Defining sex

I will go on record to argue that some of Duke’s most sexually active people have never had sex. Oddly enough, this realization struck me while watching a Jerry Springer-inspired Spanish talk show, separated from the vast majority of the Duke population by an entire ocean and a faulty Internet connection that has greatly disrupted my Facebook stalking habits. (I should note that I am in Madrid for the semester.) Trying to follow the rapidly shifting talk show conversations, handicapped by a language barrier and a garrulous host mother, I surmised that the program was chronicling a series of “cyber-romances.”

Initially, I scoffed at Rosita’s tears as she pummeled her Internet boyfriend Santiago with swear words and clumsy punches in light of learning of his online infidelity with Carmen. None of these people had ever met in person or had shared any kind of physical contact until these uncomfortable 15 minutes in the spotlight. By most definitions, these relationships were entirely sex-free. I walked away with a judgmental smile on my lips. And then flashed my boyfriend on Skype.

Upon some alcohol-induced reflection, I take back my scorn. Rosita and Santiago are probably not alone. Have dinner at The Loop and you’ll find a long-distance girlfriend plotting a phone sex date, a make-out slut who never seems to put out past the dance floor and a frat star fresh from a visit to youporn.com, still trying to get the lotion off his hands. Would your average college student or Spanish talk-show viewer define any of these behaviors as sex? Technically, no.

But since when was sex technical? If sex is limited to a textbook definition, why are there so many other convenient ways to create friction between two bodies? When it comes to defining sex, I’m drawn to the only lesson I took from intro to art history class—art is art when you say it is. Arguably, the boundaries of sexual definitions are equally fluid.

This, however, opens a giant list of uncomfortable questions. For example, regardless of whether body parts are actually stimulated, can you call an action sex if no one orgasms? If not, why can you call it sex when only the man finishes? What if the man ejaculates, but he has to masturbate to get there? What if both partners “succeed” but only as the result of their own stubborn efforts? In the face of these dilemmas, cyber sex proves surprisingly unambiguous.

And what about anal sex? No reasonable person can do that and then assertively call him or herself a virgin. But if you want to play by the rulebook, that’s not a ridiculous claim. The equation is rigid. When you add lube, condoms and thrusting, but subtract genitals, the result can never be sex as it exists on paper. Reason and reality seem at conflict in the bedroom.

Vulgarities flashing across a computer don’t have a spot in my sexual library, but that doesn’t mean Rosita and Santiago get laid less frequently than I do. Sex is a vacuum word, subject to alternative perspectives and contexts that ultimately drain it of any universal definitions. So go out there and get some. I won’t ask too many questions.

Brooke Hartley is a Trinity junior. Her column runs every other Thursday.