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I told one of my boyfriends that I didn’t care if the lights were on or off. He got all giggly and impressed that I was so self-confident. But it was really only because I looked good in comparison.

I read once, in one of those pseudo-magazines, that men prefer women who are confident in bed. But, then again, they also prefer super models and threesomes. And porn stars. And sex on-demand. Like their television shows.

So I really don’t put much weight on what they say. But I do put a lot of weight on the bed. Or the couch. Or the floor. Or the deck. Or the wall. Just to arbitrarily name a few places. That I may or may not have had sex. I have, just to clear that up.

I am vertically challenged.

I can’t be on top. I can’t do it. As soon as they mention it, my vag goes into shut down mode. It sends out an army to fight off potential dangers to its safety.

However, I do, for sure, just lay there and wait for them to beat off my army and finish their work. And no, not because – as many hilarious men have insinuated – I don’t want to do the “work.” But because I really just would rather die/join the Student Union than do cowgirl (girl on top). I feel uncomfortable in much the same way that I don’t feel an orgasm.

Thus, horizontally is where I lay down the challenge.

I once told a guy that I look better with my clothes off. Naturally, curiosity dictated that he find out. What he found was that I like one position: missionary (guy on top). Now, in this particular case, I could literally have killed him by being on top since I wore his size pants in sixth grade. Probably the exact same pair of pants, actually.

In any case, he was like, “Uh, wanna switch it up?”

Which, in turn, caused mass panic from my side of the bed. “Like what? You mean, not have sex anymore? Ok,” I guessed, relieved, reaching for my bra.

“No, like, do you want to try going on top?”

NO! “Sure,” I said with a smile.

This same guy once suggested doggie style. I think I threw up a little. If I look bad and don’t know what I’m doing on top, I don’t think the rear view mirror is going to reflect my good attributes. Howsabout we just put our pants back on and call it a day?

What I found out is that my pleasure decreases exponentially with the rise of his…presence and my discomfort. How’s that for some math? See, boys, I’m not just good looks. And cleverness. And modesty. And brains. Oh, sorry. Not the point.

The point is that the harder it gets…to please you, the greater the chance that you are not confident in bed. I know that I am not. As soon as the gloves come off, or the pants in this case, I get really uncomfortable.

A couple weeks later, same guy, I did a whole routine to prove my sexiness and confidence: I threw my hair slow motion over my shoulder like they do in movies, looked him in the eyes and moaned as he went in like they do in porn, and told him how hot he made me. That last one made me laugh a little. Then I started to move with him, and then all of a sudden I wasn’t moving with him. Or moving at all. And I was silent. And I was thinking. Uh-oh.

I started thinking all about the size of my ass and the way my boobs were flopping around and how I didn’t think he was having fun and then, before I knew it, it was over and I was lying there, confused.

If it sounds to you like I’m maybe lacking some self-confidence, you’re right. I am. I mean, I wasn’t the only one lacking something in that room, but…

Regardless, what I learned is that there are some things you can fake in bed, but confidence isn’t one of them.

I think I’ll stick to the ones I know.