Don’t hate me. I love the Yankees. They are truly the only interesting thing about baseball. I wouldn’t have gone near the World Series if there was no Derek Jeter as short stop every other inning. Because of Jeter, I watched every game. I don’t care if he dated Mariah Carey, he makes baseball sexy. At the end of game three, I got to thinking: How would I want Derek Jeter to round my bases?

Certainly there is a classic baseball sex analogy. You know first base, second base, third and a home run. We were all introduced to this handy gauge of sexual experience in middle school. After playing Seven Minutes in Heaven at a party, we’d get together with our little friends and use baseball-coded language to fabricate tales of our blossoming love lives. Back then, first base was holding hands. If the runner got to second, he’d kissed the girl. At third, there was tongue. And that was it, my friends. Maybe some over-the-shirt action at home plate but, let’s face it, in middle school only a handful of girls had reached puberty and were worth feeling up.

Nowadays, things have changed. The natural progression of sexual experiences still exists; it’s just a hell of a lot dirtier. First base is making out. Most of the time, we’re too drunk to remember stepping up to bat. Either way, we get there and we’re bound to round on to second.

Some would argue that second base is where all the manual stimulation happens. Others, such as me, consider hand jobs and toying around in this manner a complete waste of time, if not exhausting. Either way, this is where we will place these activities because, honestly, where else are they going to go?

Third base is when it gets interesting. At third base, we get to have oral sex. I am truly jumping for joy. After third, the runner brings it on home. Sex wraps up the progression of physical contact. This progression can take years. For some, it takes a disappointing and drunken ten minutes.

But I digress. If I had Derek Jeter in my big fluffy bed with a fresh autumn night ahead of us, would I have to round all the bases? More importantly, would I want to?

Undoubtedly, Jeter would hop into bed expecting some caressing in the first inning, a brief hand job in the third, a stellar blow job by the top of the sixth and some weary cuddling at the bottom of the ninth. With this societal standard hanging over our heads, how could I explain to him that I’d rather skip the bases and get to home plate? Hell, I barely know the guy. I’d be nervous and scared and that would ruin any chance for a great experience.

Why must we set these standards for ourselves? I thought this was supposed to be America’s favorite pastime. I wish we all had our own personal baseball diamonds with no universal standard to which to compare them. In my game of sexual baseball, oral sex comes after intercourse (but not right after it because, yuck). I mean really, if I’ve decided to put it anywhere, I’ll put it where it belongs, for Pete’s sake.

It’s simply too bad that our personal sexual preferences are measured against a standard that defines the way we all look at sex. In a time when sexual encounters are more and more frequent and anonymous, these standards make it even more difficult to ask for what we want. With so much pressure, how can we stay true to our desires? After all, isn’t that what it’s all about?

And so the next time you’ve got a Major League baseball player, Anna Kournikova, or the kid you hooked up with at QU in your bed, do what you want, make it feel great and win the Series. Do it for the Yankees.