What is it about sex that makes us simultaneously so full of bravado, and still so completely insecure?  Sex is the magic subject that makes us pull out our most outrageous stories, where we have done this incredibly sexy and insane thing that is so sexy and insane it makes everyone totally jealous. You have done such hot things and made some wild maneuvers which are likely to make Hugh Hefner's old, old Viagra-ridden heart just wheeze, cough and expire. Your techniques are astonishing, and you have been told, in confidence--more than once, in fact!--that you are the best lover in the history of lovers, your mouth belongs in a museum, and every word of every story is so totally true. Everyone is a goddamn maestro in the sack, without room for improvement.
 
What is it about the possibility of being criticized when it comes to sex? What makes us bristle at the idea that we could be taught something, learn something, improve something? God forbid it be suggested that our skills may be, possibly, could be somehow just the teeniest, tiniest just the ittiest bit lacking in some very small way, that our performance--though admittedly stellar!--could even be improved, that anyone in the world could possibly improve upon our own special techniques, that you may have done something off, or uncomfortable, or a little awkward, or even wrong.

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