All good things must come to an end, my friends, and alas, so must this column. In order to pursue other forms of writing, I’ve decided to retire as the local sexpert, or hussy, however you choose to see it. This past year as the UW’s sex columnist has been an entertaining, enlightening and often exhausting experience, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

In the course of just eight short months, I’ve learned all I need to know (and sometimes more than I needed to know) about a variety of topics from butt plugs to blowjobs. I now know that the average man will produce 14 gallons of semen in his lifetime, which makes Los Angeles resident Michelle Monahan’s world record 1.7 pints pumped from her stomach at one time seem pretty paltry in comparison. I know that left testicles usually hang lower than the right, sex is 10 times more effective than Valium as a tranquilizer and it takes 116 muscles to climax, but only 17 to smile. All strange, all true, all stuff I found while trying to come up with the statistics and facts used in the column every week.

Writing the column certainly wasn’t as easy as some of you readers assume me to be; I more often than not found myself looking at horse porn or half-hour gangbangs when I should have been researching. And a lot of the times, the stuff I found was just too disgusting to write about, such as people who have fetishes for amputees or those who like to see how much shit (literally) they can eat without throwing up. But overall, the thing I noticed the most during the course of my research was just how imperfect sex really is.

Billy Idol once said, “Great sex is great, but bad sex is like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” Odd though the metaphor may be, I think Billy has a point; sex (hopefully) is an act of pleasure, so whether you’re screaming loudly enough to break glass or half-heartedly mumbling “oh baby” over and over, at least you’re getting laid. But as great as sex may be, there are always gonna be those embarrassing moments where sex seems more like a shit sandwich than a PB&J.

Queefing, farting, gagging … the list goes on and on. Basically, wherever there’s nudity and activity involved, it’s pretty much guaranteed that you’re going to embarrass yourself. And so, in this final installment of the column, I am here to help you out with some of the more mortifying moments in the hopes that you may someday be able to avoid the problems that have plagued countless hornballs before you.

As a female, I know that queefing is one of the most humiliating things a girl can imagine, but seriously, it’s not that big of a deal. “Queefing” (a vagina fart, for those of you who didn’t learn this term on the back of the bus in sixth grade) is perfectly natural, and anytime that you are in a position involving thrusting, you’re bound to get air into your vagina. And just as you have to burp a baby after eating, the cooter must “burp” after sex. If the sound of your labia flapping in the wind doesn’t entice you, you can try to maintain pressure on your vagina during sex to force all of the air out, but this is not worth the effort. Wouldn’t you much rather relish in your unique muff music and just enjoy mind-blowing sex worry-free?

OK, so you’re pounding away, just moments from that sweet release when, out of nowhere, your ass expels an explosion. What to do? Laugh, for one. As shocking as it may seem at the time, a fart really isn’t all that bad when you consider the fact that you’re about to unleash a load of goo all over your nether regions. How bad can a little gas be in comparison to millions of sperm crawling all over your body? In fact, the average male produces 70 million sperm a day, so a couple milliliters of air doesn’t seem all that bad in comparison.

If you’re still worried about noxious noises ruining your good time, try listening to loud music during the act; not only will it drown out those untimely eruptions, it will also give you a good beat to get freaky to.

Personally, the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me during sex was when I kicked my foot through the ceiling of one guy’s room while in the throes of passion. Drywall and dust rained down upon us just as we were climaxing, yikes. Or maybe it was the three-mile walk home afterwards that was the embarrassing part … hmmm … either way, it sucked. But hey, at least I got off, right? Riiiight …

And so, with that final tidbit about the dangers of one-night stands, I leave you with this advice: just relax, sit back and enjoy the ride. But for god’s sake, use protection, because just one ejaculation contains enough sperm cells to fertilize every woman in the Marines, and nobody needs that kind of baby-mama drama.