This should be our pass to do away with the shackles of expected false normalcy. People should say, “If I’m weird, so are these millions of other people who like chest pooping.

Sex: a primal ripping of clothes, baring of flesh and surrendering of your mental driver’s seat to lust. During the time our practical selves become the backseat observer, we can often forget what is deemed socially acceptable, and act only on desire.

This may lead the ever-awkward revelation of an embracing fetish. But as Dan Savage, writer of “Savage Love,” would attest to: Everyone has a fetish, and if they say different, they’re lying.

A “supposed” true story told to me from a close friend:

A female University of Wisconsin student meets a cute guy at a house party her sophomore year of college. The two hit it off in their drunken euphoria. He met her status quo ideas of normal: two eyes, legs, hands and, hopefully, one penis.

Apparently he said all the “right” — or typical — things, and the two headed to the girl’s apartment. Her expectations were archetypal, “I was ready for some foreplay and maybe even sex if it went right.” Foreplay commenced — alcohol-soaked tongues, pinching and a little dirty talk.

Then it happened.

In the throes of passion, and a little bit too much comfort, he frantically told her, “Just s--t on my chest. Do it. S--t on my chest.”

Her silent open mouth said it all. She bolted for the door and her idea of normalcy.

I’m sure readers are recoiling, or giggling, and consider this guy’s sexual cravings subversive. The girl’s reaction to him was probably devastating. He was alone in every sense, watching someone run from his deepest desires.

In time where our A&E channel movies, films like “8mm” — and hyped news coverage of the “dangers” of Internet porn — keep these thoughts in the category of “other,” how can someone express these desires to their significant other without scaring them off?

Our parent’s generation was supposed to be alive during the summer of love and general experimentation. How did generations X and Y still manage to believe that people don’t have freaky kinks?

Baby boomers never had the sexual truth thrown in their faces like ours. The Internet is more proof than ever that there is no such thing as normal. This should be our pass to do away with the shackles of expected false normalcy. People should say, “If I’m weird, so are these millions of other people who like chest pooping.”

What good are commercials advertising pills promising hours of erections, or lubricative gels, if we can’t use them the way we want? Instead of using the Internet as tool to advocate our lusts, we demonize it. We clear our histories and societal-forced guilty conscious in hopes the world doesn’t discover we’re human after all.

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