It’s V’s tenth birthday y’all, and you know what that means – birthday sex. I don’t mean actual penetration, I just mean blasting the song “Birthday Sex” by Jeremiah because I’m depressingly single.
Catch me hanging out in my birthday suit, laying in bed with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and the only two men I need in my life – Jack (Daniel’s Tennesee Whiskey) and Tito( Handmade Vodka).
Just to clarify, I’m not actually a ten-year-old girl – that would make literally everything I’ve told you about a felony punishable by a mandatory prison term of at least five years. And you all know I am far too pretty for prison.
It’s more of an anniversary, shall we say. For the last ten years, V has given you advice on everything from your partner’s tiny penis to what to do if he knocks you up, and from achieving orgasm to giving an Iron Arrow an ‘iron arrow’ at Homecoming. (We got some heat for that one.)
Things have changed – we’ve gone from letters to columns where I just complain about my life and push the limits of what is able to be printed in a college newspaper. But despite all of this, you still don’t know who I am.
You could have just swiped right on me or slid into my DM’s. (If I didn’t respond, check out some helpful tips here.) You could have hooked up with me at your last champagne shackles, or I could have been your date to formal.
I could be sitting next to you in class, or we could be talking this very moment.
I may not even be a woman (even though we all know that sh*t is fluid anyway).
The truth is, you don’t know who I am, but that’s the fun of it. Your anonymous letters and my anonymous advice are what has made V’s Take the most-read sex column in a University of Miami student publication.
The only way you’ll find me is if you follow the sweet sound of Jeremiah’s “Birthday Sex” to my apartment. If you find me, we won’t need candles and cake, just need your body to make some real birthday sex that I will write about next week, and hopefully for the next ten years.