(a humorous little quiz with asides, diversions and quippy neo-modern narrative fractals about sex and romance)
INTRODUCTION: WHY IT’S HARD TO BE A HUNK OF BURNING LOVE GODDESS
Have you noticed that among the sexually enlightened class, a loud subset treat relationships and sex and love woes with a similar off-the-rack diagnosis? Some, it would seem, are all too eager to adopt faddish add-water-and-stir psychobabble masquerading as profound, candid insight and include this sap in our repertoire of plush, velvety secrets. Most of the collected rabble has something or other to do with extrapolating how, unbeknownst to little Bruce and little Sarah, that that first terrible kiss (the one everyone suffered) sealed your doomed and unchangeable fate as an Avoider, Pleaser, Vacillator or Controller, this being the sole reason (excuse) you suffer stunted erotic zones or a sex life appreciably less cosmic than desired.
This bright-eyed sincerity about our presumed sexual defects is depressing and hilarious and shockingly conventional. How is it that our beautifully complex erotic arts could be reduced to pre-packaged tips on how many dates you should clock before sex is A-Okay? Three? Or the suggestion and exhibition from Good Morning America type guests that suburban Fraus take up pole dancing or swinging to “spice it up.” Pole dancing lessons $56 per hour, pole not included. Or instruction manuals itemizing the 101 Rules you will never remember for getting sticky on the phone or marrying a billionaire? (Just to be clear: we love getting sticky on the phone.)
Is it possible that the very un-funny, un-fleshy, un-sexy way sexual appetite is diced up and dished out with cookie-cutter aplomb contributes to this sterile conversation?
WE’VE BEEN HYPNOTIZED BY SEXUALLY OPPRESSED ACADEMIC ZOMBIES!
What’s the alternative to the forty plus years of sexual self-help dogma which categorize us into one-size-fits-your-life boxes glowing with blinding white penalty lines you dare not cross without being stamped a degenerate, a deviant, or worse, taunted as a buzz kill? (To our minds, buzz kill is verboten.)
Here’s a story: Melissa tells her good buddy that she wants more sex. Not just more, but fiercely good sex. This is not a sufficient goal, her friend parrots a current talking point. (Melissa’s friend is a “Pleaser.”) You cannot want a bigger, richer, deeper erotic life without the very desire being a psychological problem you’re trying to solve. (“It says so right here.”) And if, healthy freak that you are, you don’t drag around some traumatic memory of a date from hell that permanently blocks you from expressing the Power and the Glory, Amen, of cosmic crashing Big Quaking Os, for shame’s sake, let’s saddle you up with some sexually debilitating suggestions of what could be at issue, or is, right now (you just forgot or it fell out of your head), because, apparently, zesty, guilt-free climaxes that can wake the dead appear only after purging a demon.
These shaky theories have kidnapped reasonably sexually curious adults and run buck wild through the mighty tenured halls of sex studies, stimulating its brainwashed bravura kin: the professional, chirping, opportunistic motivational speakers that make a shekel off selling us how sexually miserable we are. Miserable. In this weird model, Eros is inherently tainted, an idea which has infested the whole clamoring lot of them with the type of anti-erotic, vapid, pseudo sex gibberish that makes getting turned on sound about as sexy as filling out an accident report. The juicy interior of our sexy selves is reduced to Soap Opera choices about Love Languages, spandex and the Goop of conscious (un)coupling.
PLAYING WITH STYLE, OR MAKE A BIG SEXY LAB EXPLOSION
We want to help dismantle the corrosive premise that people are flawed sexual creatures. After several garlic-stuffed olive martinis, a deep dive into the sex and sexuality corpus, including a stack of fairly repressive pop-pysch Twelve-Stepping tomes which encourage the notion of sex and sensuality as a clinical malfunction (!), we propose that the missing constellation, the unifying pleasure principal, the dark forbidden star and sexual secret sauce is all about style. Not your love style but your personal sexy sense and sensibility.
In ten questions and a compilation of asides, diversions and digressions — think collage or literary sample platter — we present a humorous, tongue-in-cheek, sexy personality quiz. With big fat claims!
It will unravel the hidden causes lurking behind years (decades!) of bad dating karma.
Demonstrate with unscientific certainty that poking wicked, delicious fun at our bizarre mating choices will reveal to each reader the devilish sabotaging culprit that keeps romance at large, deep love at bay and really good lip-smacking sex about as common as a unicorn. (Question #7.)
HOW TO USE THIS LITTLE BOOK
Read each question while wearing the skimpiest, sexiest garb you have lying about. Go buy some new panties.
Feel free to change your mind and change your answers. You’re not locked in. In fact, we strongly recommend trying on some ideas that feel a bit outside your — arrgh! We almost said comfort zone. See how this lingo has infected everything! Let’s rework that: Try some flavors outside your hypnotized, favorite, fall-back, robotic, knee-jerk response zone.
There’s no scoring. That’s just vulgar. However, there are some style slots that will give you a decent laugh and a firm spanking. ###
Cavanaugh Bardo is the author of “Snow Vixens.”