Mr. Magorium’s Smooshatorium: Fornicating, cohabitating and not being a scumbag

| Sex Columnist

Frank Zappa, musician and sexpert, once said, “If you want to get laid, go to college.”

Clearly, Zappa didn’t go to Wash. U., but even here students occasionally find time between studying chemistry to, um, “study chemistry.” All may be fair in love and war, but when it comes to hooking up, it’s important to be considerate to people around you. If you run into your hook-up again, you can always pull up the hood on your sweatshirt and pretend you don’t speak English (works every time!), but your fake Russian accent will not fool your comrades; you still have to live with them. And they may not be so forgiving after the fourth night in a row of jolting awake to unnaturally heavy breathing coming from the bed next to them. So, without further ado, here’s a basic guide to screwing without screwing up your friendships.

Leah Kucera | Student Life

Don’t be a Sexiling Saddam.

You’ve seen them wandering the hallways—haunted, lost-looking individuals, crashing on friends’ floors and generally residing everywhere but their own rooms. I was once a sexual refugee, exiled by my roommate’s raging libido. I don’t like to be melodramatic, but I’m still thinking of contacting The International Criminal Court to see about a war crimes tribunal. In short, don’t be that person.

Corollary 1: There’s nothing wrong with using the room to get it on if your roommate’s fine with it. Just make sure that you both have equal opportunity to access the “smooshatorium” and that you don’t abuse the system. Quid pro bro, man.

STFU.

This might seem intuitive, but although Wash. U. is rated as having the number one dorms in the country, they are not soundproof (Chancellor Wrighton has yet to explain why; for whatever reason, sex acoustics do not seem to be high on ResLife’s priority list either). You may think you’re doing a great porn-star impression, but depending on your gender and how much porn you’ve actually seen, you probably sound something like an asthmatic mouse that’s spent just a little too much time on the exercise wheel. Turn on some music to cover up the sounds of your wheezy, sub-human love grunts.

Respect your roommate’s property and personal space.

I knew a guy who lived a floor above me freshman year who came home one night to find a used condom in his bed. It’s unclear whether his roommate really did have sex in his bed or this was meant as a primal assertion of territoriality, but whatever the reason, this is not acceptable behavior. No matter how inebriated you are, hooking up in your roommate’s bed or using his hairbrush as a sex toy (yes, this has happened) or otherwise abusing his property is not OK. My acquaintance was pretty mad, to say the least, until his roommate apologized by giving him a big bag of weed. Since the University is cracking down on drug use, it’s probably more prudent (and cheaper!) to simply be a good roommate.

Warn your roommate ahead of time.

Freshman year, I walked in on my roommate and her boyfriend having sex. They looked like a pair of asphyxiating salmon, slowly flopping to death on the bank of a river. Unless you’re an exceptional person (Brad Pitt, for example, is distinctly non-fishy), no one but an ichthyologist will want to see you fornicating. A simple text will suffice, though a call is better. Communication is key as is timing; give your roommate time to either evacuate or tell you that she would really prefer that you find somewhere else to do your thing.

The consequences of failure to comply with these basic guidelines include but are not limited to: a poor reputation, public shaming, awkward conversations and mental scarring. And no one wants that.

Tell us your worst roommate sex story in the comments below.

  • Scarred

    I once missed the sock on the door because I walked into my room through my suitemates’ already open door and the bathroom. Walked in on my overweight roommate naked and jerking off to anime porn while sitting in my chair. It immediately became his second chair.

  • Esteban

    My suitemate (let’s call him A) called me late one night early in freshman year, quite inebriated, and said “you have to get [suitemate B] out. I’ll be there in like five” and hung up. So I ran through the bathroom, pounded on the door, woke him up and got him out. I handed him my spare blanket and pillow, and we walked out into the hallway towards the living room. At that moment, A comes sprinting down the hallway. About five steps behind him, sprinting but clearly winded, was a girl with outrageously long hair. He gave us a smile, a wink and both disappeared.

    Other floormates had opened their doors to see what the ruckus was, and within moments, we were all sitting in our hallway, talking in typical freshman floor fashion. This put us in perfect positions to see suitemate A burst out of the door in nothing but briefs and bound down the staircase. Needless to say, we erupted in laughter, only to be silenced when we heard voices indicating he wasn’t coming up alone. Accompanying him was another guy, dressed in a suit. We got a smile and a wink, and both disappeared into the room. Silence.

    I finally got the courage to go back to my adjacent bedroom and try to sleep, only to find the guy in the suit asleep on the bathroom floor.

    Needless to say it was a great night.