Carnal Curriculum: Harvard Hosts Twelfth Annual Sex Week

Contributed by Richard Y. Rodgers and Charles B. Bratton II

This article contains language and coverage of events that may not be appropriate for all readers. 

In a dazzling display of postmodern educational priorities, Sexual Education by Harvard College Students (SEHCS), a recognized student organization here at Harvard, recently launched its twelfth annual Sex Week—a veritable carnival of carnal knowledge designed to enlighten students about the multifaceted world of disordered human sexuality. Running from October 28 to November 3, this festival of free love (and free sex paraphernalia) is held in classrooms across campus—the benefactors of which are likely, and rightfully, rolling in their graves.

Harvard Sex Week purports to promote open dialogue and increased awareness around sexuality and relationships through events that address everything from so-called LGBTQIA+ intimacy to the supposed merits of non-monogamy and everything in between. But as the student body pushes the boundaries of sexual expression, one cannot help but ask: what exactly are they teaching the “citizen-leaders” of tomorrow?

Schedule of events for Harvard Sex Week. Find the original post here.

At one event on October 30, “Queer Cliteracy: LGBTQ Sex Tips for Vulva Owners and Lovers,” led by Birna Gustafsson, the chalkboard rail was lined with an array of prophylactics and lubricants, while a desk boasted a collection of purple dildos, staged in order from smallest to largest. In an eye-popping revelation, Gustafsson announced midway through the seminar that her ring was, in fact, a functional vibrator—clearly a fashionable accessory for those who value style over substance, raising the question of whether our consent to see her vibrator was somehow implied by our attendance or whether the question has somehow become quaint. She did not deign to explain why she needs to carry a vibrator in public.

During her lesson, which she described as “radically queer,” she abandoned any semblance of professionalism by opting for a rhinestone-encrusted fleshlight instead of a proper anatomical model to illustrate female anatomy. The scene played out like a parody of itself; she used a vibrator as a pointer and philosophized about whether or not “scissoring” is real. Attendees would have been correct in wondering if they had unwittingly stumbled into an adult novelty shop rather than a place of higher education.

Gustafsson also corrected what she claimed is a misconception about strap-ons, proclaiming they ought to feel like natural, physical extensions of a woman rather than attempts to mimic male anatomy. Excellent news—now the queer women of fair Harvard, instead of pretending to be real men, they can embrace their femininity while pretending they have real penises.

Another talk on November 2, among the most titillating offered by SEHCS this year, beckoned students with promises of education on anal sex. Led by Jamie Joy, a self-described queer anal aficionado who moonlights as an amateur pornographer, sporting an “Enjoy Ass” T-shirt à la the Coca-Cola logo, “Backdoor Basics: Anal 101” kicked off with a cheery proclamation: “What a beautiful day for anal!” 

This was followed by an icebreaker activity which paired attendees to discuss this thought-provoking prompt: “If you were a dildo that was going to go into a butt, what would you be?” The desk was once again arranged with sex toys galore, but with even more variety than at Gustafsson’s talk. Joy’s inclusion of things ranging from a tentacle dildo to an anal lube injector (use your imagination) would make even the most seasoned debauchee blush. Naturally, the “Cadillac of strap-on harnesses” was also on display, which she passed around for students to see.

The session itself was a parade of obscenities and recommendations not fit for polite society. For instance, Joy nonchalantly assured the room that microtears and bleeding are “normal.” She offered up sanitary tips like boiling sex toys in water—what she called “dildo soup”—and advised on the use of poppers—chemicals hazardously repurposed for their muscle-relaxing capabilities (three guesses on the muscle). When a concerned student questioned the safety of using these chemicals, she returned with the sage advice to simply limit their use to once or twice per anal session. 

Immediately following that was a session titled “The More the Merrier: Exploring Non-Monogamy,” also led by Joy, who proudly claimed to have been “practicing non-monogamy since high school.” In this event, attendees were asked to describe their ideal relationships through nature metaphors. Joy compared herself to the Sun at the center of her relationship “solar system”—the irony that her definition of a loving relationship is one where everything revolves around Jamie Joy was lost on her. A student likened his ideal to two birds in a nest, with a third bird occasionally swooping in for a night of avian adventure. 

Joy elaborated on the different “types” of non-monogamy, of which there are, remarkably, at least nine. These varied arrangements, she explained, could be codified in a “Relationship Agreement”—not unlike a business contract—outlining exactly how far one is permitted to stray in their undevoted union. Though she didn’t admit it, in her world, loyalty is a negotiating point and genuine human connection trivialized. In Joy’s assessment, any pangs of guilt or shame associated with this lifestyle are merely “a product of society.” The notion that these might stem from any natural sense of accountability or virtue, evidently, is entirely foreign to her worldview.

Joy claims non-monogamy offers numerous advantages over the restrictive prison of monogamy, chief among them being the freedom to indulge one’s full range of kinks without being inhibited by the boundaries of any single partner. Then, there’s the constant thrill of “newness,” the ceaseless novelty of exploring an endless pool of prospective partners, and no pressure to find or commit to “the one.” It’s a curious reinterpretation of love and fidelity: not a stable partnership but an endless shopping spree of momentary attractions.

To the general credit of the student body, these events were so poorly attended that SEHCS abandoned their usual sex toy raffle and instead allowed attendees to choose from a cornucopia of them. Each student then had their picture taken with their prize.

The impact of Harvard Sex Week on campus culture should not be underestimated. As students explore the boundaries—or the fringes—of their sexual identities and preferences, one wonders what the long-term effects will be on their interpersonal relationships. Are we raising a generation of emotionally enlightened lovers, or merely a cadre of confused libertines fumbling their way through the complexities of intimacy? In this swirling tempest of sexual discourse, one thing remains clear for Harvard: her approach to education is nothing if not ambitious.

As this year's Sex Week comes to a close, perhaps the greatest lesson of all is still waiting to be learned: something about the rare virtue of restraint in an era seemingly determined to push liberation to its most gratuitous extremes. Harvard’s academic legacy was built by fostering the sharpest minds and loftiest ideals, yet here we are, shuffling from one condemnable workshop to the next in search of some supposed enlightenment about life’s most corporeal elements.

One might wonder if, amidst all the enthusiasm for exploring the intricacies of human desires and the orifices of the human body, we might eventually return to questions of moderation, balance, or even the radical concept that there can and ought to be limits to what we celebrate. As it stands, that lesson seems farther off than ever. For now, we can only watch with a curious mix of amusement and disbelief as Harvard leads yet another brave march—not into thought, or tradition, or truth, perhaps, but into the boundless (and boundaryless) unknown.

SEHCS did not respond to requests for comment.