I certainly don’t consider myself shy about the suggestive content of my music. Truth is, I draw on a lot of my own romantic, sexual, and sensual experiences when I’m crooning out note after soulful note in the booth. And when I’m out in the street, walking around whatever city I’ve sold out that night, it makes me happy to think that my music is out there bringing people together for hours and hours of hot sex.

When I first started out singing in public, I was told that age-old maxim about battling nervousness on stage: imagine the audience in their underwear. I still do that, but at this point in my career I also think about the audience tearing off their underwear and going at it with each other like wild animals while I sing, as I know a sizable percentage have.

Of course, it’s impossible to know how many people have had their brains screwed out to my music. It’s probably more than Lloyd, but honestly most likely less than someone like D’Angelo, or Maxwell. But that’s cool. They’ve been in the game of making songs that get you absolutely juiced with carnal desire longer than I have.

I don’t even think about being on Marvin Gaye’s level yet, but I can dream.

Sometimes I think about how my music gets people of all genders in the mood to unleash their inner fuck-demons, and my own mood invariably cheers up.

Sometimes I think about how many threesomes might have been had to my discography, and I whisper “nice” to myself.

And then sometimes I think about how some people might have cheated on their significant other to my music, and I get a little sad. But then I think that my songs probably helped their experience reach mutual mind-altering orgasms, and I smile. Who am I to judge?

Fans sometimes come up to me and tell me how much my music has positively affected their relationships. I usually give them a curt wink. I know what they’re talking about.

They’re talking about banging.