Sex for Idiots

Advice from Hallie Bateman, the sex columnist who’s never had sex before.


Alright readers, take off your pants, then wink at your own reflection, then settle somewhere comfortable, but still super sexy. Like maybe on the toilet (genitals! porcelain!) or in the arms of a strange man you don’t know but whose eye contact has made you feel that it’s okay to sit on his lap while you read, like a weird huge chair made of skin and facial hair. Now that you’re settled, welcome to the first installment of my sex column.

Now, I’ll be honest, I’ve never had sex. But that’s just a minor detail, and as you will soon see, I am more than qualified to write this column titled “Sex for Idiots.” Like most people, my formal education commenced with “the talk” my mom gave me in eighth grade when, after hearing all kinds of confusing things in the girls’ bathroom, I asked her, “Mom, where do abortions come from?”

I don’t remember much of what she said, besides the first sentence, which began, “When your father and I…” — then it gets all fuzzy. I only remember coming to consciousness later, with water all over my eyes and face, with my fingers jammed really deep in my ears. I guess I was trying to hold in all that sexy, dirty knowledge in order to write this column!

And as far as my lack of experience: It’s like knitting. I’ve never done it, but I’m absolutely positive that I could pick up some yarn and tie some knots in it and make a really skimpy, sexy g-string if I had to, and everyone would be blown away, like “How did you make that! It’s so sexy!”

What do people even mean when they talk about sex, right? I heard someone say in the girls’ bathroom that it’s all about eye contact and body language. I guess it’s like, if you look into someone’s eyes for long enough you will fall in love with them, right? And that’s why so many optometrists fall in love with their patients, and so many of their patients fall in love with their optometrists’ ears. And since contact lenses and glasses prevent falling in love and getting pregnant — well guess what? I broke my glasses. You should break your glasses, too, so you can fall in love and have lots of babies out of your eyes.

But if you’re not wearing glasses you have to be careful what you say with your eyes. You have to be all sexy and mysterious, like how I wear multiple pairs of false eyelashes glued over each other so they sort of hang over my eyes, and it leaves boys thinking, “Whoa, that’s so sultry, I can hardly stand to look at her.” I still have to get the hang of winking, though. Is it still winking if you are opening and closing one eye with your thumb and index finger while holding the other one wide open?

And then it’s like, when you love someone this bubble floats over to you and, like Nicholas Sparks says, you can’t see it but you can feel it, but then sometimes it disappears, but also it lasts forever, right? Like fish in the sea.

They handed out these pamphlets in our sex education class, but I had broken my glasses, so I didn’t really get a chance to read it. But I was totally looking with my eyes all big into this boy’s eyes and he was all like “What are you looking at?” and I was all winking, and he was like, “There’s a bug on your eye” and I was like, “I love you. I think I’m pregnant.”

Photo courtesy of The Library of Congress

Go a few generations back in Hallie Bateman’s family tree and there are just claw marks left by a family of bears. She sometimes drinks paint water by accident and once drew a series of portraits of her friends as potatoes, which can be seen on her blog. She is the art director of The Bygone Bureau and also tweets.