Well, here we are. End of the line. This is where I’m supposed to tell you all about what I’ve learned being a sex columnist, how my life has changed and pepper in some thoughts on Life and the Hereafter. Let’s make it quick.

What I’ve learned being a sex columnist: Everything that has ever been fucked, sucked or come upon has already been talked about, fought about and turned into an entire media enterprise. The very concept of the (inevitably) female or gay male sex writer has become a cliché in itself.

How my life has changed: I got pretty all right at frantic writing, and AEPi wants people to pay money to throw pies at me. Cream pies. Bless their hearts.

Thoughts on Life and the Hereafter? Keep on fuckin’.

Seriously. If there’s one thing you should take away from this last-ditch effort to get you thinking about something other than blowjobs and who I slept with last weekend, it’s that one simple thought — keep on fuckin’.

Our society carries some fucked-up ideas about sex. It should only be between a man and a woman (I keep hoping we’ll get beyond this one, but damn you wingnuts perpetually setting us back!). You should want it, lots of it, but only if you’re a man. If you’re a woman, don’t ever talk about it (unless you’re a college sex columnist), but please do be readily available to the “right” man at the “right” time. Sex as an intellectual pursuit is hardly ever taken seriously, and we actually think that if we pretend it doesn’t exist, our children won’t do it. We tell them about the hazards of sex but leave the pleasure aspect out. And so on, and so on, ad nauseum.

It’s dangerous. It scares us. And when you go too far outside the norm, you’re in a whole new world of deviance. Take, for example, “objectum sexuals.” These are people who fall in love with and have romantic and sexual relationships with objects. A banister, a car, even famous monuments — you name it, someone probably loves it.

Your first reaction is probably laughter. When you find it’s not a joke, maybe you feel confused, curious or outright disgusted. I don’t know for sure, but I’m willing to bet some objectum sexuals have faced fairly awful reactions to their orientation. Why? Someone else is getting their rocks off in a loving relationship with a bicycle, and other people have their shit in a twist over it. But who’s in YOUR room telling you not to bang the way you bang?

We have enough active laws in this country regulating sexual freedom and expression. We don’t need to police ourselves, but we do it anyway. Every time a person is open about their desires and someone else freaks out instead of listening and trying to understand, it’s another step back for all of us. Every time we refuse to speak again, and then in turn begin to berate others, we’re just fucking ourselves even more.

Ironically, we live in a confessional culture. Facebook updates, Twitter tweets (or whatever they’re called), blogs — all are dedicated to transparency on one end and social voyeurism on the other. But sex is meant to be kept private, behind closed doors with the curtains drawn. So while one of my friends, “Had a really bad day, FML,” nobody “Just had a pretty ace orgasm!! :D :D” or “Loooooves gettin peed on!” It may just be me, but I’d sure as hell appreciate an update on my friends’ sex lives, more than one about their most recent order on Campusfood. Lord knows it would make killing time on the Internet way more exciting.

Sex is such a pervasive part of our lives, whether we’re doing it or not. It’s in the public sphere wherever you look, and not always subtly. Yet somehow we’re not supposed to talk about it. Somehow we don’t care when a woman’s ass is used to advertise booze or perfume or something else completely unrelated to both women and asses, yet an open and frank discussion of sexual behavior sends us into a freaking Grand Mal. Isn’t there a disconnect here?

I’d like to do an experiment wherein I first have sex with someone in a public place, and on another day I beat the shit out of someone in the same place. I’m thinking the cops would arrive much faster in one case, guess which.

I’ll let you know how it goes and if I need someone to bail me out.

If you wish you could change the way things are, you gotta start from the ground up. That is to say, start engaging your friends in these kinds of conversations. Maybe asking about the specifics of their most recent sexual exploit isn’t the best way, but you can find a tactful approach to a more general discussion.

Start talking about your own sexuality instead of being afraid of it — ESPECIALLY if you’re straight. Just because heterosexuality is the norm doesn’t mean you can’t explore it, question it and talk about it. Lots of sex writers are chicks and gay guys, probably because we’re constantly immersed in straight male sexuality (hence the ass-touting booze ads) that our lives and experiences are “interesting” enough to read about. But it’s unfair to you straight males that your sexuality is reduced to nothing more than a plastic-looking representation of one — and only one — desire.

We’re all in this together, and when we start questioning the dominant norms of our society, the freaks and the deviants can come out of the woodwork, loud and proud. So one last thought, Cornell, as you enter into potentially lusty summers in far-away places: If you can’t beat ’em, fuck ’em.