"You're the perfect person to grant permission," my friend tells me, "for the exact reason that you don't get why people ask for it."
It's true. I can't remember the last time I asked permission for anything but the obvious, like borrowing someone's power drill or eating the last strawberry or putting my finger -- well, you get the idea.
We were talking about my recent interview on Red Bar Radio, an internet "morning FM show" that streams live on Sunday evenings and is also available as a podcast.
At first, the hosts asked me a number of Stern-esque questions. "Would you sleep with a blind man?" "Would you sleep with a person who has AIDS? Are you AIDSist?"
And my favorite, "When I spend the afternoon with my girlfriend, I'm too tired to perform for my wife at night, and she's frustrated -- what should she do?"
Silly me, to have gone into the interview thinking they would want me to talk about sex and tech. (Which we did, after the initial banter.)
But when the questions became more real and began to echo other interviews on other shows, it occurred to me with new clarity that most sex columns are also advice columns.
Mine is not, and yet I've been asked many variations of "What can I do to keep my relationship happy when I want sex three times as often as my boyfriend does?" and "Is sex OK on the first date?" and "Is cybersex cheating?"
But hosts are used to the idea of standard sex advice columnists. They book me on the show because they like the tech angle, but they don't always know quite what to do with me if I don't send them a heads-up in advance. And I'm so engaged with the tech side of sex that I forget it's not what everyone else lives and breathes.
I shouldn't. Half the e-mail I receive in a week comes from people seeking advice on relationships and sex, and it doesn't always involve technology.
I do share my thoughts with those who write me. Often, I suspect they know the answer but need confirmation, motivation or validation before they can act. But I reply with a few caveats.
I'm no medical doctor to suggest which erection pill is right for you, or whether the antidepressant you're about to take will screw up your sex life. I'm not a licensed therapist who can help you get through a divorce or a cop experienced with discouraging online stalkers.
What I am is a compassionate, honest and knowledgeable third party willing to inject a large dose of common sense into the crises and drama that can blind us to our options.
Usually, what you're looking for is not really advice, but permission. That became obvious when the Red Bar Radio hosts started asking me whether various sexual acts are "OK."
I interrupted with a question of my own. "Why are you asking my permission for what you do in your sex lives?"
The answer? "Because you're a sex columnist. For us, it's not What Would Jesus Do, it's What Would Regina Do."
That floored me. I write about subjects I think people should know about. That doesn't mean everyone has to rush off after reading Sex Drive to buy a product or try virtual sex or join a program or masturbate.
In other words, I can't -- and won't -- tell you what to do. "Thou Shalt Use Teledildonics" and "Covet Not Thy Neighbor's Real Doll" are simply not my style.
However:
I'm also a strong advocate for tools that help us grow and function. And some people -- especially adults who were molested as children, or who survived rape or abusive sexual relationships, or who live with repression and guilt and fear -- worry greatly that their own sexual desires are somehow perverted or degrading or evil.
Some folks need external guidelines to follow before they can develop the confidence to create their own internal framework of what they consent to sexually and what they don't.
If you've written to me about this, you know what I'm about to say. Permission ultimately has to come from within. But for now, if you want it from me, here's my personal answer.
Red Bar hosts, if you're listening, this goes for you, too.
You have my permission to think whatever you want. In the scope of my permission set, thought does not equal deed. If you have Lolita fantasies, I am not going to condemn you as long as they remain in your mind. You can't control thoughts -- why would you want to? -- but you can control behavior. (Unless chocolate is involved, in which case it's more difficult.)
For sexual actions, my permissions extend to -- as a friend so concisely put it -- "consenting adults, and no former people or former food." That means no animals, no kids, no poop.
And make a genuine, honest attempt to do no lasting emotional or physical harm to yourself or anyone else.
What's great about sex tech is that it is fostering a more sexually permissive society in which we can talk about this stuff without feeling unsafe or embarrassed. (If you don't think things are changing radically and globally, just look at the panic about sex in the extreme conservative political agenda, here and abroad.)
We're realizing that we're not alone in our desires or lack thereof, even if we feel damaged or abnormal. Through the ever-growing online conversation, more of us will find our own comfort level with what is and isn't OK with us sexually -- as well as the skill to communicate that to our partners, both online and off.
See you next Friday,
Regina Lynn
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Regina Lynn asks permission before petting people's dogs, tasting her friends' food in restaurants and quoting Sex Drive readers in her book.
