Inappropriate Sex



Getting laid is not what I thought it would be. I really don’t know quite what I had expected, but this is definitely not it. All of the books I read mentioned affection, intimacy, ease and the multiple orgasm. None of the books even hinted at the mess with diaphragm jelly, how to gracefully mention that you are having your period, and how to slip the V.D. question into foreplay.
When I first learned about sex, I was told in very plain terms that it was something that was done to you. That didn’t sound right. I always thought sex was a team sport. With two people involved, giving, sharing, and coming at the same time. The whole mushy scenario. Well, it has been determined by top sex experts that casual sex is a myth. I agree. When you’re naked, nothing is casual.
There is no such thing as casual sex. It is one of those nebulous myths, with an undetermined origin that gets passed on from generation to generation perpetuated by such widely read periodicals as Cosmopolitan, Playboy, and U.S. News and World Report.
We’re all sucked into believing that you can put on a new outfit, meet someone wonderful and deep in a place like a library or the Granary. You can exchange meaningful conversation. You like his wit and his honesty. He likes your smile and your sense of humor. You decide to meet at his place for some Chablis and Scrabble. The night wears on. Saturday Night Live has just ended. It is that itchy time. Questions, questions. Should you stay? What is he like in bed? Should you stick your tongue in his mouth before he sticks his tongue in yours? Are you wearing clean underwear? Is that bruise on your stomach gone? Will you feel weird tomorrow when looking at him on his waterbed? and then the all-time clincher — WHAT ABOUT BIRTH CONTROL???

How can sex possibly be casual when you’re frantically worrying about blood clots? I thought the Pill would solve everything.
My gynecologist suggested an IUD. I said I wouldn’t try anything that sounded like it belonged in a fishing tackle box. Then she suggested a diaphragm. No chemicals, nothing hanging around my uterus, use it when I needed it, relatively cheap and simple. Simple and carefree. It was lies, all lies.
First the jelly. Wrestling with that stuff is a mess. And what about oral sex? Do you put your diaphragm in first and hope your partner has an insatiable  craving for Ortho-Gynol? In the heat of passion do you say “excuse me” and stand in the john balancing this little cup and hope he’s still excited when you emerge 10 minutes later? Do you ask him to do it? Do they make flavored jelly? What did Marilyn Monroe do? How did she handle the situation? How do you fit a diaphragm into a disco purse or a jazz bag?
Sure, sure — some of you are saying that men should have equal responsibility in the birth control process. But let’s be realistic. It’s rubbers or nothing. Somehow demanding a vasectomy for a 25-year-old student is a bit rash. And rubbers are not fun. The only place they were fun was in The Summer of ’42. They break, they slip, they stay in wallets, and they come in blue plaid. Jesus, the first time I saw this blue plaid thing coming at me, I was lost in hysteria for nearly half and hour. A real mood killer.
Getting laid is not what I thought it would be. And at times like this, masturbation moves way up on my list of things to do, and visions of convents flash before my eyes.
NEXT WEEK: Baking for celibates, the latest in vibrators, and the pros and cons of sterilization for all business and engineering majors.


Editor:  Must we, in the name of artistic freedom and the spirit of the First Amendment, endure Laura Kelly further? I think not.
I realize, as the former editor of a college newspaper, that you are under constant pressure to bind together a diverse and unpredictable audience; but I think that Ms. Kelly’s attempt at humor by way of obscenity is beneath even the lowest level of intelligence of our students.
To call what she writes “satire” is to ridicule the art and history of a unique element of our language. I would submit to her that any talent she professes to have would be better served by humor that does not rely on the shock value of obscene and profane terms to reach its goal.
Nervous laughter, Ms. Kelly, is the easiest to come by. Real humor takes some effort, perhaps more than you want to expend.
“Prior restraint” and “censorship” are fighting words to some newspapers. I believe strongly that the press should not be externally controlled. At the same time, Ms. Kelly, a little personal restraint on your own behalf would make we who appreciate fine writing at least less likely to pass over you offerings.
There will be two fine days in your future, Ms. Kelly. One will be your graduation day, and the other will be the day you finally learn to write satire. Either will be a significant improvement in The Alligator.

Paul Risner

Editor: Meaningful satire? Forget it! Laura Kelly hasn’t a clue as to what satire or good taste is.
I read her rebuttal of her critics and still pity her — she is incapable of defending herself.
Then her article of Feb. 4 hit the stands — THUD.
Please tell her it was stupid and few people care about her preoccupation with beating off. Every article is dumb, but this one was dumb and offensive.
Why not take a poll of your readers? Put my vote under “Get rid of her.”

Donna Gartland