Everywhere I look it seems everyone’s talking about sex. Talking about it, blogging about it, singing about it on the radio, having it. It’s one of the most crude elements of being human, almost as much as sleeping and eating. I mean, for God’s sake, slugs do it. So why is it something that keeps us awake at night, hands hovering over our keyboards, unable to articulate just how we feel about it.
I barely even remember the first time I had sex, only that he kept his shirt on, and I hit my head on the car door, and it was dark and we tasted like Fireball, and all the bobby pins from my prom hair were digging into my head. It wasn’t bad, not by any account. It was exactly how I wanted it, with who I wanted it with at the time.
I remember the second time even less. It was two weeks after Thanksgiving this year, and I had just convinced myself I was finally cutting ties with the boy who tasted like Fireball and who I had a crush on since the fourth grade. I wore a big festive bow in my hair, he had a christmas turtleneck on, and I left at 4 a.m. with a sprained ankle from tripping the night before.
The third time played out similarly. The fourth time at least I left when it was light out.
Sometimes I think I’m falling into a toxic pattern. I’m barely remembering my time with these people and yet I’m doing the most intimate of things with them. I’m insecure about wearing a bathing suit to the pool, but I’m bearing my all, having conversations in strangers’ t-shirts in beds not my own where I disclose my innermost thoughts.
So when I say I don’t know how I feel about sex, I guess I just don’t understand myself. I can’t be alone in this, no way I’m the only girl to never have had sober sex.
I’m insecure about wearing a bathing suit to the pool, but I’m bearing my all, having conversations in strangers’ t-shirts in beds not my own where I disclose my innermost thoughts.
I think a huge part of it is a fear to be intimate. Because that’s when it gets serious, right? When you’re not just laughing your way through a hook up because you’ve been drinking and he’s cute, when you really care about someone.
Who can say when the right time for the real relationships are in life? I can put it off forever, with excuses like, “I’m going abroad!” or “College is only a few more years, then what?” But ultimately, there’s no right time for any of it. I mean what do I know, cause I still keep the sweatshirt from #1. So maybe its just as easy to catch feelings even with a playbook of excuses.