‘No, I’m not free at 11 pm for sex’

…and other retorts a sex columnist must arm herself with

There are professions and there are professions. And then there is a sex writer’s profession. It was decided for me at the lunch table on the 1,692nd minute of my first magazine job. The choice was between ‘Five things you didn’t know about your vagina’ and ‘Five ways with asparagus’. There was no choice, really. After three years of endlessly waxing eloquent about the first, mid and last 10 seconds of orgasm and entire columns dedicated to suction techniques and gag reflexes, I still don’t know why I do it. One reason is the perks, which I shamelessly enjoy. The other is the pleasure of the shock-and-awe value it affords. I won’t even begin on the flair-for-sex bit, because frankly, who doesn’t have it? This is the birthplace of Priya Anjali Rai and Sunny Leone. Of course we have a flair for all things carnal and coital.

Let’s focus on the shock-and-awe. For the most part, it elicits two kinds of reactions.

Reaction 1:

“I write about sex.”

“Oh.”

(Long, uncomfortable silence, followed by a stroke of genius and instant brightening up)

“Like Carrie in SATC.”

Reaction 2:

“I write about sex.”

“Oooohhh…”

(Short, excited silence followed by highly inappropriate queries of a personal nature)

“Have you tried it with a girl yet? Do you know a full-service gigolo? You must have a lot of sex, no? Aren’t you worried about STDs?”

Being a sex columnist is a double-edged sword; you never know which side it’s going to fall on any given day. Some days it turns a conversation into a beautiful relationship, other days it automatically casts you in the role of a one-night-stand. There have been as many bitter epiphanies as exciting moments on this journey.

Being a sex columnist means…

» Getting used to mild cardiac arrests on a daily basis. Like when my little brother grabs my laptop before I’ve cleared my browser history. It also means sackfuls of emails from lecherous men each time a new issue hits the stands. “No, I’m not available for sex at 2300 hours next Saturday, Sir. That’s right, not even if you pay me by the minute.”

» Directing porn films starring friends. How do you stop a hysterical friend from describing her lover’s erectile problem in graphic detail? And how do you look at said paramour in the eye when you meet him at a party two days later?

» Number crunching. The men aren’t Raj, Rahul and Rakesh anymore. They’re 5"medium rare, 6" well done and 7" undercooked. It means looking at the dude’s penis and thinking 7.3 (the average length of a sex session in minutes), 38 (the number of calories burnt every half hour of sex) and 40 (the average sperm transmission per ejaculation, in millions).

» Always playing the A-game. Often, sex is about power play and the competition to be someone’s best ever. Some of us are, some of us aren’t; but if you’re a sex columnist, you must be the best sex of his life. At first, it was all very exciting and deliciously slutty. My ass would sway involuntarily as I walked in my new heels. I thought the sex goddess was finally waking from her deep slumber. But that golden glow of self-actualisation didn’t last long. Reality hit me like a tonne of bricks when I learnt the first rule of sex-writing: Thou shalt not write just a sex column, thou shalt supply stories to locker-rooms. I’ve realised that men talk. A lot. A bad blowjob has come back to bite me in the butt while vacationing in Goa three years later. A fat dietician, a dentist with bad breath, and a sex-columnist who isn’t good—we’re all anomalies of nature.

» Some fabulous perks. Like being the owner of the only computer without restricted access in office; or being able to ask hot men wildly personal things by way of research. It means free drinks at the bar and always having contenders to choose from for those plus-one events. I won’t lie, it’s a fantastic power trip. A part of me purrs like the Cheshire Cat when I see the turmoil written all over the face of the man both She and I covet. ‘She’ is my best frenemy. Friends because we’re both good writers. Enemies because we’re both good writers. Given, she’s a 9 to my 6.5 on the hotness scale, but I have the collective power of YouPorn and Brazzers in my arsenal. Who to pick? That’s right, life’s all about tough choices and tougher consequences. I made mine the day I wrote my first sex column.

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