I ran into a pal I hadn’t seen in a while this weekend, and he had some big news.

He’d… I ran into a pal I hadn’t seen in a while this weekend, and he had some big news.

He’d joined “the club.”

He told me I would be so proud — and I sure was.

When I’m out and about in Oakland, my conversations, even with new acquaintances, turn to sex rather often. People I’ve just met are often willing to delve into their sexual idiosyncrasies with me at the drop of a hat. I get into sudden, prurient discussions with curiosity-seekers, wannabe Casanovas and disapproving tut-tutters. It’s an interesting side effect of being a sex columnist, and, for the most part, I welcome it.

Of all the bizarre things I hear, there is one inquiry I get far and away the most often. It’s apparently the pinnacle of Pitt students’ sex lives, or at least the one they aspire to most commonly.

What is it about a certain 42-story, historic — and suspiciously phallic — landmark on campus that inspires such flights of sexual fancy?

Are you in “the club” — the Cathedral club?

I can, with complete certainty, confirm at least three cases of sweet love being made in the Cathedral of Learning. Several unconfirmed cases remain in the realm of speculation and urban legend. But, if in my stint at Pitt, I can confirm three instances, think of how many there must have been since the building was dedicated in 1937.

The numbers have to be staggering!

There’s something about having sex in places you go every day for the most mundane reasons that really holds the attention. A common fantasy I hear is pushing aside all the pens and paper clips and in- and out-boxes and giving or getting a proper rogering, right there on the desk at work.

Then there’s the desire to defile a place that seems holy. The Cathedral has an air of sanctity about it, and, at least during finals, a lot of prayers probably get said there.

So people are getting it on there fairly often, and, if my highly scientific research — people coming up to me at bars and saying, “Hey, you’re that sex girl!” followed by a slurred dissertation on their sex lives — is any indication, those that aren’t, wish they were.

Now, as one of the most uptight and puritanical people I know, I could never ever sanction anyone getting naked on University property. Stop laughing! I’m not going to tell anyone to go do it in the Cathedral, nor will I tell them how.

I’m not going to point out that the building is open 24 hours. I’m not going to mention how many little ferret holes there are, how many twists and turns make up that maze of academia. I shan’t allude to the breathtaking and romantic views that the higher floors afford. Nor will I mention that having had sex in the Cathedral automatically makes you cooler.

Nope, that’s up to you to figure out. If you are in the club, I’d love to hear about it, and maybe the best stories I get will be published. Have you tried and failed? That, you have got to tell me about.

There’s a tiny, tiny catch though. There have been some technical difficulties with my clever and easy-to-recall e-mail address, [email protected]. So, if you want to reach me with tales of Cathedral coitus, or if you’ve tried sending any questions at all over the past few weeks, e-mail me at [email protected]. That’s key, folks, otherwise I won’t receive it. Hopefully now we can get back on track, and I can resume getting deluged with your details.

Melissa Meinzer will neither confirm nor deny that she was one of the three cases of Cathedral sex she knows about. E-mail her at [email protected].