You’ve heard of six degrees of separation, the sociology postulate-cum-parlor game popularized by John Guare’s play of the same name. The idea is that any two people on the planet may be connected by as few as five individuals. Connect yourself to Kevin Bacon and you’ve taken a hyperboost to your connectivity, as he is the apparent center of the six degrees universe.
My friends and I like to play six degrees of sex, which operates on the same principle, albeit in a somewhat sluttier derivation.
As it happens, anyone who plays the numbers with me gets cozy with the King, as I am five degrees of sex from Elvis. I slept with someone who slept with someone who slept with Ann-Margret who slept with Elvis. That’s a whole lot of shakin’ for me to pass on.
I’m fortunate to be linked to a pivot like Ann-Margret, as she’s had many affairs with the loose and famous. Because she slept with Warren Beatty, I’m six degrees of sex to Madonna. Sex with me leaves you seven degrees from Madge, which falls off the chart, but you do get a little shampoo in the bargain.
For a writing project, I’m collecting stories of six degrees of sex. Are you or someone you know six (or fewer) degrees of sex from an interesting connection? Perhaps it’s with a celebrity—hey, play your cards right and I can get you cozy with the King—or perhaps it’s via some other set of connections. Does your six degrees of sex led you circuitously back to a family member? Does it take you down Main Street, from fire department to post office to service station? Or perhaps it takes you back in time—a friend of mine, a gay man in his fifties, can trace six degrees of sex to Walt Whitman.
If you get lucky, you may find a prodigious pivot (like my Ann-Margret) who takes you in multiple directions. Curiously enough, it’s unlikely to be Kevin Bacon: he’s been married to Kyra Sedgwick for twenty years, and while it’s said that the couple likes their sex rough, they also apparently like it monogamous.
Think you’ve got a good story? Drop me a line at email@example.com.