My co-worker Zara would tell you that I used my s#xuality as a tool — a weapon, if you will — to lure in my ex and get him right where I wanted him: down on his knees, tongue wagging and thirsty as all hell, waiting for me to give him the key to my sweet spot. That it was a control thing.
I was wary of having s#x with him. I wondered if the dynamic between us would change once I gave myself to him in that way. According to Zara, “if anyone, boy or girl, authentically likes you, they won’t neglect you after you have s#x with them.”
I don’t know if I believe that. Even if you’re capable of playing the game of love with someone, it’s easier to write that person off after you have s#x with him for the first time. Because at that point, you’ve already half-won.
A couple of months ago, I called it quits with my Irish f*ck buddy. Some time after swearing to myself I’d never jump into bed with someone before getting to know him first, I had s#x with someone else I barely know.
I’m not going to lie to you all: It’d been a hot minute since I’d last gotten laid. I was overdue. I really just needed do my thing and get out of my head for a while.
On a random weeknight, I pounded back some champagne and went home with this guy named Brad*. We had s#x and fell asleep. And as he laid there lightly snoring, with one arm on my ass and the other in my hair, I was lying there wondering if I had played it all wrong.
I’m not that girl, I kept thinking to myself, in my half-drunk, half-stoned state. “That girl.”
What girl? The girl who happened to turn up on a weeknight and, propelled by the kind of booze-infused horniness that only makes her human, made the executive decision to have s#x? The girl who kind of just lived her life as it came? What’s so bad about being “that girl”? At some point, aren’t we all that girl?
“So,” I said to him, running my hands through his hair after he woke up. “Are you gonna f*ck me back to sleep?”
He laughed. “Do you want me to?”
I grinned and nodded my head.
As he rummaged around for another condom, I sat back on my knees and watched. I thought about what provoked me to say the words I’d just said, because they weren’t me. I suppose they were the words I thought he wanted to hear. The words of the girl I thought I was supposed to be: the strong, fun-loving, unemotional, devil-may-care chick who DGAF about anything or anyone.
But I left that morning feeling … off.
s#x positive culture encourages me to own my s#xuality, but this sometimes makes me do things I’m personally not comfortable doing. I feel like I’m not a “powerful woman” if I’m not having s#x all the time.
I’m not slut-shaming, by the way. I don’t even believe in the word “slut.” We all have needs, and we should listen to those needs, even if it means having a one-night stand.
It just so happens that my need to be loved is greater than my need to have emotionless s#x. But since I live by foolish impulses and poorly planned decisions, I always end up replacing emotional intimacy with physical intimacy. I always end up doing things I don’t want to do.
I don’t think very highly of myself, so when I make a decision haphazardly, I spiral uncontrollably. Like, here’s where I’m at right now: What if he thought I was bad? What if he thinks I don’t have respect for myself? What if he files away our one drunken night together as a one-and-done-type deal? What if I haven’t heard from him since because he noticed those stretch marks on my thigh that I so vehemently try to hide? What if I’m ugly and weird and never find someone who likes me for me?
JESUS. I can’t stop spinning.
I f*cked him because I’m lonely. But how many times do I have to have meaningless s#x until I realize that meaningless s#x isn’t for me? That “just s#x” isn’t a cure for my loneliness, but rather an instigator?
s#x, for me, isn’t something that stays between the sheets. I carry it outside the bedroom, reliving it again and again in my memory, while feeling just a little bit robbed of character and compassion. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t that way, but I am.
We often have to hit rock bottom to finally keep from doing the things keeping us from being our best selves, and I think that this was my rock bottom. This feeling is the feeling I’ve been trying so hard to fight against.
I won’t have “just s#x” anymore. If it isn’t making me happy, it isn’t worth doing. Part of being s#xually empowered is having s#x with whoever you want. But it also means you can NOT have s#x with whoever you want.
The next time I’m feeling lonely, I’ll pick up a book instead.