SEXIS WRONG

use the Institute’s resources myself while researching a book
about the sexual revolution. Anybody engaging in serious research
about the topic of sex in general, or the commercial
porn industry in particular, would benefit hugely from the Archive.
It’s an incredible storehouse of knowledge and history.
But it is not open to the public. I’ve asked various individuals
from the fields of academic scholarship, museums, and
journalism, and the verdict is the same: The Institute is very
proprietary, and if you see any of it at all, you’re extremely
lucky.
According to one person who has been inside the warehouses,
materials are still not catalogued or archived. Boxes
and film containers are piled high, moldering with neglect,
patrolled by platoons of spiders. There is potentially millions
of dollars’ worth of material here, which could be sold, published,
put on exhibit in an art show or film festival. But outside
of very occasional specific projects, there are no immediate
plans for any of it. It’s a dubious end to the career output
of sexual pioneers like John Holmes, Seka, Traci Lords, and
countless others.
Boxes and film containers are
piled high, moldering with neglect,
patrolled by platoons of spiders.
The room looks straight from 1973: brown shag carpeting,
orange walls, and dozens of large, embroidered pillows. My
quest to glimpse the Archive has led me to the Institute’s
SAR Room (Sexual Attitude Restructuring), where for seven
days students watch visuals and listen to lectures. On the
final day, students are subjected to the Institute’s most controversial
educational tool, a 45-minute multimedia barrage
called the Fuck-A-Rama. Culled from the Archive, the audiovisual
assault covers every conceivable sexual behavior, from
masturbation to gay, bisexual, transgender, bondage, bestial
delights, whatever. The purpose is for students to discover
their own “buttons,” or personal limits.
“I advise everyone to have this experience every two years,”
Howard Ruppel says calmly, as I stare at the arsenal of video
and slide projectors. “We cover everything—animals, elephants.
I’ve been in this business for 30 years, but when I
see a fist in another man’s ass up to the elbow...” He chuckles
and shakes his head, revealing his buttons may well have
something to do with fists. Or elephants. I’m here today because
Howard has asked me to deliver a three-hour lecture.
Lounging on the pillows are about fifteen students, aged from
twenties to fifties, looking back at me. This is the same lecture
series that Allen Ginsberg, Alex The Joy of Sex Comfort,
Gore Vidal, and a host of distinguished scholars have participated
in. I’ve written a pop-culture book about the sexual
revolution. Either the Institute considers my work significant,
or they’ve reached the bottom of the list. I ask the students
what the Fuck-A-Rama is like.
“Scorched earth,” chuckles one guy.
“I had to change my underwear,” says a woman from Minnesota.
“You dream about it for three or four months,” says another
woman. “It’s headspinning.”
“I’ve seen three or four,” declares a young guy named Michael,
whose career ambition is to become a porn director.
“They change it a bit each time.”
I plow through material from my book and, to eat up time, encourage
the students to interrupt with questions at any time.
They perk up at my experience as an extra (clothed) in the
film Dog Walker, by veteran porn director John Leslie. At one
point, as the crew readjusted lights, Leslie had announced
to everyone on the set: “Over in Germany, they can shit on
people, but they can’t pull the hair!” After this is read aloud,
a roar of laughter erupts from an adjoining room, where the
Institute’s faculty is watching the lecture from a monitor.
We talk about censorship, Monica Lewinsky, a dubious
erectile device called the Accu-Jack. And then the question
comes: Have you ever covered bestiality? I admit that yes, in
my checkered past in underground publishing, I have been
exposed to a certain film from Argentina, wherein a group
of young couples go to visit a zoo and fool around with the
animals. “It’s actually from Brazil,” corrects a
voice from the back of the room. Another student
in the front row adds that it’s not uncommon
for young Brazilian actors to get their start
in bestiality films. I thank them and realize it’s exactly as every
teacher says: Education truly does work both ways.
We wrap it up, and a young man presents me with a ballpoint
pen, commemorating the Institute’s twenty-fifth anniversary.
A girl from South Africa dives into the pillows, laughing, as
other students toss pillows on top of her and jump onto the
pile like a litter of puppies. I linger on my way out to poke a
finger into one of the embroidered cushions.
“There’s all kinds of jokes about dry-cleaning these,” chuckles
Howard. “We try to keep the orgies to a minimum.”
Several times I ask if I can be given a tour of one of the Archive’s
warehouses, and each time I’m greeted with a polite
brush-off. It’s clear that this is the heart of the Institute and
86 EVERYTHING YOU KNOW ABOUT SEX IS WRONG