I used to date a guy who would cling to me and cry after we finished having sex. Correction: after he finished having sex. I met him when I was 20 and in desperate search of my very own Jordan Catalano. This particular cat fit the bill. Damn was he sexy.

There I am fooling around with him in his apartment.. one thing led to another and before I knew it I'd had sex with the third person I was to sleep with in my life. Yes, I count. Yes, each man I've been with has a number. Yes, I can count every man I've ever been with. Cory? He was number six. Chris? Number eight. The girl? Number nine. ANYway. Sex with "Jordan" was okay. I didn't know much about the whole shebang (ha ha.. get it? she-bang?) at that point so the fact that I didn't orgasm wasn't weighing heavy on my mind. What did weigh heavy? When he clung tightly to me and began to cry into my crawling skin. It wasn't a manly cry either. There was whimpering, my god there was whimpering. And snuffling. I lay there, stiff as a board, staring at the ceiling.

Maybe I'm THAT amazing, I thought. I reduce men to tears. Suffice it to say, he whimpered every time he ejaculated. It was a morale breaker, not to mention a dealbreaker and I determined to move on, resemblance to Jordan Catalano or no.

Enter The Wheezer. He was a tad overweight. I rationalized that he was stocky. He used to climb aboard and wheeze in conjunction with his function if you know what I'm saying. Every thrust was accompanied with a wheeze that sounded as if he was in a hospital bed breathing through a respirator. Still, the wheezing was a smidge better than the crying and so I learned to block it out much the same way I blocked out the Vienna sausage size of his member. Obviously, that relationship didn't last.

I tried to learn from The Cryer and The Wheezer. I did. My next relationship was with The Pleaser. "Tell me what you want me to do." he'd whisper breathily. "Do you like this? What about this?" "How does this feel?" I imagine he fancied himself some sensitive Lothario in tune with women's needs. I could never focus, I was always being troubled to answer him and reassure him that yes, that feels good. Yes, you're doing a super job.

Eventually, after numerous letdowns and a brief stint with a guy who failed to realize there were two of us there in the bed I found a nice medium. And his personality was great too. No crying, no wheezing and a fella who concerns himself with my concerns but also knows how to do his own thang without constant reassurance. But I often wonder about my Mormon friends who chose not to sleep with their man before marriage. What if they get a cryer, a wheezer or a pleaser? What then? That's a long row to hoe, yo.