I almost was a sex columnist

I got an email from a friend about a magazine I won't name looking for a new sex columnist. Aware of my researches in the "field" - chronicled on this blog during the summer of '05 - and my interest in getting a paying gig as a writer, she sent it to me, hoping I would apply. I did, and was contacted & asked to write a sample article about "performance". The instructions were vague, so I basically wrote what I felt like writing. I was later told that the editorial team absolutely wanted the sex columnist to be a girl, perhaps to stick to the usual practice of papers such as the Mirror and Hour. So here's the unpublished piece.



I might be a depraved, oversexed fiend, and an obsessed one-track mind loaded with testosterone, but at least I know how to perform. Sort of. Here’s a public confession : when I first initiate an intimate encounter with a new girl, I always have some trouble getting it up. And booze doesn’t help. It might be a pretty good panty remover, but vodka sure isn’t Viagra.

With performance often comes anxiety, and once it's there, you're screwed. Not your partner. Ironic that the thought of not performing so often prevents you from actually achieving something, isn't it ? An erection can be so ephemeral, so fragile, almost like a porn star candle in the wind. We all know what happens to the hardest studs once the camera starts rolling : they turn from steel to butter in a matter of seconds.



Far from porn, in the confort of your own bed, what could possibly make it difficult to use your sexual skills to their maximum effect ? Could it be the fear of what this new « partner » will tell her friends as soon as she walks out of your place the following morning ? The authentic eagerness to explore a new body ? Afraid of being judged unjustly, or of not getting a second chance ? With all the one-night stands and multiple sex partners of our current urbanity, I have to say the competition is fierce.

A local saying suggests that « if you can’t get laid in Montreal 15 minutes after getting out of your plane, there’s something wrong with you ». Does this saying encourage flirting with taxi drivers or engaging in bathroom sex with complete strangers at the Pierre-Elliot Trudeau airport ?

Peer pressure and modern legends often add up to the possible psychological burden you might find yourself faced with, should you be at the beginning of your sexual awakening. I remember my first few rounds of « making out », under a bridge in Shawinigan. Having dozed through most of my sex education courses at school, and never having seen any pornography before, I had no idea what a vagina looked like beyond the usually hairy pubis, and was left rubbing aimlessly, with the distress of a housewife trying to assemble an Ikea desk without looking at the instructions. Fast-forward a few years later and there I was, my cock in a girl’s mouth, unsure if I was supposed to warn her I was about to cum. The moral dilemma quite often turned in my head to the point that it made me lose my erection, which was always followed by tons of questions like « Am I this bad ? ».



I often asked myself the same question, after I lost my virginity in the dark of my living room, following an intercourse that lasted about 20 seconds. How can something so simple be so complicated ? Having sex doesn’t require a PhD. Once you know the basics, it shouldn’t take too long to improvise and learn the rest, no ?

But sex is almost a science, and being submitted to a new, blooming relationship is like passing a test. You might try to postpone the inevitable by pretending you’re not yet ready, or the sex can comme almost immediately, fueled by booze and hormones, and really suck. You can be surprised by the sudden compatibility, or try to get it over with while counting the stars. Your new partner can be eager & sleazy, or boring and inadventurous. It’s like throwing the dice, really. You never know which number you’ll be stuck with.



For some guys, wondering if a girl is clitoridian or vaginal takes away the fun. Others see it as a challenge and don’t want to know right away, like courageous explorers of the unknown. It’s a question of philosophy, I guess.

I wish I could say that performance anxiety often disappears with age and experience, but I’m way too young to make that assumption. It can happen to anybody, any time, and even the most confident individuals can be struck by lightning. We are not immune to insecurity, and obsessing over performance will not solve anything. There’s more to a relationship than animalistic copulation. Should it happen to you, relax : it’s just sex.