The Hook Up: Writing a sex column
An Internal Monologue
Realize I was supposed to have this in nine minutes ago. Crap.
Try to decide if I should watch Game of Thrones while writing the column. Wonder if I could use Game of Thrones as the basis for the column. There is a lot of sex. Try to calculate the number of consensual sexual relationships not with prostitutes on Game of Thrones. Can only remember the gay couple. Google “all nudity in Game of Thrones.” Remember scene in which hot siblings having sex. Decide that the idea of a Game of Thrones column needs to be discarded.
Realize I’ve already hit on incest and gay sex while trying to think of an idea. Think about keywords that this article would turn up. Google my name. On Wikipedia, view the list of Kate Taylors: a singer, a Canadian novelist, and a British sex columnist. Discover the singer, James Taylor’s sister, went to my high school in North Carolina. Find Kate Taylor the sex columnist seems to somehow be a sex columnist who opposes most of what I believe in. Wish I could be novelist Canadian Kate when I grow up. Wonder how a case of mistaken identity would turn out. Watch clip from ‘The Parent Trap’ on YouTube.
While watching clip, wonder how easy it is to find me among all the Kate Taylors on the internet. Find it’s easier than I’d like. First two results are about sex and sexual assault. Find DartBeat articles. Wonder what future potential bosses will make of these results. I attached samples of my work when applying for summer internship jobs. When I went to career services, they suggested I should change “Sexperts” to a “more conservative” name on some of my applications. Instead, I decided to show a number of potential employers articles where I talk about sex.
Wonder if my little brother finds this embarrassing. Or would find this embarrassing. He’s a junior in high school, looking at Dartmouth. We would miss each other by a year if he ends up going here, which might be for the best. We’re very close, but the idea of handing condoms to my little brother at SexFest grosses me out.
Remember giving my little brother the sex talk. Or, a variation of it. He visited over sophomore summer, and my mom told me to talk to him. He’s much cooler than I was (arguably am), and managed to have an older girlfriend (girlfriends?) by his sophomore year. My mom, who has always fallen between amused discomfort and pride on not only Sexperts but most of my extra-curriculars (white girl doing Bollywood dance here), finally saw a way to use my areas of interest to her advantage.
Worry further disclosure on baby brother’s sex talk is unethical or potentially embarrassing. I don’t think enough people read this to have this be public knowledge if the baby brother decides to come here. Still, feel that my brother might not be comfortable with my discussion of his love life, in any way. Wonder if I’ve lost ability to experience shame and embarrassment on issues of sexual health. Realize that’s definitely not true.
Forced to contemplate fact that I care what people think about me: my sex life, my sexuality, how I discuss it, my writing. Imagine faceless bosses, peers, strangers reading things I’ve written and judging me as a human, woman, writer. Try not to be bothered. Settle on mix of inward contentment and outward apathy.
Mantra for future job interviews, concerned aunts, internet critics: I write about what I believe to be interesting and important.
Worry this article is too weird and meta.
Alternate mantra: haters to the left.
Save.
Send.