‘Sex is a lot like lasagne’: Tim Sujak’s modern guide to sex.

Words by Tim Sujak.

SEX.

Now that I have your attention – Sex. Let’s talk about it.

Sex is a lot like lasagne: when you’re having it, it’s not bad. Pretty good, actually… but no big deal, I s’pose. When you’re not having it, you’re made acutely aware of what you’re missing out on. And the longer you have to wait between meals, the hungrier you become until all you can think about is slipping between those sheets and…

Excuse me, I need a cigarette.

Sex, or more accurately, the fantastically broad idea of sex, is something us twenty-somethings simply cannot escape. It turkey-slaps us not-so-lovingly across the face everywhere we look—sex is on TV, it’s in movies, in songs and on the radio and you best believe it’s on the Internet (or so I’ve heard. I’ve never actually seen it… hoooonest). Sex is even on the sides of buses (sometimes it’s even in buses, if you’re paying close attention).

All serving us a friendly reminder that having sex, getting sex, pursuing sex IS THE SINGLE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN OUR LIVES – something everyone who’s not having sex at this very moment is sure to understand. But there are also a number of rules and technicalities when it comes to sex.

Even if you’re having sex, it’s fair to say that society is quick to hammer home the fact that you could be having more of it.

Hell, you should be having more of it. And with better quality partners, too. Just get them to buy certain products that can help emulate a predetermined, culturally-defined, ever-changing standard of beauty and you’ll be on your way to better living in no time! Why?

Because you’re worth it. Maybe they’re born with it? Maybe it’s consumerism!

But this is where shit gets complicated. Did you know you can actually have too much sex? It’s called ‘being a slut’/female who possesses total agency regarding her sex life and it’s not very Raven at all. In fact, ‘being a slut’/female who chooses to have sex whenever she wants with whomever she wants without consulting the proper authorities is one of the worst things you can be as a woman.

I guess the closest equivalent for men is called, um, ‘being a male’.

According to my limited knowledge regarding the ‘slutius whoremus’ species, a slut is basically a woman whose sexual appetite mirrors that of the general, stereotypical man.

I’d say I’m pretty average, but I ain’t no slut, hoe. I could be thirsty, or a playa, maybe even a manwhore. But I wonder how many people I’d have to sleep with for those ‘badges of honour’ to get thrown at me.

So, on one hand, we have red-blooded men – a problematic stereotype that doesn’t get much attention, and on the other slutty women, a particularly sticky label with an undeniable negative connotation, no matter how many slutwalks you partake in or walks of shame you stride-with-pride on. Two groups that might act in similar fashion but are called two different things because… Society? Self-worth? The Patriarchy? Perhaps values regarding the individual?

If being a slut is bad, then who are all these studly men having regular sex with? Other studly men? The same girl? Maybe there’s some sort of communal love doll guys take turns with, meeting up every night under the cover of darkness, so as not to sully their reputations by sleeping with a girl who acts like they do.

Maybe I’m just 100% jel that I’m not getting laid as much as I’d like to be (Answer: 24/7, 365, HELP ME, MY PELVIS IS BROKEN).

If I could, I’d totally be a stud: I’d go around, studding it up, boning this way and that, humping my way downtown – thrusting fast, faces pass, annnnnnd I’m done now. It’d be great until my arm fell off from all the high-fives I’d be getting. And I’m pretty sure that if I were a girl, I’d totally be a slut, too. I’d go around, slutting this way and that, whoring it up all the tramp-long day. It’d be great until I committed suicide from a total lack of self-worth because I didn’t play along with the strict guidelines that were delicately laid out for me at Human Orientation Day the second I was born.

Because girls have it, and guys want it. If girls give it up, they lose; if guys get it, they win. If love is a battlefield, then sex is a fucking war (STDs are landmines).

“See, Tim”, those studs might say, “just because I have sex with someone I believe to be lesser than me, that doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m denigrating myself by doing so. It’s all about power and getting what I want from them at their expense.”

“Sure”, I’d say “but now I’m really confused: if having sex with sluts is all about power, if the object is to divide and conquer, does it matter, then, if the conquest was all too easy and over all too quickly?  How can a conquest be valued if it was nothing more than a hump-and-run? Wouldn’t a strong relationship be the ultimate conquest? Long-term romantic and sexual satisfaction and fulfilment?

One night stands would just be guerrilla warfare, according to conquest logic, no? What if you sucked and it was really embarrassing and she regrets it more than you ever could?

Does it matter if some notches weren’t as attractive as the others? What if it was only a small notch? Can a notch be too big? Is there a committee? Nobody said anything about a committee.” And then I’d have to stop talking because the person behind me at the drive-thru would start up their little impatient honk symphony.

I need another cigarette.

Hmm. Okay. Right. So as much as you should bone (and be boned) by anybody in splatter distance (goggles, people!), you also shouldn’t be boning (or being boned) too much.

Makes sense. No biggie: just have the recommended daily dose of bonage. Simple, really. Also, don’t be too quick to give it up, guys and girls. Don’t be a frigid Richard or a prudie Trudy.

But ALSO, don’t wait too long.

Tricky.

Just wait the perfect amount of time (consult with any rom-com and plan your moves accordingly). Got all that? Good. Because there’s more.

Don’t think for second, though, that you can have sex with just about anybody – only a select few are deserving of physical love and sexual gratification. Before experiencing the throes of passion with your desired unsuspecting victim, be sure to check the Nationally Accredited Roster of Approved Sexual Partners to see if their name is registered on that list as a licensed, formally recognised fornicating machine. For your clitoral convenience and penis-based peace of mind, I’ll run through the entirety of that list now…

Finally, ribbed for your pleasure, here are some of my tried and true sex tips:
*TRIGGER WARNING*: This list might touch on sensitive and potentially upsetting material such as ‘consent’ and ‘mutually-assured destruction’. Let’s get on with it (the tips, I mean – I really only like you as a friend).

  • Contrary to what anybody will tell you EVER, there is only one right way to have sex. If you’re not doing it the right, government-sanctioned way, you’re doing it the wrong way, and that means there’s something seriously wrong with you. And ISIS/Al-Qaeda/the terrorists/global warming wins.
  • Lubrication is key, so make sure to thoroughly baste all the necessary areas (i.e. your entire body). This will ensure that you literally slip through the crack of any and every predefined notion of ‘proper’ sexuality (see above).
  • As much as sex is like a lasagne, it’s also a conversation between two bodies. Be sure to keep lines of communication open between you and your partner/s by checking in with them through all means of social networking at your disposal. This includes geo-tagging their vagina and posting memes of their boner on Facebook.
  • Never take random sex advice from your friends, parents, or partners, and DEFINITELY don’t take any notice of your own emotions or desires. Instead, carefully study every piece of external information regarding sex (especially articles that appear in magazines that charge you for this precious information), collate it within a giant binder, and consult it each and every time you attempt to shove your genitals into someone’s day (or have genitals shoved into your day).
  • Always practice safe sex by booby-trapping your bits. Barbed wire and landmines work wonders and they’re sure to spice things up in ze boudoir/your bedroom within the romantic confines of the family home!

Tim Sujak is a boneriffic, lovemaking guru (obviously) who employs words to coerce you into doing things you might not normally do… like spending the day helping him get back his lunch from that tough, one-eyed pigeon that hangs around the car park at Harvey Norman – (I wish that were a double entendre or a euphemism; that pigeon legitimately has my sandwich. I think he’s their leader).

You can read Tim’s other piece for The 20s Diary here.

Want to write for The 20s Diary? Send us an email to the20sdiary@gmail.com and tell us what makes you a fabtastic, magistical bean (also include some of your writing, obvs). We’ll see you there, pal.

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