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You can dance.
Now before all of you start coming at me from every corner of Reddit to cut me off at the pass of my misandry, fedoras clutched in your gnarled fingers and neckbeards springing forth from your quivering underchin like a thousand resilient dandelions, hold on. I don’t mean that those who are incapable of getting past the first two rounds of So You Think You Can Dance are destined to remain shriveled virgins. We don’t all have to be the non-horrific version of Chris Brown when it comes to moving our feet along a dance floor. However, if you are the kind of person who is determined to stay glued against the wall while everyone else is having fun and being silly, I don’t know how your hips would do if naked and horizontal. I don’t have high hopes for them, though.
Your sexuality isn’t easily threatened.
If you often find yourself referring to things as “gay” or “girly” or “lesbo” and have a laundry list of things you will not do, wear, say, or try because they somehow threaten your ability to be yourself in your own gender and sexuality — chill. Chill, chill, chill. If you are into who you are and have no doubts about what you like (and are not upset by those around you not liking the same thing) there is no reason to get so angry at the thought of having to, say, use a pink pen when you are CLEARLY a MAN with a PENIS. If you’re not bothered by these things, it’s a pretty good sign that you don’t feel you have much to prove.
Your exes seem vaguely hung up.
We all know what that move is. The relationship is over — and you’re all generally happy about moving onto new horizons — but let’s be honest, you kind of miss what was happening between the sheets. The ex feels powerfully compelled to pass their genitalia on like some kind of precious royal crest. “Take good care of this,” they say, letting go one finger at a time from their death grip, “For it is more special than you will ever know.”
You are good at listening.
Someone wants to tell you something. You lean into them and give them your undivided attention. Your eyes widen slightly, darting a bit now and again to follow their gaze. Your mouth is the tiniest bit open, occasionally letting forth a sincere “mhmm” or “ahh,” just enough to let them know that you are following them without jumping on your turn to speak. You take in what they have just told you and process it in an appropriately patient way, doing your best to accommodate, and you keep it entirely to yourself unless instructed otherwise. Now just imagine that whole monologue consisted of “This is what I want you to do to my wiener!” and you’re golden.
You are comfortable with the word “no.”
You know that “no” is a word with real, important meaning, one that you should listen to unequivocally and respect without exception. (Unless you are doing something which involves another, pre-established safe word, but I’m not here to peek into your S&M closet. You all do you.) If you are even slightly unconvinced by the word “no” in all its perfectly-clear-unless-you’re-being-willfully-obtuse forms, you are never going to be good in bed.
You sense what touches are comfortable.
There is a certain amount of subtlety that one must master in order to go from Real-life version of upchuck from Daria who won’t stop touching my hair to sexy Don Draper-type who can keep his hand on the small of my back as long as he damn well pleases. It just involves being able to read the subtle social cues that tell you when another person is digging your attention, and when they are quietly looking for the “eject” button that will allow them to propel through the roof of the bar and never have to encounter you again. If you are the kind of person who generally makes people feel like they are wearing a too-tight wool sweater in a hot room, it doesn’t bode well for your more amorous touching later in the evening.
You’re a people-pleaser.
If you love seeing people be happy — if pleasing them is one of the most efficient ways to bring you a deep sense of pleasure yourself — you should do one of two things: Go into customer service, or open up an ice cream truck where, instead of ice cream, it’s vigorous oral sex. I will invest if you need seed money. (Oh, good God, no pun intended.)
You don’t feel the need to constantly brag.
There is an inversely proportional relationship between the amount a dude feels the need to talk about how good he is at performing oral, and the degree of actual skill. If you disagree, I would recommend taking a look at your social media and reporting back as to how many times you’ve just “happened” to humblebrag about how much you adore making the women who pass through your bed happier than they’ve ever been before. I would then like to be provided with the contact information of said women so that I could ask them if you were really that stellar, or if you mostly just went completely unhinged like you were in a pie-eating contest and then looked up at her with these puppy dog eyes, like, “please affirm me. If you criticize me, I will crumble before yourvery eyes like an overcooked pie crust.” My money is on the latter, but I could always be wrong.
