I firmly believe in the idea of living out loud. In light of this fact, I rarely mince words. I hardly bite my tongue. I like what I like and I say what I think and I careth not what people think about it. At this point, my friends wholeheartedly embrace my crazy and are hardly surprised by what may or may not come out of my mouth at any given moment, especially when it comes to my sex life. What is TMI? What is a filter? What is discretion? I have no idea. The details are the best part, right?!
Men seem to both know and relish in this idea. The more they can tell their bros about the “girl from the bar the other night”, the better. What she was wearing. What she wasn’t wearing. Any..umm..special talents she had. What they did. How many times they did it. When they plan to do it again.
It’s all par for the course, no?
I suppose when it comes to sex, I prescribe to something like an “act like a lady, think like a man” mentality. I take great pride in, and make zero apologies for, the rites of womanhood that makes sex an indispensable and extremely pleasurable part of my life. But I also have no reservations about sharing the details of my sexcapades with my friends. Well, some of them. Maybe it’s just me, but I find that talking openly about sex with my guy friends tends to have some unintended outcomes:
- They assume that it means I want to have sex with them. Down, little penis. This V is not for you. Run off and play somewhere else.
- They volunteer me as tribute for a threesome with their girlfriends. Slow ya roll, pleighboi. I’m sharing my experiences, not offering my services.
- They are genuinely surprised that women openly enjoy and discuss sex. Sir. Who do you think is on the other end of your bucking bronco, a freaking blow-up doll?! Sex is just as important to us as it is to you.
- You become one of the bros. Please, God, just…no.
It’s no secret that there’s a double standard when it comes to men and women and their respective takes on the sex. But I vote for a world in which we can all speak about it together without shit getting weird, you feel me? Ladies (and gents), in the words of the incomparable Missy Elliot, get ya freak on. Get ya freak on, Getcha-getcha-getcha-getcha-getcha freak on.