When faced with the question “What turns you on?” almost all of us have the same answer: I’m turned on by someone who’s smart, funny, well dressed, creative, successful, blah blah blah. And sure, all of those things are stimulating, but that’s only half the story—frankly, the really boring half. But I stick with the stock answer, because saying some version of “I’m turned on by intelligence” sounds way less scary than the reality, which is that I’m mostly turned on by a weird genre of faux surveillance porn where teen girls are caught shoplifting and then blackmailed into giving security guards awkward blow jobs. Is that bad? For some reason, what I admire in someone and what actually turns me on often bear no relation. I’m sorry, but I just don’t believe that anyone’s ever come thinking about how their boyfriend is a good listener.

A century ago, Sigmund Freud famously threw up his hands when confronted with female desire. “The great question that has never been answered, and which I have not yet been able to answer, despite my 30 years of research into the feminine soul,” Freud wrote, “is ‘What does a woman want?’” Bro seemed to be confused about a lot of things lady-related, but I’m with him on this one. It’s roundly acknowledged by now that female sexual arousal is more complex than that of our male counterparts: Basically, guys are just happy to see body parts, whereas female sexuality is a messy tug-of-war between the body and the mind. We want romance, and yet we fall for guys who ignore us. We identify as straight, but we’re turned on by lesbian porn. We want security, but we also randomly have rape fantasies (admit it). Have our vaginas gone rogue?

On a daily basis, I’m more often turned on by random stimuli than by actual human beings. The vibration of the subway. A whiff of trashy Axe body spray, which always reminds me of high school hand jobs. I recently saw an advertisement for breast implants, and while attempting to be offended by it, I accidentally got horny—I guess because it reminded me that boobs exist? Lingerie billboards always get me. I’m currently in the process of Invisalign, and I have this cheesily hot orthodontist who’s constantly sticking his fingers in my mouth and it’s amazing. As of late, my masturbation fantasies have mainly centered around tooth alignment.

Evolutionary biology tells us that what we find “sexy” is ultimately indicative of what’s best for the survival of the species—meaning that being fit, having clear skin, and sending well-crafted emails are all qualities that evoke health and competence, which in turn make someone more fuckable. But can evolutionary biology explain my gang-bang fantasy? I guess the Darwinians would argue that sleeping with 10 guys at once makes you 10 times more likely to get pregnant (survival of the fittest genetic material?), which is all part of my inherent desire to procreate. But I kind of don’t buy that. All I know is that in order to come during sex, I usually have to close my eyes and focus extremely hard on the idea of being violated by a gang of meathead bros. And I also know that I’m not the only one.