The big bang, a.k.a. pigs are bastards

Two days ago when I was walking my dog, I got picked up by a woman. As I identify as a heterosexual woman, this threw me for a bit of a loop. Not only because this gorgeous woman was apparently into me when I was wearing Uggs and a ketchup-stained t-shirt, but because she successfully got my number before I even realized which way was up.

I’m serious; she had insane amounts of game—it took this girl two minutes to do what would take a guy at least a half hour of steady eye contact and hair flipping. Thank god we were in a dog park on a Monday morning or god knows what she could have seduced me into.

Now to be clear, though I do identify as heterosexual, I am completely open to being compromised or challenged. What I really am is “confisexual,” because I am attracted to confidence and it doesn’t matter what you’re rocking downstairs. If this woman wants to bend me over and make me see god, who am I to stop her?

Which might be the key to sex in general: as long as you’re confident and open, you’re doing it right. There’s no finite way to define sexuality, except to say that the boundaries exist where you create them. So, if you’re secretly hungering to try it on with someone who doesn’t fit your own expectations for yourself, maybe that means you have to change your expectations.

If you realize you really want to try a sex toy that you publicly scoff at with your friends, so what? Maybe you want to try a certain position that makes you either more assertive or passive than you would normally expect yourself to be. That’s awesome. You are an individual. It is your nature and your right to be susceptible to change. Throw on that leather facemask, remember your safe word, and go to town.

Sexuality frequently gets caught up in labels and restrictions. “I am this sexuality and I only have sex with this type of person who is into X, Y, and Z.” Which is great, and if you’re happy where you’re at, I commend you. But don’t you deserve to have a truly phenomenal experience in bed? It’s what your mom told you about vegetables: how are you going to know if you don’t try?

Grab your fork and stuff your face with broccoli. Don’t let expectation weigh you down. You’re responsible for your own enjoyment, so go out and get it done. Experiment because you deserve to. This is not limited to age, but if you need the young and stupid excuse, university is the perfect time to take advantage of it. To paraphrase a friend of mine, life is too damn long to spend having mediocre sex. Pigs have orgasms that last 30 minutes, so get porking and give the bastards a run for their money.

As the eternal educator (and, I’m betting, kink fanatic) Ms. Frizzle would say, “Take chances, get messy, and make mistakes.” The only one who’s allowed to judge you based on your sexual choices is you. And if any whiny Arnolds out there try to ruin your groove, you have my permission to send those motherfuckers back to whatever judgmental old school they came from. Nobody wanted that wimp on the bus anyway.

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