Hello sexy readers! I presume the dearth of questions I’ve received this week has been due to the fact that everyone has been far too busy with their Halloweekends to compose a succinct question for me.
No worries, dear readers, I’ve heard the rustlings of a question brewing in your costumed frolics through Scripps’ residence halls. Literally. I’ve heard you.
Not to make you feel too self-conscious or anything, but the walls in these dorms are not soundproof. I can hear you sneezing next door. I can hear your music blaring four doors down. And I can definitely hear that rhythmically-thumping bed. Your music doesn’t mask the sound as well as you might hope. It doesn’t help matters that our twin extra-longs are made out of the most rustly, squeaky, crinkling mattress-plastic this side of the Mississippi. (This “our” includes you winsome Smiley-residing Scripps students. I’ve been there. Your Pomona-provided beds crinkle with the same unsexy abandon, if I recall correctly. And you have ants. Bad luck all around.)
I’m all for female empowerment and taking control of sexual encounters. But I’ve got to say, I don’t advocate bringing your (male) hookup back to your Scripps dorm. There is, of course, the matter of the “chastity beds” (as a close friend of mine has dubbed them based on the alarm raised by their sterile plastic rustling). And our older buildings with their thin walls don’t help. But these are not necessarily Scripps-specific problems. Sexy sounds emanating from your neighbor’s dorm room can happen anywhere, at any volume.
When it comes to Scripps, though, there’s also an uncomfortable gender dynamic complicating matters. The moment a clearly male-gendered person enters our halls, every Scrippsie eye is trained on him, ready to judge. Relative? Friend? Study partner? Sex partner? The poor fellow becomes a conspicuous intruder in our haven of women’s college education. As his escort, you join the fray of judgment-passing gazes as curious eyes size you up and decide what to make of you and male body that accompanies you. There’s an element of pride in turning the tables, making the man into the male body to be scrutinized by a (largely) female gaze. But if you’re just hoping to spend a nice night with your boyfriend, maybe you don’t want to be making a feminist statement. Maybe you don’t want to announce to the world (or to your fellow Scripps residents) that you’re a sexually active, heterosexual young woman. Maybe you’re not one.
My previous column discussed giggling, and how they can be an unfortunate signifier of discomfort. I’d like to encourage you to think before you giggle in this context. When you see a young man in a towel skulking back to a Scripps dorm room to reunite with his Scrippsie host, try not to ogle. When you hear some sounds that you can all too easily identify as sexual, try not to giggle. We may not be able to help the fact that dorm living makes our sex lives so very public, but we can at least exercise some empathy and not make our sexually-active hallmates feel singled out for their sexual choices.
I stand by my original advice against bringing your hook-up back to your room, though. No matter the gender of your chosen sexual partner for the night, bringing someone back to your room means playing hostess. It means cleaning up afterward. And, most annoyingly, it means you can’t sneak away from the den of your sexual conquest in order to do some late-night homework in the sexual-distraction-free sanctity of your own room.
I LOVE YOU! -SHE
Scripps Box #797
(no stamp required for intercampus mail!)
(SHE encourages you to make the subject “SEXXX” or something. SHE also promises to ignore the email address from which your sexy emails are sent and assume everyone’s writing on behalf of sexually-awkward friends)