We’ve got a secret surprise hiding under our covers this year. The Hatchet will bring you two anonymous columnists – a guy and a girl – to report on sex at GW. This week Delilah’s on top. Next week Samson gets his turn.

Editor’s note: Names have been changed to protect the naughty.

Bad shoes, snug jeans, lateness, polos with thick horizontal stripes, sloppy kisses, tattoos, not reciprocating, humping me like you’re a Jack Russell terrier on a fire hydrant. He may be gorgeous, he may be sweet, he may even have the nicest ass I’ve seen on my walk from E Street to HelWell yet, but if it’s my pants he’s looking to unzip or my heart he’s looking to steal, he is sure as hell out of luck.

There you have it, my deal breakers: those poor choices in dress, technique and personality that no amount of sexiness can rise above. I know some of you may be reading and find this harsh or picky, yet I must assure you that I have my “so not going to have a romp with you” rubric for a reason.

I picked up this fella I’ll call “Passion Fruit” one night as my girls and I sat in a lounge and watched all the ripe fruit pass us by. As I sipped my vodka and Red Bull I saw him walk across the dance floor and was ready to shake my booty and go in for the kill. As we danced in the glare of the flashing lights and the blaring music Passion Fruit and I managed to exchange a few sentences. Not only did I like the way he gyrated his hips, but I also found he had a few slightly interesting things to say, so I walked away with his phone number.

Two weeks later, Passion Fruit and I had racked up four dates or so and decided to go out for the classic dinner and a movie. I wasn’t even halfway through my Caesar salad when I decided I needed to have a morsel of this fruit sooner rather than later, so I suggested that we ditch the theater and watch some DVDs at my place. As I popped in another episode of Entourage, my Passion Fruit was looking riper and juicier by the minute. I took a hold of his collar and kissed this fine fruit, but my lip-locking and dry humping was rudely interrupted.

No it was not my next-door neighbor barging in, it was a hideous pair of periwinkle sneakers! When and where did these ugly shoes decide to walk their way next to my nightstand? Sadly, these fugly shoes came from the feet of my beautiful man. As he continued to kiss my neck, all I could do was stare at those shoes and feel my libido hit rock bottom. The shoes couldn’t decide if they were blue or purple, but I was firm in my decision that Passion Fruit needed to make his way to another Farmeress’ market. As I pretended to be “soooo tired” and walked him out of my apartment just minutes later. Not even his black Mustang or his great kisses could earn him another invitation to my apartment.

After this particular night many of my friends thought that I was a bit too picky and possibly more neurotic than they had suspected. But when it comes to finding someone with whom we could possibly say “I love you” or “I could really see this going somewhere” there is no such thing as picky. Finding guaranteed ass or at least some every once in a while is no difficult task. Most of us could probably sit in Kogan Plaza between our classes and at least find a few willing participants if we tried. The real effort and the real work lies in finding somebody you could maybe spend the rest of your life or at least the next six months to a year with.

At times I wish I could compromise my deal breakers just a bit, but then I realize that settling for something I don’t care for means compromising on something much more important: my self-respect and point of view. Having preferences and deal breakers is the ultimate sign that you have somewhat figured out what you want from a partner, but may also force you to look at your own flaws. Writing this article has forced me to take a look at some of mine. I’m outspoken, I take things a bit too personally, I bite my nails and, well, I bare my sex life to the GW community, which for many men may be a decisive deal breaker.

But remember my friends, changing our tastes and our traits to conform to what someone we fancy has a failure rate at around 100 percent. Your real self with all your flaws, your preferences and your great traits is always sexier.