Sex on Tuesday

If anything, I’d love to see my reflection, just up on the ceiling like in those Vegas love motels — it might even turn me on.

If we’re in doggy, does it mean he thinks my face is ugly? I can’t ride for too long, otherwise he’ll see my belly pooch. In missionary, my boobs start to fall to the side, so I either have to put my arms above my head or find a way to push them together.

In my opinion, the only “Roman Empire” that exists for all women is the constant fear of experiencing sexual violence and sexual harassment, or SVSH. It’s ceaseless. 

The minute I tell someone my salacious thoughts and needs, sex becomes far too personal. I don’t want my sexual partners to know me, I just want them to f*** me.

It is also almost impossible to hide what you really look like from your significant other. At some point, you hang out with them so much that they see your bed head, smell your morning breath and choose to kiss you good morning regardless. 

When you prioritize yourself and your future above all else — as, in my opinion, all people my age should — you become extremely self-aware of your boundaries regarding love. 

Once I started realizing these foundational cracks, I began wondering what my life would be like without him. In fact, I fantasized about it.

While these relationships are fulfilling in the short term, they succumb to challenges regarding power dynamics and personal growth. 

Our culture puts so much hopeful-romantic emphasis on the “life-changing” lover, but I think that we can pull the curtain back on that — yes, our romantic partners can give us new experiences, but where do the newfound perceptions on life and love we procure from them really come from? 

I fear that there has been too much commentary in this column as of late, so I am going to take this week to just tell a fun summer sex story.