Thursday, April 18, 2024

Alone, dry, free to fly

It’s been nearly six months.

Six months since I last had sex. That may not sound like a lot to some, but it’s a while to me. It’s double what I’ve done in the past. Yup, before this, the longest I went without sex was only three months. And, boy, was that a struggle.

This time, however, it feels different. Time has been passing by, and I’ve barely noticed. Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months. Now, it’s almost six months.

Don’t get me wrong: If I were dying to get laid, the deed could be done. A couple of men caught my eye, and I flirted with the idea of chasing them. But you know what? I’m tired of chasing men. It’s about damn time men start to chase me. Plus, I found no use in ruining any friendships or starting anything with anyone when this was my last semester here. So I stayed away and kept my erotic thoughts to myself.
Anyway, I’ve developed standards. I know my worth and what I deserve.

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I’m nearly 22 years old now. I’m graduating college with two degrees, and I’m over whack-ass hookup sex. The few times I had sex before my six-month streak, I wasn’t feeling it. The sex lacked passion — as it always does when it’s not with someone meaningful. I long for beautiful, romantic yet rough, fun and everything-in-between sex. I’m not a young, reckless college student anymore (not that the casual hookup scene applies to only that group), and I know what I want.

Not too long ago, I found what I wanted: an educated man I loved to show off and bring home at night. After that ended, sex lost its glow. Maybe it was because the dudes I fooled around with sucked. Maybe it was because I couldn’t get the thought of that guy out of my mind. Who knows? I do know, though, that I want someone who can stimulate me not only sexually but emotionally, too. And if someone can’t value my mind, then they sure as hell shouldn’t get a taste of my body.

I’d rather be alone than settle for what I don’t want. I’m fine with being alone. I’ve grown to love it actually.

In these months I’ve spent alone, I’ve had a lot of time to focus on me. I freelanced and blogged. I applied to a gazillion fellowships and internships. I already landed a full-time gig after graduation. I’ve killed it in my classes, and I haven’t felt very stressed at all. I can credit this to my lack of stupid-boy stress. I usually waste my time sulking over crushes and whether they’re crushing back — but not this semester.
This semester, I was free. I am free. Finally.

None of this has been easy, obviously. Sure, I now value loneliness and independency, yet I appreciate the sweet memories of having someone to wake up to in the morning and then attack for a morning quickie. (Those are my favorite.) A vibrator can do only so much, and most times, I feel more alone after rubbing one out. As I fill my mind with fantasies and past lovers to get me going, I realize how far gone those memories are — and how alone I am now.

Like I said though, I’m turning 22 this year. None of you are much older. All of us are babies in the grand scheme of things. What’s six months to the rest of my life, to our lives?

I’ll be in Seattle in a few months, and I’m sure I’ll find me a sexy mountain man (or woman) to end this streak. I’m proud of it, but I’m growing bored of it.

Freedom is great, but some loving plus freedom is even better.

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