Love: As a famous femme fatal singer once said, “What’s love go to do with it? (Got to do with it? Got to do with it?)”
Well, that’s easy: everything.
Just kidding. Actually, sometimes love has zilch to do with it. And then there are those times when you think, “Yeah, maybe there is love happening here instead of just sex.” But also, sometimes you’re wrong. Don’t forget how every now and then things feel so certain in the moment, right before they are not. Plus, other times things work out. It’s all a matter of fate, really.
Unless, of course, you do not believe in fate, because then you totally control your own destiny. There is nothing called chance, not even while flipping a penny. You crazy, gravity-and-penny-spins-controlling thing, you. Those people who totally dig fate must hate starting soccer matches with you.
Sex, on the other hand, is way easy to figure out. By gynecologists’ standards, it occurs when a penis enters the vagina. I know this because once a girlfriend of mine asked the doctor to define it for her when answering whether or not she was “sexually active.” Sexual intercourse is easy, obviously, because so many movies are made about it and so many people do it.
Plus, everyone defines sex exactly the same.
People who are celibate or are waiting until marriage have a perfect set-in-stone code for exactly how far they are willing to go before it is called S-E-X. All the rules have been discussed at weekly virgin meetings.
If you are still reading this, hopefully you can smell my sarcasm now.
Love and sex are not easy things. They are not the same for every breathing human being. A quick warning: The non-breathing human beings are not allowed to have sex — that is called necrophilia and is illegal. But figuring sex and love out can be some good-old-fashioned, down-and-dirty fun.
And I want to learn more too. And then share with you guys because I think you are cool. Plus, I feel bad for you. Not really, but I will help you the best I can anyways. I will seek out experts, make embarrassing phone calls, explore sex parties (for toys, not orgies) and talk to people like you. Maybe even exactly you, because again, I pity you.
Please do not email stupid fake questions about how your cat humped a Mason jar and you kind of liked it and now you are worried you might be cat- curious. I see right through your shenanigans.
But do send me questions about bodies, toys, feelings, mistakes and worries and I will do my best to soothe your vexed, sexy souls. Promise. Cross my fingers, hope to die — I would love to be your solo girl sex columnist. With that, I am keeping the name BedPost, because not only is it perfectly concocted for full cheesiness and pun, but also because I am building a brand. Follow BedPost on Twitter and like it on Facebook; I like new friends.
P.S. Alex Bill is still alive. He is just too super busy to be my male partner in crime this year. Also, he said he does not really love you guys as much as I do. (For legal purposes: He did not actually say that, but I could see it in his eyes. He wears freaky word-covered contact lenses. This is all a joke.)
sd476308@ohiou.edu
