Modern sexuality as we know and enjoy it is the result of — nay, an evolving process rooted in — a long history of repression. We now regulate our hormones with pills that thwart the burdening effects of promiscuity. We lubricate each other with lotions, gels and toys marketed specifically at increasing our sexual gratification. We touch ourselves and come because it makes us feel good, sexy, dirty, intimate and relaxed. And we can do all of these because we live in a society that leaves space for the kinky, the abstract and the pornographic.

[media-credit id=20122 align=”alignleft” width=”250″][/media-credit]The sloppy public kisses fueled by endorphins, the winning streak in pong that led us to a delicious one-night stand and the haggard walk home in the morning with a story to tell upon our return are the rituals we take for granted, like robotronic sexbots going through the motions. Isla Vista is paradise; we’ve all heard it. But when it comes to carnal indulgence, sexual identity and self-expression, we must remember that living in an open sexual environment is a privilege, not a global right.

Of course not all humans have been afforded the comfort to feel at ease taking part in these sexual exploits, largely due to sexual and gender identity discrimination and a common lack of mutual respect between partners that all too often ends in abuse. Yet, despite our setbacks, we are a community that is free to touch, blow, lick and grind as we please, and for that I am thankful. So thankful, in fact, that I have chosen to put the majority of my dirty porno talk aside and dedicate my first column to a more serious topic — remembering that, under consent, our foreplay endeavors, bodily fluid exchanges, sexual sensations and cathartic ejaculations are all protected under the law. If I want you to come on my face because crusty bangs make me euphoric and you are down, so is the state of California. It’s almost too legit to hit and quit.

Now that you’ve heard my take on sexual liberties, how about some formalistics. My name is Sara Fay. I am a fourth-year UCSB student currently spending my senior year living in Barcelona, Spain. I spent my first three years at UCSB working as a news writer and editor for the Nexus, and since I also spent that time freeing my mind and body in the cracks and corners of I.V.’s streets, bedrooms, beaches and bathtubs, I come to you now as a sex columnist with much to say about letting go and breaking free of ordinary sexual regimes.

I now live in a country that is openly Catholic, and accordingly, much different from the juicy rumpus that was my square-mile of passionate discovery for years on end.

If spilling seed is a sin, I.V. is the garden of transgression, and I beg you all to harvest your lots. While Spain is actually progressive in certain sexual rights movements, other countries are far from granting their citizens the right to be free within one’s own body. Sex for you is not a job like so many forced into sex trafficking, and it is not limited by marital status, location or position. It does not have to be a risk as it is for citizens of areas that have banned condoms or made them difficult to access. Sex for you is playful and fun. If your body is a temple, then your genitals are a theme park. Just make sure your member’s tall enough to ride.

So this is my little intro, and yes, I’ll be happy to show you where her G-spot is, curb your fears about anal stimulation, make you say out loud the dirty things you’re thinking and teach you how to lick his balls until he screams. But in the meantime, don’t forget to appreciate that no matter how bad or how mind-blowing you are in bed, you have the right to fuck — the right to fuck who you want and how you want to. So the next time you aren’t sure if your plat-du-jour is willing and able, bend her over or pin him against a wall and address the legalities: “You have the right to remain silent, the right to an attorney and the right to fuck me as hard as you please.” Who said legislation couldn’t be kinky?