hadn’t been certain the message they’d been willing to put across was unclear. On their derrieres read, ‘Orgasms’
I smiled and walked on with a giggle forming on my lips.
TYPING: And as I, cannot be a participant in anyway, all I could do is observe.
I broke into the library, my only haven to write in peace until I caught in pieces, whilst checking out baffling literature on copulation, a couple busily eating each other’s faces on the other side of the shelf.
My stomach lurched, fearing they might get caught while partaking in an active discussion on sex education. I inserted back the book about The Threat of Teenage Pregnancy (—if you wanted to hide something from a Ghanaian hide it in a book!), obstructing my view of the couple and pretending they didn’t exist.
But how louder could keyboards be banged to block out squelching kissing sounds and excited sniggers when a partner cupped a boob?
TYPING: And advise…
On my way out of the library, fuming even more when the security had barked at me for taking the ‘in’ door and wondering why he was so intent on doing this part of his job when he could prevent horny students from sticking their tongues in and out of each other, I was met with a large poster beside one on the Death Day premiere that was currently the talk of campus.
I halted in my tracks.
This poster bore an image of me grinning widely with arms folded across my chest looking so assured with the words, “Want love advice? Why not break-up with the chick and employ the services of campus’ no. 1 Hitch doctor?”
I threw up my hands in a rage-filled yell, and yanked the poster off the wall making a mental note to cause bodily harm to my roommate for making me the face of his thriving seedy campus business.
TYPING: I am your modern day voyeur. Who gets no thrills from watching, trust me…
I bumped against the porter’s lodge of my hostel, demanding the keys to my room. Only to find him staring back dazed with his eyes rolled to the back of his head.
“My keys please.” I repeated with irritation.
“Oh, shut up, you moron. Who wants kisses when they are being blown?”
I quickly turned my back to the counter in horror. Was that the voice of the hostel’s janitor waist-down our porter? And why did my porter look like she was doing a good job of a job which wasn’t her job at all?
I’d rather not find out answers to my questions if they weren’t going to improve the face of medicine (or the porter’s). I just had three minutes up the stairs to learn how to pick a lock.
TYPING: But this. This has all got to do with sex...
“I’m going to be bending you over like crazy.” A girl said to her man as they rushed past me up the stairs. “Dad brought over lots of bananas and I stashed them in the fridge.”
“That is soo cold.” The guy purred in her ear.
Really, it was.
I kneeled over a plastic bin to throw up and gathered my strength to face the remaining stairs.
TYPING: … And love…
“Kobby.” Freda, my friend, spoke over the phone as I trudged on to my door a few steps away, “I think I am in love with him.”
TYPING: … And the sex people have when they are in love…
“But how do I break the ‘I Love You, But I Do Not Love Having Sex with You.’ Speech?”
I disconnected the call, after wasting up all my energy reserves encouraging her to just say it the way she framed it.
TYPING: … And the sex people have when they are not in love…
I stepped into my room and watched Raymond bent over some girl. On my bed.
“What are you doing here?” He demanded as he kept on thrusting the unfazed girl.
It took me all effort not to kick them both out of my bed, because I didn’t have the strength. After such a tortured day, all I needed was just a little time and quiet to write. And I didn’t care what it took. I was going to do some writing (with my back turned to the porn movie rehearsals going on behind me), even if it meant sitting through excessive moans and silently timing how long it took for anyone to come in a doggie-style position. Really, how long could it take?
TYPING: All on campus. The City Campus. This City Campus…
I was clearly making a fool out of myself, watching the random groups of letters across the screen which made no meaning despite my constant hitting of the space bar. But if I did convince myself I was making some progress, unlike those two over there who were still grunting in aggravation on why they couldn’t—
“I’m trying to.” The girl barked out through laboured breathing. “Perhaps we could completely throw my panties off?”
TYPING: School dey bi...
I closed my eyes to ponder. Oh… what to do? What to do? What to do to block out these voices in my head?
I opened my eyes. I jerked back in my seat.
Even my laptop had got his thinking cap on!
TYPING: …But not when you are the only one not doing it.
Author’s Note: Catch my new blog series where I navigate the very vibrant, all-times hilarious and sometimes plain strange sexual scene on campus, Sex And The City Campus, every Saturday!
And in the meantime, keep going till you get it right!
READ EPISODE 1: DIRTY-TALKING AND NO PANTY-LINES
READ EPISODE 1: DIRTY-TALKING AND NO PANTY-LINES