Page 2 of The Plus One Pact

Finally, after we pull a few "tips and tricks" from the story, we move to my favorite part of the show. Caller questions.

I take a quick break to use the bathroom and fix a cup of tea—I need to keep my throat warm, so I don't wear out my vocal cords—then I settle into the studio.

The studio is a small space, one we rent by the day (a big upgrade from my closet), but, at this point, it feels like home. Blue walls, black egronomic chairs, fat microphones, glass walls.

Outside the "recording space," there's a big mixing board (that's where Meredith is, on a chair of her own), with a big couch, and a bunch of posters.

I feel like a rock star here. Like all my middle school dreams of singer-songwriter stardom came true. Only I'm sharing my best friend's secrets.

But that's a problem for another day. Now, it's my favorite part of the show:

Other people's problems.

I nod to Meredith, and she puts on the caller.

"Welcome to Sex and the OC. Tell me about your problem, Jane," I say. It's a little unusual, in this day and age, to actually line up callers. Most people use emails or Instagram messages or prerecorded emails. That's a lot easier, logistically speaking. But this is why we're the fastest growing sex and relationship podcast amongst women in their 20s.

This is why we're on the cusp of breaking into the mainstream.

Well, that and Meredith's special contribution.

That's the problem.

But a future problem.

"Well, uh," The caller speaks with a timid voice. One laced with a mix of shame and embarrassment. "The thing is. I can't come."

This is where I shine.

Shedding light on something most people would rather ignore.

Really, at this point, I've spouted the statistics so many times, my listeners should know them by heart. If Jane Doe (really, she gave the name Jane Doe), is a long-time listener, she should know most women struggle to come from penetration alone.

Many women struggle to come, period.

Physically, it's a little trickier for us.

But that's easy to solve with a vibrator or a little CBD lube. The mental blocks are the tough stuff. The years of hearing “good girls don’t want sex” or seeing women portrayed solely as sexual objects in film, TV, and advertising are hard to overcome.

So many of us still see our partner’s desire as more important than our own. We see visions of someone fucking us, but not of ourselves fucking someone.

That's why I'm here.

"On your own or with a partner?" I close my eyes and try to envision the caller. She told Meredith she's in her 20s. Young. Inexperienced. If she's lucky, she learned about sex from romance novels. They're not the most realistic, but they tend to put female pleasure first, and the gentlemen in them are often quite, orally and digitally, gifted.

If she's the average woman, she learned from some combo of friends, movies, and TV. Sex scenes where two people went straight from kissing to rolling around in bed, wrapped in the sheets, groaning as they orgasm simultaneously.

The suggestion—women are ready quickly, come fast, need nothing special. (And no one talks about what they like or condoms or anything like that).

If she's unlucky, she learned about sex from mainstream porn, where actresses fake orgasms from all sorts of acts most women don't find all that stimulating.

"On my own?" Surprise slips into her voice. "You mean… masturbation?"

A laugh spills from my lips. Really, it's not funny this twenty-something woman is aghast at the idea of touching herself, but sometimes you have to laugh so you don't cry.

The state of women's sex lives—

Especially here in Orange County—