7 Secret Things Girls Do Before We Know We're About To Have Sex

by Courtney Brunson

I'm currently sitting in my living room waiting for this guy to come over for a booty call. Considering I requested said booty in the middle of the afternoon, I guess this is more of a "dick appointment"…

Either way, I'm going to be penetrated. Yay!

My text message said something along the lines of, “I just want to bang and eat snacks and cuddle and then make you go home so I can sleep.”

For the sake of anonymity, we'll call this guy Big Hot, because he's really tall and really hot. We've gone on two dates and hooked up once, so Big Hot is still acquainted with the exfoliated and hairless me that exists only in the early stages of dating and penetration. He cannot know that I'm really a barn animal in a wig and Forever 21 lounge pants, so this morning I took the proper measures to maintain the illusion of being a hot girl.

Being a girl is stressful because our bodies have so many lumps and flaps and holes. Oh my God, so many holes to clean cobwebs out of and remove hair from and keep pleasantly (but not overly) scented. Men do not realize or appreciate that getting ready for sex is a whole premeditated thing for us that requires preparation and limitless patience.

This is a partially self-inflicted communication barrier, because honestly what girl wants to advertise, “No, Big Hot, it's all a lie! My eyebrows wash off in the shower and this is the first time my underwear has matched all week. Want to go to my room?” Yeah, right.

1. I wax everything.

I will never be one of those girls who writes angry think pieces about the taboo of female pubes while braiding her armpit hair. Without Nair and waxing, I look like an early hominid, and it's scary and gross and bad.

So, I periodically use my $15 Groupon to have a small, miserable woman ask me to hold my butt cheeks apart while she waxes away any evidence that I am a real human. Then I go buck wild with Mach 3 razors on the rest of my body, stopping myself just below the neck before things get out of control and I accidentally shave my head in a hair-hating rage spiral.

All so that Big Hot (or whichever lucky Hot it happens to be) does not have to embark on a grand machete-wielding journey through the jungle, and will actually stand a small chance of finding and maneuvering through my vagina.

2. I wipe everything.

In addition to maintaining the façade that I do not grow body hair, I also like the men in my life to believe that every nook and cranny smells wonderful and is sparkling clean at all times.

Whether I'm frantically wiping myself down in a bar bathroom at midnight, or trying to get my life together for a scheduled dick appointment (like now), my pre-sex ritual always involves “feminine wipes.”

The phrase gives me hives, but seriously -- no one wants their holes to smell like holes, pheromones be damned. I want my holes to have a synthetic floral scent and be porn star clean.

3. I put lotion on my butt.

I also may or may not have rubbed the Bath & Body Works “Sensual” aromatherapy lotion all over my thighs, hips, and butt.

OK, I totally did that.

Years ago, "Jersey Shore" aired an episode in which Snooki was about to get it in, and after cleaning the Smoosh Room, she ran to the bathroom to rub lotion on her butt. The cameras caught her, and she's was all, “If it's a smoosh, you gotta put lotion on your butt,” and I was all, “That's actually a really great idea.” So I do that now.

4. I make my apartment sexier.

Speaking of the Smoosh Room, I spent a fair amount of time preparing my own Smoosh Room for smooshing. You know how it goes -- spraying a little air freshener here, hiding photo booth pictures with that guy from last summer over there, and of course making sure all sex toys and tools are within reach.

This isn't even counting my carefully curated "Not Having Sex" playlist, which is for the benefit of my neighbors, who have heard me getting plowed enough times to request my eviction. Because I'm a calculated and promiscuous evil genius, my "Not Having Sex" playlist is similar (but not too similar) to my "Getting Ready" playlist, with a few more Jeremiah and Miguel songs thrown in.

You know, I should start making house calls more often, because having time to prepare is a luxury. Usually I'm forced to frantically get my entire life together in a bar bathroom. Which brings us to emergency mode:

5. I remove my nipple covers, 6. clean my mouth, and 7. try to hold my fake hair on.

The first time Big Hot and I had a sleepover, it was about 4 am, we were finally drunk off of cheap wine, and I had stopped listening to anything he was saying. I made a quick dash to the bathroom, knowing I had only about four minutes to make a transformation worthy of "RuPaul's Drag Race."

First I peed, because … wine. Then, after wiping down every crack and fold with a “feminine wipe” (GAG), I stuffed my silicone nipple covers into my purse. Look, you just can't wear a bra with a backless jumpsuit, OK?

There was no need for a repeat of my previous disaster, where I didn't realize I was still wearing nipple covers until the horrified guy was all, “Wh... Where… Where are your…?!?!”

My purse is essentially a miniature dentist's office on date night, so the next step was to deep-clean my entire mouth. I'm talking floss, mouthwash, and those little miniature Colgate toothbrush things you can find at Duane Reade.

Lastly -– and this is the most important step -– I reached into the bottom of my purse for bobby pins. Obviously I had to provide some extra support to my clip-in extensions so my fake hair didn't fall out on his bed. That's happened to me before too, and I don't want to talk about it.

I'm aware that all of this sounds like an episode of "Will & Grace," and I'm probably breaking some girl code by admitting it, but this is just a taste of what all girls go through before they get it in.

I promise that I'm not a murderer. Just slightly neurotic and type-A. Besides, if he's still around by then, Big Hot has only a few months of this special treatment left before I let myself go and he's trapped with stubbly, normal-smelling me. But we're not there yet, and I have to go get some extra downward-dog stretches in before he gets here.

He just texted that he's bringing gummy worms. It's going down.