The other day in the auto, I was doing a count of how many people I have had sex with. I don’t know if my “score” is high or not – but it did take me through one traffic signal and I had two “oh yaaaa totally forgot about that person” moments.
Sometimes my friends complain about how long it has been since they have had any action. We jokingly keep a log of their dry spells, but I don’t seem to have that problem. This is not because I am a babe and everywhere I go people are into me or something. It’s also not because I am a girl about town with a super active social life.
I think I have a good amount of (according to me) sex because, I simply allow for it to happen.
I am very aware when someone expresses interest in me. Some people claim they can never tell – but to me it’s obvious. First you become aware of a persons presence, then you both make eye contact longer, find lame reasons to elongate the conversation and there is a general magnetic force field type of feeling that starts happening between the two bodies, I guess that’s why its called attraction.
Whenever this happens to me, if I feel drawn to the person, I reciprocate. If I don’t, I won’t.
And when I do reciprocate, more often that not, it results in a hook up. Then the next day (or sometimes even a few minutes later) I like to tell a few of my closest friends.
For the next few days I would get the sick kind of feeling you get in your stomach when you eat too much junk food. I’d force myself to block out the memory of the hook up and I would keep thinking of all sorts of other things.
And those thoughts made me feel pretty small and shitty.
But even though my friends felt it was bad and this self-hate haunted me – my practice of casual hook ups didn’t end. Whenever opportunity presented itself – I still took it up on the offer. I don’t think I continued doing it because I enjoy debasing myself, or because it was a poor addiction problem – but because the actual experience in itself was enjoyable for me.
Its not like I was a naive fool who was not aware when someone was testing waters with many people, or when a person was a general charmer. I did see it, but I didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. So what if I am not the most prized and special choice? What am I supposed to hold out for anyway? Does someone have to prove a prolonged and exclusive show of devotion and desire in order for it to be okay to sleep with them? If I sleep with someone without putting up a chase does it mean I am no longer of any value – to myself – to them – to others? I know that people often call people like me easy with a meanness in their voice. Is this where the feeling of being used comes from? Is my worth located in who gets to touch my body, and how often? Is sex an experience of someone taking away something you have or of two people connecting with each other through their bodies? Why is the who and when and how many times I decide to have a sexual experience more important than the fact that it is me who chooses every time.
Am I slut?
And if yes, is that bad?
I really like the feeling of meeting a total stranger, and getting to know them intimately. Experiencing different people’s styles of physical touch, responding to the way different bodies work together, the electricity that happens in anticipation, holding someone’s gaze and just letting yourself feel good – all of this makes me feel alive. It might not always lead to the greatest mind blowing orgasms – but the experience has mostly been open and respectful with a warm thanks for a good time and that was that kind of bye in the morning. All of which works great for me – and isn’t that a good enough reason to just do it?
So instead of stopping my practice, I just stopped telling those set of friends. Initially I would keep quiet and be bursting to tell someone but have no one to tell. Till slowly, I found a new set of friends…
And now for the next few days after a hook up, I find myself dwelling on all the little details in my head – something that was said or a feeling that it caused in my stomach or an image flash of my body and theirs – and instead of shrinking and feeling shitty, I am sitting in an auto smiling to myself at all these sweet experiences I have.
Glitch is a 28 year old, and by definition both unpredictable and uncontrollable.