Seriously, I can’t keep track of the weekend recaps I’ve heard from my friends who got drunkface and did something with someone that they regret. Whether it’s hooking up with someone inappropriate and disgusting or merely hooking up with someone sooner than expected, alcohol was often the catalyst for Sunday morning woes of despair over brunch. There was recently an article posted on Jezebel that confirmed my suspicions that people often use alcohol as a (wobbly at best) crutch. College culture totally condones drunken sexual shenanigans, and while I don’t want to be all judgmental and conservative, I can’t help but find this trend alarming.

I’m the queen of awkward social interaction, so I totally understand the appeal of drinking until you can’t feel your feelings any more, because it suddenly becomes a lot easier to relate to people. But there’s a difference between having enough drinks to be relaxed, and drinking until you’re making decisions that you don’t even want to associate yourself with. Seeing as how hooking up is intrinsically intimate,  I think it’s something that you should always be capable of consenting to.  The issue of consent is one of extreme importance, because it’s important to be in a state of mind to communicate what you want before miscommunication turns into sexual assault or rape.

On a less heavy note, it’ really doesn’t seem like it’s in anyone’s best interests to consistently engage in behavior they’re ashamed of. It’s not conducive to being happy, and it’s not conducive to feeling pleasure. Sex is complicated and wrought with potential problems, but at the end of the day, sex is supposed to feel good. You shouldn’t feel icky or disgusting. You shouldn’t feel a knot in your stomach. You shouldn’t finish a session and be unable to sleep because you’ve sobered up, realized what you’ve done, and you’re trembling from anxiety and nausea. If you choose to talk about your sexcapades with someone, you shouldn’t use disparaging adjectives to describe how you feel about yourself afterwards. Even if the experience sucked, it should suck because you two were incompatible for whatever reason, not because it wasn’t something you intended or really wanted to do.

I’m not saying that people shouldn’t drink and hookup, or that the only fulfilling life is a sober one. I do think, however, that if you are using anything other than your own desire as an excuse to do something, that’s not okay.

When my boyfriend and I first started dating, we tried a variety of positions to find the ones that we both liked the best. Once we found them, I was way less inclined to be more experimental. And I’m totally okay with it. I like going into sex knowing that I will derive immense pleasure from it. It’s satisfying to know that 99.9 percent of the time, I will orgasm in a certain position, in a certain angle, with a certain amount of thrusting. I like not having to worry about awkward maneuvering because we’re both so familiar with these positions that it comes easily and naturally.

I understand the importance of exploring the various ways you can be turned on, of trying to inject some excitement into an otherwise uninspiring routine. That said, sometimes the reason why you do the same things over and over and over again are because you find them enjoyable and pleasurable, not because you are stuck in a rut.

Occasionally, when my gaze lands upon a Cosmo cover that boasts that of the one zillion ways to please your man, I’m hit with a bit of panic. I wonder if maybe my sex life is dull. I wonder if he’s secretly been dying to put me in the wheelbarrow position in a pool while he’s fingering my butt (or I’m fingering his). I wonder if maybe the fact that I insist my favorite position every single session is tedious and tiresome. But then I realize that sometimes we don’t have routines because we’re stuck in ruts and are afraid of change. Sometimes we have routines because they’re consistently functional and enjoyable.

I’m not sure what it is about the sex advice “industry” is intent on making sex sound so much more complicated than necessary. Like we all have to make it our mission to climb to the peak of some mythical “mindblowing sex” mountain. Everyone has different ideas of what makes great sex, and while I strongly advocate for strong communication and re-examining boundaries,  at the end of the day, if your favorite position is missionary in bed, then good for you! Sex is about mutual pleasure between the parties involved, and if the parties involved are content, then I fail to see the need to recreate every position in the Kama Sutra.

“Good girls always end up single because we don’t give it up.”

A tweet similar to this popped up on my Twitter timeline, and my first reaction was merely to roll my eyes and keep scrolling. But hours later, it continued to haunt me. This attitude that you have to be sexually available in order to get a boyfriend isn’t exactly new. I remember in middle school, the girls who always had a steady stream of boyfriends were always surrounded by the rumors that it’s because they gave blow jobs. Even now, I have friends who constantly attract male attention, and other women speculate that it’s because they’re easier to have sex with, and guys can pick up on this.

I understand how this idea comes to fruition. I don’t agree with it (slut shaming, general hatefulness, and completely ignoring the role men play in gender dynamics are three of my least favorite things), but I get it. Our society’s relationship and conceptualization of female sexuality is weird, at best. We expect women to be pretty, sexually desirable, and comfortable with engaging with sexual activity, but not “excessively” so. There’s also a strand of competitiveness that tends to creep into women’s interactions with other women, and so naturally, if we feel like we’re “losing”, we’re going to be inclined to bash our competition, which doesn’t really do anything for us. Because I mean, while we’re sitting here seething and hating on the girls who may or may not be dirty, slutty whores, they’re still out there, meeting and entrancing guys, while the good girls hang out on the sidelines.

So instead of shaming sluts, let’s talk about the reason why the sluts get the guys. It’s not actually about whether or not their vaginas are open for business. It’s all about attitude. It’s about owning exactly who you are. The thing with “slutty” girls is that they don’t care about the rules. They wear heels as high as they want to, with dresses as short as they want, and they flirt as much as they want to, and they’re not worried about anyone else’s opinion of them. They’re just out there, living life and having fun. That’s attractive. That’s intoxicating. People like being around other people who aren’t bogged down in superficial baggage. You don’t have to be slutty to be attractive. You have to be you.

I’m one of the most awkward women you’d ever meet. I’m bad at making eye contact. I get rambly. Sometimes I say “f*ck” too much. I’d much rather spend my Saturday night laying in bed, eating Smartfood, and watching the Lifetime Movie Network than going out to bars. I trip when I wear my favorite stilettos. And I’m in an awesome relationship with a sexy boy when before I met him, I barely knew how to give a BJ. W is that? Because I came to terms with who I am a long time ago. I’m aware that I’m flawed, that I’ll never be Megan Fox fierce, and I’m content with it. I focus on being the best version of myself, instead of being the “better” version of someone else.

Once you become comfortable with who you are — whether you are a girl who has sex on the first date or a girl who is waiting for marriage, you can get attention from guys (or girls). Just have the confidence to be exactly who you are, and someone will notice.

It’s been hailed as the holy grail of sex: the v-card. Taking someone’s virginity has historically been a much-sought after sexual experience (this is going as far back as Medieval times). The thought of a pure, untouched individual succumbing to your sexual prowess…well, I can see the appeal. However, the build-up in media and society certainly falls short in reality. I should know – I’ve swiped more than my fair share of v-cards.

Remember your first time? It was awkward, sweaty, clumsy, painful and a basic nightmare (at least mine was…). You wonder, why was I so pumped for this? What was everyone hyping about? Then you have some more sex and it gets better. Much better.

Let me tell you – having sex with a virgin is like having sex for the first time…again. Especially if your partner failed to inform you of his v-status. Yeah, it’s personal information, but if you’re about to have sex with someone I think you’re probably past formalities.

So let’s run down the list:

Awkward? Check. You can’t figure out if he’s just terrible at everything, too drunk to function (in some cases), or is actually a virgin. Do you call him out on it? Do you just roll with the situation and hope it gets better? All of these questions are running through your mind, thankfully distracting you from the person fumbling about with your happy bits.

Sweaty? Check. He’s sweating because he’s nervous and inexperienced (And probably a healthy amount of his sweat is on you as well). You’re sweating because if homeboy is not familiar with your lady parts, things could go seriously wrong pretty quickly.

Clumsy? Check. The bra itself can take up to 5 minutes for someone not familiar with either back or front clasp operations. There can be accidental pinching, kicking, biting, head-knocking and tripping. In my experience, there is no other type of sex to have with a virgin other than clumsy sex.

Painful? Check. For him…probably not. For you? Oh yeah. Sexual positions are basically out the window (unless you saddle up and get on top), so you’re left laying there quietly wondering when he’s going to figure out what goes where. No, not those parts (even virgins can figure that out). But legs, arms, hands? Those can be forgotten in the rush and therefore are flopping here and there, willy nilly. And don’t forget about knees, elbows and hipbones. Those suckers hurt.

Nightmare? Check. Unless you studied education and have the patience of a saint, training a virgin is hard work. The payoff can be negligible and it takes forever to get there. However…if you’re one of those special people who made a connection and decided to wait for marriage (or another significant milestone), then the reward will come and it will be worth the wait. You always remember your first time and your first partner; it’s a connection that will stay with you and, if you’re in a long-term relationship with this person, will bring you closer together.

If you’re not in a long-term relationship…then at least you have a story to tell to your friends the next day. And I’ll definitely buy you a drink to commiserate if I ever run into you.

Foreplay doesn’t necessarily have to be a means to an end – what it aims to do is get you and your partner in a sexually charged mood, which in and of itself is incredibly enjoyable. There are so many ways to integrate foreplay into your sexy times. Some of my favorites include:

Sexting.
I know there are tons of horror stories of sexting gone terribly awry – private texts/photos being spread around without your consent, accidentally sexting your parents/exes/bosses, the fact that 12-year-olds engage in it…sexting has cultivated a grotesque reputation, to say the least. But as long as you have a trustworthy partner (and you double-check the recipient box on your phone), sexting is an awesome way to create intimacy and arousal, especially if you plan on getting it on later in the day. Talk about things you can’t wait to do with/to your partner, describe fantasies, even send nudies if you are so inclined (without your face, always).

Making out.
Sometimes it seems like once you’re sexually active, the only thing on the menu is sex. But there is something to be said about some old-school kissing/groping, including putting up the same boundaries you used to (like no crotch contact…at least temporarily). It mentally takes you back to those days when hooking up filled you with butterflies and anticipation of where it lead, which is undeniably hot.

Putting on a show.
Bust out that lingerie, or your favorite t-shirt/panties combo, choose a song that makes you feel gorgeous, and strut your stuff for your boo. I know it could be awkward or uncomfortable, but ultimately, confidence is the only thing you need. As long as you are relaxed and enjoying yourself, you are going to look amazing. Embracing your inner burlesque goddess will give you a sense of control and power. That look of pure lust and awe your partner will inevitably give you will make you feel like you can rule the world. (Who runs the world? Girls.)

Slowing it down.
Sometimes we get into this frenzied frantic rush to get it in and get off. While I appreciate a quality quickie as much as anyone else, one of the most sensual moments in the world is when both you and your partner never want this moment to end, and you’re dedicated to savoring every piece of each other. Spend more time on oral sex, stop the action and give each other massages, take the time to just breathe each other in.

Since then, my experiences with porn have varied. There’s been a lot of nights sitting around drinking with friends and watching the weirdest videos we can find, but there have also been times when I’ve used porn as a tool — just like everyone else does — without putting much thought into the people performing or directing the movies. That was until I saw some videos that completely freaked me out.

The videos were part of a documentary about a hardcore porn director who was raping and sexually assaulting his actresses during “casting calls,” and then manipulating and guilting them into performing by telling them they were being “difficult,” “uncooperative,” and “unprofessional.” My head nearly exploded and my heart nearly broke for these women — I don’t care if they are porn stars, they still have a right to say no, and they certainly shouldn’t be coerced into performances they’re uncomfortable with.

But the thing is — how do you know when actors are performing out of their own volition and not being forced to do something they don’t want to do? Is there a way to know? I enjoy porn as much as the next person, but I’m certainly not okay with watching someone being exploited or abused.

Enter feminist porn. Throw away all the stereotypes you have in your head and replace them with the notion that there is a large group of third wave feminists who are sex positive, creative, and (sometimes) really kinky.

My favorite sex shop in Toronto, Good For Her, even hosts the Feminist Porn Awards every year and recognizes porn that’s been directed, written, or supervised by a woman and depicts more than hetero or lesbian fetishized sexuality. Most importantly, feminist porn focuses on authentic pleasure for all parties involved — none of that fake orgasm bullsh*t.

Not only can we enjoy this pornography knowing that everyone involved is consenting, happy, and being treated like human beings, but watching authentic porn also comes with some other benefits.

Representation. It’s important for everyone to be represented — trans*, queer, all races, sizes, and abilities. Often, feminist porn focuses on representing all different types of people realistically, and generally avoids the unachievable standards that are often portrayed in mainstream porn. Watching realistic-looking diverse people have real sex and achieve real pleasure? Sounds awesome.

Something new. While I’m unsure whether or not they identify as feminist themselves, Beautiful Agony focuses pleasure away from the genitals and only films the faces of participants during and leading up to orgasm. Some people might not be interested, but for others, the realness and intimacy of seeing another person in the midst of pleasure may be enough to set them over the edge — or at the very least, inspire them to get there.

Learning. While, just like any other porn, feminist porn covers a wide array of sexual activities, it’s also great for learning. There is no smoke and mirrors, no “faking” anything. So, if you’re flexible enough, you can probably try it yourself.

Couple-positive. Some people feel insecure watching unrealistic sex that features unachievable body standards with their partners (feeling you can’t live up to that huge penis, perfect body, or flawless breasts), but if you’re watching something that is more true-to-life and that may represent your body type, ethnicity, or sexuality — it’s easier to relate, feel comfortable, and get turned on without worrying that you can never measure up.

Non-judgmental. Some people are kinky, and some people aren’t — and both are completely okay! Having porn that shows what you’re interested in, whether it’s missionary or pegging ­— is what it’s all about. And if feminist porn can offer me what I’m looking for in a way that is non-exploitative, consensual and fun, why, when I’m looking for some erotic entertainment, would I ever watch anything else?

I think it’s safe to assume that after a few years of sexual activity, most people have a few “oh god” stories of bedroom disasters. These are the ones that make it into the “it doesn’t count” category. You know, when something happens that, you know, just shouldn’t have happened.

When you throw two naked and probably a little awkward (or drunk) young adults into a bed together, hilarity and embarrassing moments are sure to ensue. We’ve all experienced it, hell, we may have even been the perpetrators of some unappealing bedroom behavior.

So here it is, a list of the most frequently committed bedroom faux pas to be avoided by everyone. We all know accidents can happen, but let’s do our best to avoid them, shall we?

48 Hour Rule.
I think it’s a pretty fair rule of thumb that no one’s genitals be expected in another’s mouth if personal hygiene has not been tended to in the last 48 hours. No, I don’t think genitals are “icky,” but a good shower seems like common courtesy.

Trash Can Condoms.
If you’re a single lady who is enjoying some NSA booty every once in a while (or a lot, whatever), for the love of all things holy, please empty your trash as much as possible. There is NOTHING sexy about going to throw a condom (or dental dam) in the trash and seeing a previously used one… from someone else.

Lies!
I can’t say it enough, don’t ever fake it. No one likes being lied to, and a bit of an ego bruise is worth the truth. If it’s not happening, it’s not happening — you shouldn’t feel the need to lie about it.

Business Socks.
You can blame Flight of the Conchords for this one, but dirty socks should be taken off before everything else. If your underwear is off, your socks should be too. Also, as my best friend pointed out, make sure the sock you duct tape into your (consenting) partner’s mouth isn’t the same one you’ve been sweating in all day long. Ew.

A rose by any other name…
It’s hilarious as a scene in a rom-com, but in real life, calling out the wrong name is certainly not so sweet. C’mon ladies, keep the Johnny Depp fantasies in your head, please.

The Blame Game.
Sometimes sexual organs don’t work the way they are intended. Penises remain flaccid and vaginas are as dry as the Sahara. That does not give anyone the right to blame their partner for their failure to perform. Just smile, say it’s not working, and flick on The Office. Or better yet, offer up some no-need-to-reciprocate love. Or do both at the same time — everyone wins.

What are the biggest bedroom faux pas you’ve encountered? Let it all out; we’re here for you.

Remember when you were in middle school and your mom refused to tell you what a blow job was so you had to go into an AOL chatroom and ask a stranger because you were too embarrassed to admit to your friends that you didn’t know? No? Only me…okay, that’s cool. And unfortunately that wasn’t the last time that I was confused about sex. Actually, the older I got, the more questions I had…and the less the internet could help me (but thanks for trying, Yahoo Answers!).  For example, I believed the majority of these sex myths…until I read this. And I had no idea that there are legitimate sex dangers….besides the walk of shame.

I’m not going to lie and say I have it all figured out now, but I’m getting closer…kinda.

When talking to a group of ladies about “numbers” and past experiences, there will always be someone who claims that one of their partners just “doesn’t count” for one reason or another. Many people have “rules” as to what doesn’t really count as sex – which is a good way to lower a number that doesn’t really matter anyways.

So what are some of the excuses people make to keep their “magic number” low and their “I don’t make bad choices” view of themselves high? Oh, well there’s a whole list of ‘em!

Two pump chump: If it’s less than three pumps, it doesn’t really count.

The hangover: If you only remember some of it, it doesn’t really count.

Flaccid Freddy: If it doesn’t stay erect the whole time, it doesn’t really count.

Climax control: If he didn’t finish, it doesn’t really count.

Straight as an arrow: That girl on Spring Break doesn’t really count.

Timer Tammy: If it was less than two minutes, it doesn’t really count.

The one night stand: If it was only one time, so it doesn’t really count.

Anonymous fun: I didn’t even know his name, so it doesn’t really count.

College co-ed: It was just a college experience, it doesn’t really count.

Trippin’ traveler: If it happened in Vegas, it doesn’t really count.

The escort: If you pay for it then it doesn’t really count.

Kissing Karla: We didn’t kiss so it doesn’t really count.

The first time: Oh, the first time doesn’t really count.

Bad to the bone: It was awful, so it doesn’t really count.

… and the list goes on.

Of course we’re only talking about consensual sex here, but here’s the only rule you’ve gotta follow: if it’s in, it counts. Embrace all of your sexual experiences – even the ones that you wish didn’t count. It’s hard to really appreciate good sex unless you’ve had some really bad sex too.

What “it doesn’t really count” excuses have you heard?

Want more Sexy Time? (Who doesn’t?) Get some. Right here.

To most, summer means reuniting with hometown friends, hosting backyard barbecues with beer pong, and traveling around the world with the college budget out of sight. But for me, this past summer meant going home to jobs, internships and the tiny closet I haven’t used since high school. The three months of being at home again would be the longest period of time I would be living under my parents’ roof (and rules, again) since coming to college, which meant three months without going out, partying and/or anything else of college student fun.

It also meant three months without sex. I’m not a nympho, but I do have a functioning vagina. So it was a loooonnng summer.

I had finally cut things off with my on-again-off-again boyfriend just before leaving my college town for the summer. We had our reasons for not trying to work it out anymore, but after a season away from our relationship – or any relationship, for that matter – trying to make it work was beginning to look a bit more attractive than usual…

After three months of family bonding and resumé building, I moved back to school for the extensive period of icebreakers and information sessions known as RA Training. At my school, the RAs share an apartment with a handful of their residents – mostly because there are no one-person apartments solely for the RA. – so this year, I found out I was to live with six of my residents.

A week after meeting my brand new roommates and moving in, I had a moment of physical and mental weakness: I called my ex-boyfriend. He immediately came over. And stayed the night.

The next morning, I was trying to get him out of the apartment without any of my new roommates seeing him – I didn’t want to give off that impression to them as their Resident Advisor, especially only after meeting them a few days ago. I opened my bedroom door and saw the hallways empty, all other doors closed. Coast was clear!

I had him walk in front of me towards the front door, and as we tiptoed and whispered and tried to be as quiet as possible, my ex-boyfriend suddenly said, “Hello, how are you?” to someone standing in the kitchen.

“…I’m fine.” An older man. A father. A very conservative father of one of my roommates. While we were trying to sneak out of the apartment, his daughter was getting ready to spend the day with him – he had just arrived to pick her up.

Obviously, I did not use this golden opportunity to introduce myself as the RA, or mention the fact that this guy was my ex and a one-time occurrence resulting from an uneventful summer at home. Although, I probably should have, because when we came back from breakfast, I found my roommate in tears and her father incredibly upset. For some reason, he had assumed that my ex stayed over with his daughter, who had moved away from home for the first time yet was already running wild the first week (good thing he had no idea about Welcome Week’s traditions!).

So not only did I have to explain to my residents that the boy in question was indeed there for me (and that I broke my own rules 6 days into the school year), but I also had to sit down with some girl’s father and explain to him that I, his daughter’s resident advisor, was responsible for the awkward walk of shame that morning.

That will definitely be the last time this year that I bring a boy back to my apartment!

…if anything, we’ll just stay at his place in the future.

[You think that's bad? Check out our other cringe-worthy Morning After stories.]