You Don’t Have Daddy Issues, You Just Like Sex

You Don't Have Daddy Issues, You Just Like Sex

So there I was, summer 2011 and in a charming, yet disturbingly childish beach house bedroom, staring into the pitiful eyes of someone reacting as though I asked for an animal sacrifice in order to reach climax. The request, “fucking choke me!” clearly called for mild affixation mid-penetration, not empathy. I never wanted a 22-year-old, neck bearded ginger to psychoanalyze my mental state based on nothing more than the desire for a dominating presence in the bedroom. With this experience, I realized two things: that depth perception is key (similar to side view mirrors on every car, objects in basketball shorts may be smaller than they appear). And more importantly, I realized that facing judgment for my sexual decisions would be something I endured much longer than the six-minute romp Mr. Four-Inch administered that night.

I was asked a series of questions fit for an SVU victim. Although he was aggressive in impact (both physically and conversationally), he was sincere in intent. So knowing he meant well, I answered every question blankly as I could — think Lindsay Lohan on trial, or Kristen Stewart…anywhere. “No, I’ve never been touched inappropriately.” “No, I don’t feel out of control of my own life.” “No, I DON’T HAVE DADDY ISSUES.” Now this isn’t some defense mechanism where I deny the truth and express resentment towards someone acknowledging my Achilles’ heel. I really don’t have any Lifetime Movie Network worthy past experiences that cause me to enjoy a slightly tighter grip than the average. My father played an active role in my childhood, went to all the soccer games, took me out for ice cream, left his hands above the covers.

I just don’t get the appeal of breaking down the nonexistent sociopathic intention behind every individual I meet. Maybe I’m too self-absorbed to care, but I think it also goes back to me not having a fucking PhD in psychology. I believe sometimes it’s okay to take things at face value. I understand we grew up in the ’90s, so The Sixth Sense has left a lot of people emotionally scarred, but I promise you not everything has some dark twist to it…although I’ll probably still never trust Haley Joel Osment.

You see, men and women alike will badger and belittle one another when they feel as though you know something they don’t. Why are you so confident? What are you overcompensating for? Who are you to shamelessly express your wants and needs in the bedroom? That’s where “daddy issues” come into play. They’re an easy way to slut shame a sex-positive person, and make it seem as though, no matter how together and self-aware you are, something traumatizing must have happened to make you that way. “People just don’t tell you they’re into hair pulling!” says someone who should never have the pleasure of doing so.

Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s well understood childhood development plays an intricate role in who you are as a person today. (Moment of silence for our generation’s child stars.) But I assure you, a doggy-style positional preference, has nothing to do with whether or not my parents accidentally taped over my 5th grade musical performance of The Music Man. Sensitive subject, indeed, and I’ll resent them for it until the day I die, but I’m positive it hasn’t affected me as a sexual being.

What I’m getting at is this: don’t be an asshole. This isn’t a difficult concept. There’s no reason anyone should be shamed for their sexual experiences or desires with consenting adults. Whether it’s outright rude, like calling someone a slut, or ever-so-gently veiled with the term “daddy issues,” it makes it seem as though there’s something wrong with confidence. Which is an issue that exists well beyond the bedroom. Don’t be a part of the problem. And when you find someone who is, understand he or she is a close-minded person whose opinions have no business inside of your brain, and whose parts have no business inside of your body.

Image via Shutterstock

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Fanny pack aficionado. Margarita connoisseur. Spring breaker.

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