Why I’ll Never Be Promiscuous
I’m drunk at a bar, making out with a stranger. He’s not the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, but he’s the hottest guy present in the room at this moment in time. “I want to take you home,” he whispers in my ear. I grab his ass and pull him close to me. “I can’t,” I say with a regretful voice. I want to though. I just can’t.
When it comes to getting naked with a stranger I’m the biggest prude on the planet. I like talking about sex with just anyone. I like looking at just anyone having sex (except relatives and old people, that’s traumatizing). I just don’t like to have sex with just anyone.
Even if I’m dating a guy, I’ll never put out right away. One date, two dates, three dates; if he’s lucky he might get in my pants after four. He’ll have to work for it though. Hard.
I don’t mean to be a ballbusting diva who likes to save his private parts only for ‘special’ occasions, so every time ‘feels like the first time all over again.’ (We’ve come a long way as a society, so I hope we’ve all realized first times in almost every category of life are overrated.) I also don’t view my sex organs as some precious enchanted genie lamp that spews magic every time it gets rubbed. I just need to feel comfortable to get down and dirty, and since I’m a social neurotic, I can never quite feel comfortable enough.
My social anxiety isn’t the only reason I can’t play myself around. If I was a girl, I’d be the one trying to convince her gay BFF to pop her cherry, hoping he’d fall in love with her. Sexual feelings usually equate to romantic feelings in the mathematics of my brain. And if they don’t, I’ll be sure to overanalyze the whole situation, creating phantom romantic feelings. I’m a slave to my own emotions.
Sometimes I wish life was like a Twilight novel, so I’d feel pride and joy about my Puritan ways, but this is the digital age, ruled by OKCupid, Grindr and Facebook. People are much more open about their sexual desires. If you want to stick your penis somewhere (or want someone to stick their penis in you), you can make it happen in 1-2-3. I envy them, all of those people who seem to get past their inhibitions so easily and just screw around like every day could be their last.
So even though I wish I was more of a slut sometimes, it’s probably the best for my psyche that I’m not. (That’s also because my neurotic mind convinces me, every time after a sexual encounter – even the safe ones – that I probably have a STD.)
But I’d like to take this moment to bow down and honor all the sluts in the world. I admire you guys. You get to live out the fantasy that I can’t. Shine on, you crazy diamonds, and go get down and dirty with that random stranger from the bar. If you need me, I’ll be sitting at home, reading Breaking Dawn.
A | A | A
You try, and you try, and you try, and you try. But sometimes, love is not enough. You don’t understand. You don’t know what to do.
“Has anyone ever told you that you kind of look like Mr. Squidward from SpongeBob Squarepants? Only when you squint and make that face — the one I really hate.”
We neglect that we are one, an entity.
I may not be with anyone, but I’ve got enough self-respect to know that I deserve someone who values me. I don’t deserve someone that treats me so appallingly, and neither does she.