The truth about my glamorous sex life.
The fact that I’m a bisexual polyamorous chick with a decidedly slutty ideology is reason enough for most people to assume I get sex like kittens get cuddles. Which is a lot unless you take into account all those underprivileged homeless kittens out there with no one to cuddle them, and I was ignoring them just now. I’m sorry, little match kittens.
Viola and I were talking about sluts the other day, and how we love them. “…and people like you are awesome too,” she said, “because you’re not a slut, but you get it.” This is basically true. Of course I’m a slutty slutty slut slut compared to some people, but it bears mentioning that these people are really and truly not having very much sex. I get to see Oren for great sex pretty regularly, and Viola is, as ever, my fuckbuddy for life, but I see her much more sporadically. Most weeks my sex life looks like that of a fairly average monogamous heterosexual person, despite the fact that madcap sexual adventures are encouraged by everyone involved. And compared to most poly people I know? Let’s just say I do a lot of masturbating.
There’s a cultural trope that it’s easy for women to find sex. And maybe it is, but finding someone to connect with isn’t easy for all of us, and that’s a huge limiting factor on the sex I’m having, at least. Basically, here’s why I’m not having as much sex as most people probably think I’m having.
- I am picky. Seriously, my hormones just don’t flow like that for most people. I wish this were different, and I sometimes wonder if it’s not my own fault because I’m too reserved and awkward. It probably is, but somehow I can’t make myself magically less reserved and awkward any more than I can force myself to want your roommate Ethan’s penis in me.
- I am also, as the link above indicates, not so good at flirting. I assume everyone wants to be my friend (because duh) and no one wants to bone me. There is a kind of dance, with steps of vulnerability, of give-and-take, that people perform while wending their way toward consummation. I have never quite caught on to the rhythm of it.
- Bish, I am tired. I am exhausted pretty much all the time. Lately, just thinking about dating exhausts me. I hate that it’s even possible for me to be at this point, but sometimes pursuing sex (or even having sex) just takes too much energy. And sometimes I’m focusing too hard on not disintegrating under the pulverizing crucible of chronic pain to seduce anybody. So if I’m going to sign up for sex these days, it’s going to have to be sex I’m 90% sure is going to be terrific, understand? Oren and Viola? Always worth it. Ethan? Dunno. No ATP to spare for wildcards.
- I’m often told I’m intimidating. No idea if this is a pervasive thing, but it comes up enough that I assume it nets me fewer chat-ups and sexual possibilities. Sorry I’m not sorry if I’m scary, everybody. ::dinosaur face::
- OH GOD IT’S BECAUSE I’M UGLY, ISN’T IT??? (Just kidding. Usually.)
I suppose I’m doing the stereotypical feminine thing now where I want to have sex with connection, with meaning, with intent to build something– even if it’s not a traditional relationship or whatever– with the other person. Of course, party sex still has its place, and sometimes I get in a mood where I’m game as fuck for it. But it’s probably not today, and you should believe me when I say that everybody at that party better be vetted the house down.
I’m not a slut so much as I’m slut-compatible. For now, at least. Nothing ever doesn’t change, so that might.