In recent months, there has been an increasing awareness among the Harvard student body of an apparently steamy, seedy, underground gay sex scene, enabled mostly by online communities like Craigslist and boredatlamont.com, which host advertisements for, among other things, discreet sexual encounters. So far, the Harvard press has presented bemused impressions of Harvard students’ use of these websites from an observer’s point of view. Unfortunately, though, Harvard has yet to hear about this bizarre subculture from any of the people who have experienced it firsthand. Well, Harvard, this is your day: here are your confessions of a shady, sex-obsessed online hunter of horny Harvard men.

For the uninitiated, here’s how a Craigslist hook-up works: people looking for “nsa” (no strings attached) fun can locate a page for the desired city and sexual orientation. Respondents e-mail anonymous addresses, and, if there is mutual interest, cheap, slutty sex can be enjoyed within minutes. In theory, at least.

I, however, am probably the lousiest Craigslist cruiser at Harvard. (I have yet to figure out the intricacies of boredatlamont; that site is too confusing for a mind as simple as mine.) You see, Craigslist is the go-to location mainly for closeted Harvard gay boys who have, evidently, no outlet for sexual fulfillment other than to pursue fellatio in Harvard’s various public restrooms. In contrast, I am very out—I have been since I was 14—and I’m through with giving blowjobs in toilet stalls. (We can fool around in my room, thank you very much.) I am also fairly obviously gay, which appears to set me apart from the rest of the Harvard Craigslist community, most of whose members advertise themselves as “masc[uline]” and “discreet.” There appears to be a large contingent of self-described “jocks”: closet-cases who feel, maybe rightfully so, that they will be ostracized should they reveal their secret to any of the other hot, sweaty, godlike boys they throw a ball around with.

So here’s your typical Craigslist ad: “Masc, muscular, discreet Harvard jock here looking to hang out with another masc Harvard dude.” I am neither masculine, nor muscular, nor terribly discreet about anything, but these seem to be the requirements. I couldn’t very well hope for success if I posted, “Skinny dorky Jewish flamer seeks fleeting sexual gratification from Harvard jock fantasy,” and so I’ve found myself manufacturing a Craigslist alter ego. In Craigsworld, when my faceless torso photo lures some guy into a conversation, he is “dude,” “man,” “bro,” or any of the titles those Real Boys unironically bestow on each other. Am I out? “Nah, man, closeted and discreet here.” Have I done stuff with guys? “Just j/o and shit. Maybe looking to do more.” I’m probably a bad person for lying about these things, but I’ve found that admitting my outness, or the fact that—gasp!—I’ve actually had sex with a guy, usually begets a terse, “Sorry, dude.” At any rate, considering that none of us seems to be looking for any real human connection, and that anonymity is part of the Craigslist code of ethics, these fibs feel like victimless crimes.

I have also spent considerable time using my new webcam to take photos of myself in various “jockish” poses. Sure, if you visit my facebook page, you’ll notice that half of my pictures are of me in drag (be sure to see Hasty Pudding this year, it’s faaaabulous!), but this doesn’t mean I haven’t taken a few shots of myself humorlessly glaring at the camera, awkwardly forming my lips into some sort of porno-star sneer in a disturbing attempt at whatever I think of as masculinity. I even recently flipped the collar of my pink polo shirt and donned a Red Sox cap during one of these personal photo shoots. This was truly the low point of my existence.

And of course, it never works. I have passed many early morning hours waiting for this jock fantasy to materialize, but in the end, a baseball cap does not a straight boy make. (Of course, these guys may just think I’m a total mieskeit, masculine or not, but as I’ve always thought of myself as strikingly attractive, I am unwilling to explore this possibility.) I also live in the Quad: you might as well tell a River boy you’ve got warts; he’s not making that trip at three in the morning. In truth, I have managed one or two successful Craigslist trysts, but (no offense to you guys) these were with nice boys, not the athletic Adonises who seem to dominate the Craigslist circuit, not the fantasy that keeps me coming back.

Maybe there is an underground gay sex community at Harvard. If there is, though, these homos are not interested in faggots. So when I promised you all the juicy insider details, I may have been misleading you, just as I mislead the men of Craigslist, just as they mislead their girlfriends. A part of me empathizes with them, though given my easy past, I can never really know what it’s like to be truly frightened of coming out. At this point in my life, however, I’m beyond dealing with closet cases. It’s beneath me, this posturing to these “masculine” boys. That said, if any members of the Harvard lacrosse team are up late tonight, look me up.



Ben Kawaller ’07 is a sociology concentrator in Currier House.