My college has a first-rate psychology department, where one can study learned texts on human behavior. But book learning has its limits, so the department prides itself on conducting clinical exercises that expand on the material. That academic rigor applies throughout the department, but nowhere more starkly than in its course on human sexuality.
All participants in that course have to agreed ahead of time to participate fully in the clinical exercises - which they are warned may require them to reveal intimate details about their sexuality and their bodies. Sort of an academic Truth or Dare. Participants pledge to keep what transpires in the class confidential, but enough rumors have seeped out to clothe the course with a mystique.
To entice the more shy individuals to participate (so that the universe of participants is not skewed just to the adventurous), the college awards double credits. You pay for three credit hours, but receive six.
At the beginning of the course, each student undergoes an evaluation. I was seated at a computer, onto which images of individuals of both sexes were displayed. Participants are to press a number, 1 to 10, to express their sexual interest in the subject.
An attractive woman, with a lovely smile appeared on my screen. She was dressed in a t-shirt and shorts. Very nice. I pressed 6. Then the image shifted, and this women's t-shirt was gone; she was wearing a lace bra. I still pressed 6. Next her shorts were gone, and her bottom features were clearly outlined by her panties. I pressed 7. In the next slide, she was nude. Small breasts, smaller than I like, and a shaved mound. She went back to a 6.
This process was repeated. Other women, some quite beautiful, some plain, appeared. Slowly their bodies were revealed as clothes were removed. I got into the spirit of the exercise, and saved the 9 and 10 ratings for women with my favorite, shapely firm breasts and curly and plentiful pubic hair. If women had very pretty faces and smiles, I rewarded them with higher ratings even if their bodies weren't spectacular. Sensors attached to my body measured my heart rate and respiration, as a corollary and check to my self-reporting. And I was presented with guys too. I kept pressing 1 to reject feelings of sexuality until the computer caught on and only offered me women.
It was very pleasant to watch women's clothes disappear in a peek show. I was disappointed when the session ended. But it wasn't done just for my titillation; the purpose was to create a database as to what facial characteristics and body types generated the greatest sexual excitement. Later, this would be used when I was matched with a classmate in the clinical studies.
One of the early lectures involved the question of male/female sexual arousal. Few would deny that the sex drive in the young male is ferocious. Men are easily aroused by the sight of an attractive female, or even by the perfumed scent she leaves behind. And that manifestation is readily observable. The penis is a reliable and visible barometer - especially when not hidden by clothes. But the female is different. For millennia, women were on a pedestal, considered to be pure and shy creatures, needing to be wooed to provoke a willingness to engage with the male. Our professor asked us our views on whether women's sex drive was as strong as the male's.
Most of the men thought it was not. But the women, demurely at first, then more vigorously as others spoke up, asserted that women like sex too. A lot.
"I tend to agree with you," said the professor. "But then why is it," he asked, "that in a recent study of men and women, 25 percent of males reported masturbating almost every day, compared to 8.7 percent of women? And even among men who don't masturbate a lot, they do so at rates that are 50% higher than women?"
One of the females spoke. "I'm sure the women responding to the survey were lying. It's difficult for a woman to discuss her sexual needs. Guys joke about it; guys consider masturbation as being manly. But for a woman, it's a mark of shame."
Several women nodded their agreement.
"So shall we find out?", the professor asked. "Who's willing to do a show of hands for who masturbates at least on a weekly basis?"
There was dead silence in the class. No one moved.
"That's what I expected. Our society is awash in sex, yet it remains a taboo to discuss your own sexuality openly. That's part of what we're going to change in this class. Your homework assignment is to keep a journal on how often you masturbate - or how often you want to do it, but don't, for whatever reason. And if this class is to be of value, you need to be absolutely honest."
The assignment caused some excitement amongst us. And I heard a few of the guys acknowledge that they masturbated when they returned to the dorm, thinking about the assignment - and wondering what their classmates might be doing.
As the lectures continued, we became used to listening about sex, and more open to discussing it.
The professor occasionally would question us about our own sexuality.
He called on Dawn, a pretty brunette in the first row.
"Dawn, when you compare your naked body to others of your gender, how do you think you compare?"
Dawn gulped, but answered truthfully. "Well, I worry that my breasts are too small. Other women seem prettier to me. And I ought to lose a few pounds."
"Do the other women agree?" he asked.
Several of the women expressed how attractive they thought Dawn was.
"But you haven't seen her naked, have you?" he asked. "Dawn, would you be willing to remove your clothes so we could judge for ourselves?"
There was dead stillness in the class. No one spoke; no one breathed.
"I can't do that," said Dawn, with a look of terror on her face. 'I'm sorry."
"Not a problem. No one will ever be forced to do anything they don't want to. But as time goes on, you'll find that you'll lose your fears. We'll return to this another time."
