I arrived at Middlebury College with a feather in my hair and an appetite for adventure. The tiny liberal arts campus nested in the Green Mountains beckoned me like a hippie commune. No Greek life, no hazing. Only love, drugs, and progressive conversations around gender and sexuality.
Or so I thought.
Like so many incoming Freshman, I could not wait to explore my sexuality. My first semester, I was like a kid in a candy shop. So many beautiful men—sculpted, tall, wielding lacrosse sticks or squash rackets—all up for grabs. I would wake up on Sunday mornings with the stale taste of Tequila on my tongue and a new story to share at brunch with the girls.
My love life was a delicious mess, the electric background noise to my academic endeavors and friendships. It motivated me to do my homework (going to the library is so much more fun with the possibility of running into your crush) and provided good fodder for journal entries. But the dark underbelly of Middlebury hookup culture was always there, slowly but surely wearing away at my self-esteem. Continue Reading