09/01/2014 07:01 GMT | Updated 09/03/2014 05:59 GMT

Sex at University (or Lack Thereof)

I remember very clearly and vividly, when in my final year of Sixth Form, the sexual delights I was promised would be bequeathed upon me once I made it to university.... However, none of this proved to be the case.

I remember very clearly and vividly, when in my final year of Sixth Form, the sexual delights I was promised would be bequeathed upon me once I made it to university. Many conversations with my (older) peers went something like this:

"Ah mate, you're going to uni next year? Best years of your life mate, best years of your life. You're going to have so much sex that you are probably going to die of sex."

Of course, until this point in my little life I had never heard of the medical condition called "Death From Sex" but it is apparently what happens to many young men and women when they make it to Undergraduate University life. Lucid pictures were painted with a Shakespearean extravagance: of roman-style orgies in hallowed halls of residence, fuelled by Frosty Jack's, Krave and a healthy dose of peer pressure; of swathes of young women who had only one thing on their mind: my weedy body; of sex, literally, everywhere!

However, none of this proved to be the case. At all. I arrived at university still in the midst of a relationship from home, so my taste of singlehood didn't begin until early May in my first year (shock, horror, we broke up!) and I can tell you with hand on heart, it was a massive disappointment.

The only thing the Frosty Jack's fuelled was my tears, as I looked at photographs of my ex and screamed: "WHERE DID IT ALL GO WRONG? NOW I KNOW WHAT IT REALLY MEANS TO HURT". The only thing Krave lubricated was late night Sherlock marathons between me and a future housemate as we ate entire boxes of the moreish cereal out of a gargantuan casserole dish we called "The Trough" (true story).

The only thing peer pressure succeeded in making me do was an utterly misjudged attempt at making braces my "new thing". I thought I'd look like a character from The Godfather, but ended up looking like a child who'd been forced by his parents to dress up smart and hand out nibbles at an adult party. Suffice to say, the braces didn't make it past the screening stage, mainly because there was unanimous agreement amongst my house mates that I looked like a twat, which was ironic seeing as they were the ones who initially encouraged me to do it.

Then, well into my second year, after a very ill-advised "Are They Aren't They?" period with the aforementioned ex, I embarked on a heroic, barnstorming dry run of six months without any relations of a sexual and sordid manner. Here I was, at the peak age of 20, entering my sexual prime, at a period of my life that had supposedly promised more slap and tickle then a Carry On film, sitting in my underwear, playing Age of Empires round the kitchen table with my other housemates.

On university nights out, you know everyone out so the members of the opposite (or same, depending on which team you bat for) sex fall into any one of three deadly categories: 1) friend; 2) an ex of some description; 3) a friend's ex. If someone does happen to fall into the rarely seen 4) "Who is she/he?" then rest assured there will be a rabid pack of hounds following their every move.

Perhaps I'm just a sad bastard with no moves. I am, afterall, the man who has been known to spend entire nights talking to lovely ladies and fail even to get their numbers; the man who thinks "how was your Christmas?" followed quickly by "do you know where the Waterstones is, I have a ten pound voucher my uncle gave me" is a smouldering sexy chat-up line, particularly when augmented with sweat, stuttering and staring.

Or maybe it's the university I go to (LSE is not exactly world-renowned for it's socialising), or perchance I just need to join a sports team. Yet, my other friends who go to universities such as Manchester, Liverpool, Nottingham and Birmingham are encountering the same feeling. A sort of "Oh, right, what was all the fuss about?" followed by a blow-out of the cheeks, a shake of the head, and a swig of Frosty Jack's. That's not to say people at university don't have sex because they do, it's just not as plentiful, copious and in your face as fellow students, films and the porn industry would have you imagine.

The fundamental point is that university doesn't change your relationship to sex in any way. If pre-university you're the type of person who has sex on a regular basis, be it through nights-out, house parties or maybe you just have that magic touch, then you will have a complete and utter field day and well done you. However, if pre-university you weren't like that and were a bit of an awkward fucker with members of the opposite sex then don't expect your sex life to increase exponentially just because you're at university!