OK, let’s be honest. I missed deadline. After a solid week of getting tipsy by myself every night in an attempt to get the creative juices flowing, I still had nothing.

I don’t have bad date stories. I don’t remember the last time I had a real date. I don’t have relationship rhetoric, because I haven’t seen the sweet insides of a relationship for almost a year now. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to get regularly scheduled nookie from a steady sex partner. Actually, I’m beginning to forget what it feels like to even have sex. (OK, maybe that is an exaggeration.)

But then I found the last of my Scotch and realized that having absolutely nothing to write about was something in and of itself – or maybe it was the incredibly suggestive sex scenes in NBC’s new series Lipstick Jungle that did it for me. Either way, I discovered that I am experiencing a topic known to a good portion of our population as the sexual drought.

And within this vast, empty, barren, devoid-of-sweetness, desperate, vast (did I mention empty?) drought has come a period of sexual awakening. Did you know that you could have completely guilt-free midnight tango sessions with men you’ve never even seen? Of course, it’s only in your dreams, but you don’t run the risk of any nasty party favors, à la STDs. Seriously, waking up three times during the night because your dream man has made you orgasm yet again is really worth the under-eye circles it causes the next day.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not desperate for sex. It isn’t as if I’ve posted on Craigslist.org yet or anything…at least, not that I can remember.

No, I have this all under control. I have a great oscillating showerhead, a great little toy my college girlfriends gave me as a gag gift, and my favorite clip on YouPorn.com bookmarked. I’m set. Really.

So, then, what am I complaining about, you may ask. Well, nothing, really. Isn’t that the whole point of this month’s topic?

What? You think I’m lying through my teeth? OK, you may be right.

So a girl misses sex (good, bad, fast, slow, hot and heavy, tender and romantic). So what? So what if she really could just go for a good make-out session in the back seat of her ex’s car, or a little fondling in the coatroom at a party? There’s no harm in any of that.

But of course, I never settle for playing the introspective writer. No, I need to know what other women think. Last week, I went out with a group of fabulous girls in downtown BR and gossiped over divine pizza and beer to get the scoop. Two of the stories stuck out, and I thought I’d share. Don’t worry, girls: names are changed (wink wink).

Motorcycle Diaries – Jennifer is single, gorgeous, and puts herself out there in the dating scene. But every once in a while, she hits that same drought that is scorching my palate. When she does, she lets her dreams take over. These aren’t just any dreams, either. No, we’re not talking tall, dark stranger in the back of the bar. She dreams of motorcycles – rumbling, muscular, powerful motorcycles. Now, if that’s not representative of some serious action, I don’t know what is.

The Standby – Kristin definitely isn’t single anymore, but I got her to spill over cocktails that she keeps a standby. No, I don’t mean an extra set of batteries in her nightstand drawer. I mean she keeps a standby, tried and true, loyal-to-bone (oh wait, was there a double entendre there?), hook-up buddy on speed dial. He keeps her warm on those freezing “my boyfriend and I just broke up” nights and is ready at a moment’s notice when she needs to relieve a little stress after a long workweek.

These substitutes or standbys are great, but aren’t they really just illusions? Friday night fantasies may keep the mind limber, but they really aren’t the real deal when it all comes down to it. There’s no intrigue, no torment, no chase, no God-I-wish-he-would-stop-fooling-around-down-there-and-just-do-me-already moments. And whether those moments are good, bad, or just mediocre, they are real, tangible moments of the relationship rhetoric and the succulent sex that comes along with it.

Maybe this drought, painful and expensive (I should buy stock in Energizer^®), will be the catalyst to make me straighten out my priorities – although, right now, those priorities would seem to include a trail of clothes leading to the laundry room and an empty but vibrating washer. Maybe I will realize that it is time to once again play the game and open myself up to potential suitors. And then, after they have sufficiently courted me, maybe, just maybe, it will be time to let one of them get close enough to become my regular midnight rendezvous partner. At least, if I did that, you wouldn’t be stuck reading about the “want to have” sex. You’d be reading about actual sex. And that would be so much more fun, now, wouldn’t it?

Moral of the story? Dreams are great, fantasies even better, sexual standbys are halfway there, but the real deal is worth making it through the drought.  It may suck right now (if you’re open to those sorts of things), but if you can make it through the treacherous open spaces, you may just find something or someone to fill the void.