Sex in the stacks isn’t just a campus legend.
People hook-up in college seminar rooms, in dining hall kitchens after-hours, in the fitting room at Urban Outfitters and on top of the detergent-splattered washing machines in the basement of Bingham. This weekend, I saw people mackin it on the Women’s Table, various outdoor benches, York Street, and even the swing in the Branford courtyard.
Sure, I’ve heard the stories. I mean, to be honest, I’ve lived out a couple of the experiences. Yalies get horny. Sometimes, they get creative. And then they get busy all over campus.
Usually, though, people are a little less public. For the most part, we simply hook-up in our bedrooms and common rooms (and showers, occasionally … but is it really wise to go at it in a place where sandals are necessary for sanitary reasons?). Because of their ubiquity, I think in-suite hookups deserve some discussion.
What are the highs and lows of dorm room sex?
Taking that question in the most literal sense, let’s talk about beds.
I think that most people here are free of bunk beds after freshman year, but that doesn’t prevent other kinds of awkward bed placement. From my friend whose mattress sat directly on the floor last year (after a very unsuccessful de-bunking attempt), to people who put the head-end of their beds against the window, dorm beds can be a very dangerous place for action.
For instance, the scarily-high lofted beds. Sure, it’s tempting to have all that extra floor space. Yes, I’m impressed that your entire desk fits under your bed. But in the end, a lofted twin bed is a friggin terrifying place for a hook-up. There’s the perpetual threat of a fatal roll-off. And unfortunately there are other potential injuries, too. Bumping one’s head against a wall is pretty much par for the hook-up course, I’d say. Nearly hitting my head on the smoke detector?
We’ve gotta relocate.
But there are also definite positives to the dorm room hookup. First of all, the stuff in our rooms is blatantly utilitarian. A footprint on the wall won’t be the end of the world, and 99 percent of futons are broken by the end of the year one way or another, so why not go to town?
In addition, the convenience factor is a big plus. To me, the suites here are like microcosms of actual homes; everything is condensed. It’s nice to have the light switch, garbage, stereo, phone, computer, fridge, change of clothes, and even reference books practically within arms’ distance of your bed during a hook-up. Moreover, you’re really never more than a few minutes from your own room if things don’t go as planned.
Considering the lack of RAs, parents, and pesky domestic animals or siblings, plus the sturdy bed frames, plastic-covered mattresses, and common rooms with couches for the sexiled, our dorms are pretty much begging to be hooked up in. Sure, it sucks that most of us don’t have locks on our bedroom doors, but all except the most naive of roommates should understand what a sock on the doorknob means.
There are certainly complaints of monotony, though. As one of my best girlfriends suggested via AIM, “There should be like exotic places on campus that you can rent or something to spice up your sex life … cuz seriously, the dorm room gets old.”
(As nice as that may be, I think it would be difficult to pull off. I mean, would the master’s office issue keys to the Love Shack along with the ones to the gyms and music practice rooms? How could the construction of such a place be tactfully proposed to alumni donors?)
I believe that the average on-campus bedroom has more to offer for a hook-up than one might expect. Beds and couches are the obvious choice, but don’t forget that you have four walls (or, like, nine if you’re in Morse or Stiles), perhaps a window seat or a lovely corduroy dish-chair, and of course a desk chair.
And trust me, few things are more entertaining than a make-out session (etc.) in one of those desk chairs that tips back and forth.
There are days when our dorm rooms get old, and there are nights when you just can’t resist snogging on Cross Campus. But a majority of the time — whether it’s 3 a.m., or it’s blizzarding, or you have 216 pages of French history reading due by tomorrow morning, or you just don’t want to put on shoes — you’re most likely to hook up in your suite.
So reach over and turn on that Marvin Gaye while you grab a Coke out of your mini-fridge and set your cell to vibrate.
Let’s get it on.
Sarah Minkus gets freaky on her desk chair before Cog Sci.