Casual sex is a very sad cat and mouse game. The man is entrapped in his role as the sex-driven predator constantly on the hunt for new conquests, while the woman is the prey that must find her perfect combination of sexual allure and virtue, with the sexual allure being what attracts him and virtue what keeps him.

I’ve always had a very binge and then cleanse approach to casual sex for that very reason. We long for an intimate connection, but that longing makes us feel vulnerable. Therefore, we guard our hearts for self-preservation, which barricades that intimacy we are longing for.

Carl constantly told horror stories of cursing and beatings from his father and the twenty-four-hour blackout screaming of his alcoholic, pill-popping mother. He used his trauma like a caution sign for what he could do if I didn’t silence my backtalk.

He decorated his accomplishments with a large house, yachts, and weekly morale shindigs for his salesmen bursting with open bars and filet mignon. However, my mother was by far his prettiest accessory.

It only takes a tenth grade course on evolution to know that the prostate g-spot’s existence alone is proof that ass play has been done for a very, very long time.

I lived in a picture perfect subdivision with color coordinated houses and mailboxes, yellow labs prancing within the borders of invisible electric fences, and balding dads on riding lawn mowers. It was the type of community where housewives spent their summers tanning by the pool, half-heartedly watching their Ritalin pumped brat beat another brat with a foam noodle while rehashing Sunday’s Bible study between whispers of Susie’s weight gain and Dan’s canoodling with the babysitter.

In my early twenties, I treated sex like a bartering system, trading giving for receiving, feeling victorious when I’d received more pleasure, and swindled when I’d given more. As I matured, sex became a bond that was only gratifying when both parties were equally satisfied.

But what has happened is that emotional evolution has not caught up with our economics. We are still haunted by the outdated myth that women need men.

As a woman, I’ve had to choose between ignoring the full effect of my carnal instincts and exploring them with a man who will abandon me. Both result in emotional isolation. It wasn’t until tapping into the forbidden grounds of the male anatomy that I realized that men are locked in their own prison. Their vulnerability frightens them as much as my confidence.

Even in my most intimate moments with a man, I am alone.