Sex In Psych 7 - Save Me a Seat

In the eyes of a college student,  a Friday afternoon class has about the same appeal as non alcoholic beer.  But it can happen when you get totally screwed at registration.  And that’s exactly what happened to me during the spring semester of my sophomore year.   But what could I do? There was a Psychcology class that I had to take, and the only time it was available was Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 2 PM. That’s right - Friday at 2 PM.  An afternoon class on a Friday during spring semester should be against the law.   It’s immoral!  Friday afternoons in the spring were for taking coeds out to Hurricane Creek, planning trips to the liquor store, and getting ready for the weekend parties. They sure weren’t for sitting in a near empty auditorium and listening to some professor rail on about my Oedipal Complex. 

At least the news wasn’t all bad.  I found out that Dr. Jerome Rosenberg would be teaching the course.  He was known to be one of the cooler professors in the Psych Department.  

In the first class, I learned why.  From the stage of the auditorium, the good doctor addressed about 24 of us unfortunates. He said that he understood Friday afternoons in the spring might not be the optimum time to hold learning activities. Duh. That’s like saying Hitler had a bit of an anger management problem.  To that end, he had no issues with some of us being absent on that particular day, as long as we were sure to get the lecture notes from the students who were there. 

And that’s how a college class with an enrollment of 24 ended up with about 9 people in the seats every Friday.  

I will freely admit that on numerous occasions I played the Get Out Class Free Card.  But when I did attend, I took copious notes because they were going to be very important to several people.  

 

About halfway thru the semester, Dr. Rosenberg made an announcement at one of our Wednesday classes, saying,  “If you would, please make sure that all of your classmates are here on Friday.  I’m going to need everyone’s help with a study.” 

Ho Hum.  I began to doodle in my notebook.  This was not an unusual request.  A couple of times each semester a psych class could be counted on to read a few paragraphs, then fill out a questionnaire.  The professor would use the results on a paper he was writing.   

As I drew, the doctor  began going into detail about our contribution to psychology, saying, “ On Friday, I’m going to show you three short films.  One will be a man and a woman having sex, the second will be two women having sex, and the third will be two men having sex.”

Whaaat?   I looked up, dropped my Bic, and stiffened in my seat.  Was this one of his bad jokes?  No matter.  As a twenty year old, raging with hormones, this man had my full attention.  

Dr. Rosenberg continued, now speaking to a class that was focused on every word he was saying.

“It will not be pornography.  Each film will be about 6 minutes long. There will be no sounds other than tasteful background music.  But, there will be graphic nudity.  After all three are completed, you will fill out a form, answering questions about your reaction to what you saw.” 

He’s serious.  We are actually going to watch dirty movies in the name of science!   I wonder if they had names, like Sigmund Does Dallas.  I was new to this sex thing. Maybe I could even get a few pointers.  

After class, I was quick to return to my fraternity house and tell my brothers about this good fortune. Then I called my then girl friend Carol with the big news.  She didn’t seem overly impressed. I even asked her to come and watch it, but she quickly called me a degenerate, and reminded me she was going home for the weekend. At least I tried. 

On Friday, I made sure to be at Gordon Palmer Hall about 10 minutes before the class began.  After all, I wanted to be punctual in order to do my part for science. And the anticipation was killing me.  I opened the main doors to the building, headed up the stairs, and that’s when I heard a curious sound. A buzzing. Like a hive of people.  It reminded me of Atlanta Airport on Friday afternoon.  

The sound grew louder as I walked down the hall.  Then, turning the corner leading to the auditorium,  I discovered the source of the buzz.  People.  Lots and lots of them.  Hundreds of students were clamoring to get into the auditorium with a zeal normally reserved for  trying to get a seat at the Iron Bowl.  The word was out.   

I fought my way past the throng and somehow managed to get in the auditorium.  It was an incredible sight. Every one of the 250 seats were taken. The aisles were full.  Students were three deep against the back wall. I’m sure there were at least 500 people there - and a good number of them were girls. I guess the Sexual Revolution was really under way!

Dr. Rosenberg was on the stage, looking from side to side in disbelief. Finally he spoke to the crowd, saying, “We don’t mind all of you being here, but the first couple of rows are for the students who are taking the class. And if we can’t clear the aisles, the fire Marshall said they will shut this whole thing down.”

Enjoying my newfound status as a member of the class, I headed down to the front, carefully checking out the girls who were there. This would be good information to impart to my fraternity brothers. That’s when I locked eyes with Carol’s roommates! Diane, Belita, and Janice were sitting on aisle seats down close. To get seats this good, they had to have been there for at least 30 minutes.

Belita, smiled sheepishly and said,”Hey, Joe!”

I grinned and responded,” I guess Carol told you about this.”

All three nodded eagerly. 

“So who’s the degenerate now?,” I thought.

All I can remember about the films is that they were indeed graphic, and the music was tasteful. None of that, “waka waka wow”, porn music stuff.  

Soon after the showing, the auditorium emptied, leaving no one but me and my classmates to fill out the questionnaires. I didn’t mind at all. It was a small price to pay for this kind of entertainment.

We never heard about the results of the study. Some of us believed it had nothing to do with sexuality, but instead, how sex affects communication. I don’t know. But I did learn one thing in the spring of 1973. Just like yelling “fire” can quickly clear out a building, yelling “sex” can fill a building just as fast, even without the help of social media.  And if you can’t be on time for a Friday class with sex films, better have somebody save you a seat. 

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