The Truth about Single Girls, Sex, and Dating

When it comes to sex, most single girls have a “minimum number of dates” policy. Three, five, seven, whatever; it all boils down to an arbitrary Sluttiness Avoidance Number: the number of dates after which a girl feels that she can reasonably consent to sex without being considered a tramp.

I’ve never understood the numbers game. You wouldn’t wait seven dates to find out if a guy has a job, or if he lives with his parents. Why wait seven dates to determine bedroom compatibility?

Sexual ineptitude is a deal breaker, just like drug addiction, psychosis, cannibalism, snoring, and Yankees fandom. Getting busy right away can save a whole mess of heartache down the road. If a guy is awful in bed, don’t you want to know before you’re emotionally invested?

Women will tell you that sex-delaying tactics are useful for ensuring that a guy isn’t looking for a booty call, but that seems counterintuitive. Want to know the quickest way to figure out if a guy is just in it for the sex? Have sex with him. If he sticks around, he’s interested in a relationship. And if he bails, well hey, at least you got some sex.

But no. Instead women torture themselves and their potential partner for weeks, sometimes months, before finally taking the plunge. Great strategy. So rather than hooking up right away and quickly determining the guy’s a freak, these girls draw out the whole charade so that by the time they finally learn the truth they’re already picking out wedding napkins.

If I start thinking a girl has relationship potential, having sex becomes more urgent, not less. I want to know up front that she exhibits proper hygiene, doesn’t have a third nipple, isn’t going to try anything shady under the sheets. And if she happens to be into any kinky sexual shenanigans—particularly anything illegal or potentially traumatizing—I want to know asap.

Speaking of which, I advocate a sexual full-disclosure policy. I’m an open-minded guy, so in all likelihood I’m cool with whatever crazy-ass fetishes a woman might be harboring, but if I’m going to be wearing assless chaps and a snorkel for any reason, there will be discussion on the subject. Oh, and I would appreciate the opportunity to provide feedback before objects of any kind are inserted into my various orifices (orifi?). Thanks in advance.

Anyway, sex is important. It’s not the *most* important thing, but it can make or break a budding relationship. So quit with the delaying tactics, ladies. You’re not doing yourselves—or us—any favors.

Tangent: Loopholes

My struggles with monogamy are well documented. Whichever part of the human brain controls fidelity…um, yeah. I don’t have that part. But despite my handicap, I still harbor the same aspirations as everyone else. I want the kids, the wife, the dog, the mountain of crushing debt. The American dream.

Thankfully, I believe I may have found a loophole to monogamy. There’s this game lots of couples play, you might have heard of it. It’s called the get-out-of-jail-free game. And it’s appropriately named, because this game is my ticket out of relationship prison.

The concept is simple. Each partner creates a list of celebrities he/she finds irresistible. If by some miraculous end-of-days scenario the opportunity arises for a member of the relationship to have sex with someone on the list, the understanding is that he/she is allowed to do so without fear of repercussions.

Most couples view this game as a whimsical diversion, but that’s because they lack vision. Not me. I have a strategy.

The trick is to exploit the ambiguity inherent in the term “celebrity.” I’ll give you an example. Brad Pitt is a celebrity. I’d wager he shows up fairly often on these lists. And ladies, I hate to break it to you: you’re not going to hook up with Brad Pitt. He’s a terrible choice.

But what about that studly local weatherman from Channel 5 news? He’s a celebrity, sort of. And a hell of a lot more attainable than Brad Pitt. In fact, you might run into him at the grocery store or the mall. You might coincidentally bump into him outside of his apartment after googling his address. Things happen. It’s a small world.

I’ve been working on my list for approximately 6 months now. It currently reads like a who’s-who of bangable quasi-celebrities located within a 25-mile radius from my house.


1. That cougar from the local-access cooking show.

2. The hot Latina reporter from nightly news at 11.

3. The bartender who works Friday nights at Castaways (hey, she’s famous in my neighborhood for drink-making prowess. You don’t know).

The only challenge I foresee is that I’m eventually going to have to submit this list to an as-yet undetermined significant other for approval. And since I don’t plan to marry an idiot, it’s going to be a hard sell. I’ll have to lobby vigorously for each of my choices.

I’m feeling confident, though. I can be very persuasive. I’ve been told I have a winning smile, and really, why would my mom lie?

Wish me luck…