Women want sex Duke Center

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At Duke, where crackdowns on the ly party-hearty on-campus social environment have forced much of the scene off-campus, foam parties are promoted by frats as large, open-to-everyone events, and can either be totally fun or totally gross, depending on how drunk you are. Tonight, just about everyone is drunk. Tiny soap bubbles that have been shot through a thick rubber hose into a mesh tent outside the bar cling to dozens of dancing. Thus attired, they fall into one another, spilling drinks.

They make out. A few of them dry-hump while doing the grind. There is a metal go-go cage in which a group of Duke girls clad in tiny denim skirts and halters perform a modified pole dance, but no one seems to be watching. Bad techno-rap music pulses, the dance floor throbs. Away from this hedonistic stew, tucked in a corner of the bar, some of the men of the Duke University lacrosse team — the ones legally able to drink, anyway — are doing shots.

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There are maybe a dozen of them: big-shouldered, handsome guys in clean polo shirts, khaki shorts and baseball caps. Depending on which side of the story you believe, three members of this team — none of whom are at Shooters tonight — may or may not have raped a black twenty-seven-year-old single mother hired to strip for a frat party in March, at the start of spring break. DNA tests have been run on the team.

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The tests came out negative. Nevertheless, two young men have been indicted; a third would be indicted a month later. Since the story broke in March, lacrosse parents have descended upon Durham in support of their sons, ing forces with a dozen or so lawyers representing members of the team — including Robert Bennett, who defended Bill Clinton during the Lewinsky scandal, hired as a consultant.

The national media have arrived, en masse, and have set up a permanent base camp in Durham. But yet, here at Shooters, surrounded by a horde of drunken, writhing students, the objects of all this attention — the Duke lacrosse team — are trying to forget all that. They are pounding beers, exchanging high-fives and throwing their arms around one another in brotherly, inebriated affection. A pretty, tomboyish twenty-one-year-old wearing jeans and a T-shirt, Sarah smiles, knowingly. They beam, throwing their he back in laughter, and glom onto the players, whose focus is largely on one another.

This is a coup. But women understand. Not sex in its nitty-gritty, anatomical sense, but more in the collective sense: sex as a sport, as a way of life, as a source of constant self-scrutiny and self-analysis. The boys, they add, were the kinds of guys who could get any girl they wanted. This retro view of rape is surprising. We have come, as a culture, to see rape, or even the suspicion of rape, as a violent crime that usually elicits a huge outcry from women.

In Durham, there have been a of protests and vigils spearheaded by women — but largely women from the town itself, not Duke students. Nona Farahnik, for example, a sophomore who lives in the Edens 2C dorm, decided to hang a huge banner reading we support Duke Lacrosse: Innocent until proven guilty out of her dorm window, after her friends and fellow dorm mates Collin Finnerty and Reade Seligmann were indicted on April 17th.

It was as if the endless discussion about sexual equality these women had been subjected to growing up had resulted in an almost abstract view of the topic. Now, these girls, too, can have sex — with whomever they choose and whenever they might want it, in a of ways, without even thinking about what it all means. That men and women play on an even sexual playing field is a given … or should be. N aomi and her friend Anna hang out at the Nasher Museum of Art, a modernist structure on the Duke campus. It has an outdoor cafe that serves wilted-lettuce and strawberry sal, along with endless rounds of iced coffee and Diet Coke; people sit there all day to get a tan.

An art-history major, she is cultured, has traveled widely and speaks multiple languages. Naomi grew up in a traditional Jewish home in California. A passionate Zionist, she was a straight-A student in high school and is outspoken when it comes to issues she cares about: campus racism, her hatred of political correctness and her staggering of friends people attended her last birthday party. A casual, T-shirt-and-sundress kind of girl, she has long black hair and is addicted to her Razr and her retro Marc Jacobs shades. They take a seat at a table close to ours and order a carafe of white wine.

Both young men, one of whom talks in a suave English accent, are dressed identically in slouchy deer jeans and freshly pressed button-down shirts. Sex at Duke is a sport most students participate in, on some level or another. They also tend to get as much as they give, at least according to Duke men. Nor has a guy ever bought her a drink. But this culture has its downsides, say some students. Or at least boys do, she believes. Girls fake it. Among Naomi and her friends, a certain weariness creeps in when discussing the whole scene. She sighs. But maybe not as much as some of her friends, she adds.

Girls, like boys, tell gross jokes. That was a fun activity. This is a deadly serious activity at Duke, which is ranked the fifth-most-competitive college in the country by U. News and World Report.

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Like Naomi and Anna, Allison and her friends are formidable young women. All were straight-A students in high school who played one, if not three, sports. All are stylish and popular. And all have impressive goals: Sarah, a talented writer, hopes to be a journalist and has already been published in national magazines; Kasey, who like many of Sex at Duke her classmates was considering investment banking, has changed her focus to consulting.

Allison, poised, focused and meticulously well-groomed, wants to work in law. Right now, though, these girls — like Naomi and Anna — are members of the most social segment of the Duke population. The girls have just woken up. The girls partied late last night, as they do every weekend — and most nights during the week as well.

Having double or even triple academic focuses is typical at Duke, where students study roughly four hours per day, on top of their classes. Or at least girls do. The others shrug. They work so much harder — spending two hours at the gym trying to look good, and eating salmon. The women laugh. They dumb it down. Which is upsetting, she adds, because she and her friends tend to look down upon the boys at Duke.

Allison looks at her friends. I was not brought up in that kind of environment. The fact they ed a sorority is evidence that they feel a need to be labeled a part of a large group of attractive girls in order to feel good about themselves. In turn, these delightful young ladies deal with their massive insecurity by getting fucked by frat boys. Lucky for us guys, frat boys treat sorority girls like shit.

All of this le to unhappy, insecure girls all fighting to get rammed by someone of status. The goal, for the men of Delta Sig, is to get their would-be pledges as wasted as possible, by having the thirty or so women in attendance douse them in massive amounts of alcohol, and then encourage them, in various suggestive and often sexual ways, to pledge.

One of the themes was Dazed and Confused — a reference to the Richard Linklater movie set in a high school in the s, in which the seniors relentlessly haze the freshmen while getting totally wasted themselves. The girls wore short-shorts, tight, low-cut T-shirts and whistles. The girls awaited the freshmen, who, dressed only in their boxers, were led into their room by some Delta Sig brothers. The girls had props: whipped cream, chocolate syrup, baby bottles, pacifiers. Girls poured shots of chocolate syrup on one another and smeared their chests with whipped cream.

Then they made the boys lick it off. On the one hand, this was a powerful experience for the girls — they got to dominate the boys for a change. On the other hand, it was all done at the direction of the boys, for whom the party was deed. Loud enough for neighbors to complain, it was broken up by cops after about an hour.

Anna, for example, sees it as powerful.

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But North Buchanan, until about two months ago, escaped the buyout and remained a top party house. The girls were fine with it. Look what I did — I scored. Sullivan finds the idolization of the lacrosse players mystifying. I mean, honestly. As if on cue, a pair of gorgeous girls, one blonde, one brunette, show up dressed in tight jeans, pashmina shawls, gold jewelry and pearls. The women approach, and then leave a few minutes later with two boys who were sitting near us on the patio.

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