There are moments in life when you know you’re making a bad decision but you do it anyway. Take the other night, for example. Completely aware of the inevitable regret that would follow, I fucked a 6ft 3 guy in a bunk bed. Don’t get me wrong; bunk beds are great for building forts and kicking your brother between the slats while he’s trying to sleep, but when you’re 22, they’re pretty much up there on the turnoffs list with AIDS and leprosy.
Just so you know, I’m not one of those weird adult babies you see on the internet. When I arrived in Toronto, I took the first clean room I found that was downtown and within budget. The room happened to come with bunk beds. Not ideal, but whatever. I just swore to myself I’d never bring anyone back home and nobody would ever know. This is all very well until the guy you want to sex lives on the other side of town and it’s 3am and you’re both drunk and horny. This is how it went down.