Shockingly Normal

Orgasm. Love. Fuck. BDSM. Penis. Vagina. Gay. Straight. Bisexual.

“What’s the first word that comes to your mind when you hear the word sex?”

Sounds like a pretty easy statement to answer, doesn’t it? Well that’s what I thought when I first came up with it. I wondered, if I can come up with seven words off the top of my head  (in about nine seconds mind you) that relate to sex, then how many words could my entire university come up with if we tried. But, much to my surprise, this question seems to hold a lot more weight to it than I originally thought. Some people, twenty year olds mind you, simply can’t discuss sex, or even say the word to begin with.

I’ve been sitting in the common area at my college for the past three or four hours and over that time period I have come to truly understand just how much a Sex Week: “The Other O-Week” is actually needed on campus. I mean, that was the purpose of this experiment to begin with; attempt to see how outdated the sex mentality here is. I guess I just didn’t think it would be as bad as I thought.

Some students simply giggled when I asked them the question. Some just wrote down sex, because they couldn’t think of another word, which was equally as interesting to me as the giggling. Others actually got inquisitive looks on their faces as they tried to think of words to say; these moments were exciting for me especially when their answers were quite creative. But what really got me concerned, was when I asked certain students the question, they actually looked scared. It was as if the idea of sex was traumatizing to them. One person even wrote “agony” as his response and when I heard that I wanted to cry for him, or at least send him the health center for an STD exam. But even worse that Mr. It Hurts When I Cum, were the runners. I am not kidding you when I say that some of these people actually ran away form our table.

Now, though I am perfectly comfortable talking about sex, as that was how I was raised (I mean my mom asked me if I wanted her to buy me a vibrator or dildo at age 14, in Chili’s, in front of other people), I know that some people are not as open about their sexuality as I am. Over my lifetime I have come to appreciate a diverse range of viewpoints on sex, including those who don’t feel comfortable talking about it, but fear is something I can’t support. Anyone who is scared or frightened by the idea of sex is justified in their thoughts, but I want to ask them why? I know that pain can be involved, especially for first timers.I also know that rape is a prevalent and terrifying thing that occurs around the world. But, what I don’t know is why some people can fear conversation that simply encroaches the subject of sex.

I see sex as one of the most natural parts of human and animal existence. It is how most people communicate their love for one another. It is also supposed to be an experience of extreme pleasure. And finally, sex is literally how we continue on the human species. Sorry to break it to you, but you (most likely) are here because some number of years ago your parents totally did it! Weird, I know, but they did. And eventually one day, if you haven’t already and you aren’t a nun/priest/asexual individual, you will do it too. People have literally been having sex for thousands of years, so why is it not okay to talk about it?

So, though I know asking someone, in broad daylight, about sex may seem shocking, when you really think about it, isn’t it the most normal to ask a person? I think it is. So get ready W&L, Sex Week here we come!

Small Worlds Collide

Escaping the unsettling boredom that sets in around the ending days of August, I left the rural river valley college community, I grew up in, to bask in the new experiences college was supposed to provide me with. End result: I ended up in Lexington, Virginia. Population, 7,000. Setting, rural river valley college community. For some reason that last description sounds vaguely familiar, but I digress. I realize the strain the UMass world have put on my psyche. The jump from a school of 280 students (7-12th grade) to twenty-thousand would have been enough to throw me off track completely and the proverbial rug would have been completely pulled out from under me.

Every now and again however I find myself asking the simple question: why? Why did I end up in another rural town with less of a night life to speak of then the college town I left behind? Why did I end up going to a school with only 2,000, a number so small that its nearly impossible to walk through campus without seeing at least fifteen people you know? And finally, why did I end up in a little rinky-dink town, surrounded by mountains, instead of the cities I dreamed about in my younger years?

After running through this dialog through my head, for what seems like the four-thousandth time, it finally hit me. And I don’t just mean figuratively hit me, I mean literally walked up to me, tapped me on the shoulder, and asked me to help him with something. Here I am, just casually pondering the reasoning behind why I’m sitting at work study in Lexington, instead of drinking coffee on the streets of Manhattan or Boston, when a little piece of Western Massachusetts comes over and introduces himself. Coincidence? I think not. For privacy purposes let’s call this little slice of Hadley, “Matt”. Turns out Matt grew up in Massachusetts and went to UMass, only to find his way here as well. Now I don’t know if the gods were trying to tell me I’m here for a reason, or if this is me just reading to far into things like normal, but I choose to take the former option, because let’s face it; we all want to believe in fate.

It may be that I have an 8 am class Monday through Friday and five classes (including a 3 hour lab) every Thursday. My room may look like a hot pink atomic bomb went off in it, and it might be questionable as to whether an Asian man has moved in unannounced into my suite. There might be times when I get homesick and wish I could do things over again, but I’ve decided to believe in something greater than me. I believe that one day I’ll graduate from this school and kick some ass in a big city. I believe that that 8 am Italian class will help me find a bathroom or stop me from being kidnapped when I go to Italy in the spring. I believe that for some reason its a good thing that I have classes from 8am-6pm every Thursday because for some reason I shouldn’t be in my room at all that day of the week (maybe that has something to do with the questionable Asian man who is living in my suite). Screw it, maybe the Asian man in my suite makes the best sushi this side of the Mississippi. And finally, I believe that this blog entry needs to end soon, because I’ve got a new hot co-worker from my part of the country to think about, and he needs my help with something.

Play on Playas

~ Pooks