The Breakfast Standard

I tend to have a very simple end-all standard for who I will or will not play with - I ask myself one simple question. Would I like to have breakfast with this person?

I got this standard from The Slut. Before then, I didn't really have an articulated standard. She, however, planted this idea in my head at the time lots of my other ideas about sex were morphing and changing. And for the most part, this standard has served me very well.

There has been a lot of discussion in my house about the meaning and usefulness of this standard. I live with two boys - one gay boy whose standards tend to be more flexible than mine, and one straight boy who will purposefully go years without a bed buddy while waiting for someone it feels "right" with.

Don't get me wrong - for all of my belief in openness about sexuality, I am a firm believer that everyone should have the right and the freedom to choose their own. Whatever it may be. Want to wait until you're married to The One, and only ever do it with the lights off and the covers pulled over both of you? If both of you are into it, then more power to you. Want to sleep with a new person every night, and two on Saturdays? Do it safely, and maintain your mental health, and go for it.

The point is - standards are not one-size-fits-all. Or even one size fits most adults.

The breakfast standard seems to be a good one. It indicates that I actually enjoy talking to a person enough that the 1/2 hour or so of conversation over scrambled eggs would not be painful. It also indicates I wouldn't mind looking at them enough to make the eye contact of conversation. It also indicates that if they woke up in my bed, or visa versa, I wouldn't be scared and tempted to gnaw my arm off.

There's only been once I broke this standard. It was one of the two times I went home with someone from the bar. The highlights of this evening included:

Falling off the bed. Twice. Both times, I was in such a position I couldn't stop us from falling, and we went literally head over heels. I had bruises the next morning, and not the good kind.

The "whoops, sorry, I aimed wrong" excuse. I'm actually mildly into back door activities (not to put too fine a point on it) but you don't just spring that on someone with no warning, no making sure it's ok, and NO LUBE. BAD idea dude... -30 points and no invitation back.

Waking up to find a giant rosary on the wall. Literally giant. As in the crucifix was a good 2 feet across. Yeeek. Not what one wants to see after an evening of fairly bad sex.

He didn't get my number, didn't get a second chance, or even get morning nookie.

The flipside is, when you do fit that standard, and especially if you happen to be lucky enough to be in my home, then you do get breakfast... I'll make you toast from homemade bread, scrambled eggs, maybe even throw in some bacon or sausage.

No matter how cavalierly you choose to approach it, sex can be and is somehow intimate. Food is as well - there is a reason many very conservative religions have strict rules about both. And if I'm not willing to share my table, then I can't picture myself sharing my bed.