I love games. I am a competitive, intense rule-follower in all the wrong ways. So when, on a walk home from Sputie’s, my friends and I had the fantastic idea to make our sex lives into a game, I jumped all over it. The game: Bingo. The stakes: extremely high. The gameplay began as a complicated joke, with offhanded quips about having sex in the Mr. Mike’s bathroom and lighthearted digs about who had the gall to reach BINGO first. Flash-forward another few weeks and everyone I’ve met was piled in my suite, decorating a sex-bingo board. The board (3’ × 2’) now hangs triumphantly on my dorm wall, much to the disappointment and scorn of my suitemates. In addition to a physical game board, we have a sex-bingo constitution, and not one but two referees, dedicated to verifying the authenticity of all lewd and lascivious acts.
But before I detail the horrors of our experiences, allow me to briefly run through the gameplay. In order to promote fairness, there are two versions of the game: couples and singles. All situationships count in the couples round, and in the event that one completes 5 bingo squares with the same person, they must continue the game with that person exclusively. So you can see where things could get messy. In addition, both parties must finish in order for the act to count toward a bingo (this proved particularly difficult). Only one bingo square may be checked at a time (i.e., sex in a car and sex in a UVM parking lot—only one counts.) Our referees had the hardest job of all, they have to verify (WITH PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE) that the bingo squares have been completed according to all regulations. It gets really complicated when we introduce the “stealing” rule. If any player walks in ‘accidentally’ into a participating party in the act, they can “steal” the square for their own. Crazy, right?
Clearly, the preparation for gameplay was very thorough, but our foresight was not. Somehow, we never considered the implications or consequences that would come from having sex (with strangers?) in public. And so begins the absolute horror story of sex bingo…
The atrocities began rather tame, someone else’s bed, in a car, in the shower. But as the weeks went by, things got serious, and the real trouble began. Imagine my surprise when, an hour and a half into a grueling study session, I am barged in on by two of my dearest friends, both eager and willing to have “grundle-maple syrup” sex on our dorm floor. Now I respect their commitment as much as anyone else, but nothing about that seems sanitary. But alas, I packed up my things and gave them the room for all of their sticky, syrupy sexcapades. The sun is starting to set as I begin my sexiled trek to the Howe library, but, as I’ve come to learn, nowhere is safe. I’m met with yet another sex bingo escapade as I watch my friend led a mystery man into the first-floor gender-neutral bathroom.
Everywhere I go and everything I do is plagued by thoughts of sex bingo. I see the game board when I fall asleep at night, and I dream of the sex bingo champion prize (a bar of soap hand carved into a vagina). I have seen things, heard things, imagined things I can never forget, all in the name of sex bingo. I have witnessed breakups for sex-bingo related purposes, and I have seen celibacy and fearful STD tests. But most of all, I’ve seen way too many post-sex selfies. And I’m tired of it. No amount of competition should ever result in sex in the UHeights elevator.
That being said, sex bingo has brought a few people a lot of joy. So, should you find yourself curious and a little bored, I implore you to print out your very own sex bingo sheet and give it a go!