If dating is going to be like an interview, and the afterglow is going to be a performance review, I need to see a resume.
A sexual resume might come in handy with modern dating. Every date I’ve had in the last three years since I’ve been divorced has been comparable to an interview. A few times it even crossed into interrogation territory, but mostly I’ve felt being interviewed as a prospective girlfriend, wife, and even mother or step-mother.
Then there’s the afterglow, which has definitely become a performance review. We’re supposed to be able to rank the experience, and any negative (I mean, constructive) feedback needs to be delivered between compliments if delivered at all. I feel like if we have to ask how it was, it probably wasn’t great.
When it comes to relationships and sexual encounters, it seems like we need a resume or CV more than just pictures and profiles. We need one that would tell us a little more about sexuality in terms of skills, techniques, and experience. A resume would certainly be preferable to a d*ck picture. We can take a picture of our genitalia, but it doesn’t mean we are capable of effectively operating it or are skilled at operating our partner’s.
There are many factors to include in this sort of resume when looking for a partner:
What are your skill sets, for instance? Are you a fast learner? Are you able to multitask? Tell me about your attention to detail. What experience do you have?
There are certainly encounters I’ve had where I wished later that I had asked for references first. I’ve met the occasional person who seemed a bit overqualified for my tastes (no judgment—only use a bit more discretion in bragging about it) and some who needed a lot more training, education, or experience to be suitable for the role. If we could just screen some of these factors, dating would be easier!
If we had that initial resume to go on, the first date interview could be more straightforward. We could get down to business and not have to suffer through applicants without a chance in hell. First, we could screen out the most undesirable candidates and narrow it down to those who have real potential for us. Then, we could start out with the follow-up questions:
What makes you think you’d be a good fit for this role? Why are you more qualified than other applicants?
It would save us all a lot of bad sex if we could ask a few of these things upfront.
But, of course, we all know that people lie and exaggerate on resumes, so we shouldn’t expect a sexual resume to be any different. We can assume that people will enhance their skills, experience, and other attributes in order to be seen favorably in comparison to other candidates.
An initial screening process may need to take place, but we can at least figure out if potential dates can spell and use proper grammar and punctuation. We might be able to screen out those who don’t know the difference between two, to, and too or their, they’re, and there. We could assess some initial compatibility, and perhaps follow it up with a screening questionnaire to evaluate shared sexual interests.
The truth is that a sexual resume sounds ideal. It’s an amusing idea anyway and one that might help save us a little time. Since it’s not a thing not yet anyway, we’ll have to go through the process of evaluating potential partners the old-fashioned way, which doesn’t seem very old-fashioned anymore.
For me, I like to screen out people who send me unsolicited d*ck pics, heavy innuendo, and who are incapable of carrying on an actual conversation. Even when we’re looking for sex, there’s nothing wrong with wanting compatibility and connection with it.
The truth is that we often have to evaluate sex based on the actual experience because a lot of partners look good on paper. They may even have some initial skills. For example, they could be great at kissing, but that doesn’t guarantee skill in any other area. While it would be nice to filter out the undesirable experiences, it’s often difficult to do.
All we can do, really, is make sure that we’re staying consistent with our own standards, and being fully present and attentive to the experience. We can’t make anyone else do the same, but we can certainly let go of any partners who don’t meet our needs, particularly when we’ve openly communicated those needs. We don’t even have to wait for the experience to be over to change our minds and say that it’s not working out. Consent happens throughout the process, and that consent can be withdrawn at any time. Sometimes, that might save us at least a little time and effort.
Dating has become an interview process, and it seems that sex is like the probationary period that comes with a new position. I’m saying that and thinking that it might involve a lot of positions. Yes, the pun possibilities are endless here, but the important thing is that we get to know what we want and need in a partner. We don’t have to compromise our standards in relationships or in the bedroom. We can’t eliminate all the negative experiences, but we can certainly narrow them down.
No, we can’t quite ask to see a sexual resume, but we can pay attention when the topic comes up to both the verbal and nonverbal cues that might give us a clue about compatibility. We can also openly discuss sex and boundaries, helping to break down the taboo that keeps us from communicating our needs. Sex, love, and relationships should have an element of fun, but it seems like we’ve turned them into a job instead.
The One Buddhist Red Flag to Look out for:
Author: Crystal Jackson
Image: Maximilian M/ Flickr
Editor: Angel Lebailly
Copy & Social editor: Yoli Ramazzina