Just a Little Harmless Sex

By Candy

I don’t remember losing my virginity. This isn’t a tragic story, I just got drunk and lost it somewhere, to some guy (thankfully I had the presence of mind to tell him to wear a condom.) I don’t mourn my lost hymen or cry about how I wish my first time had been more special, or at least more memorable. Or memorable at all. I honestly don’t even think about it that much.

I know that this mindset is unusual, but I don’t think it should be, necessarily. It just means that historically, sex hasn’t been an especially huge deal for me. Sure, I enjoy it as much as the next girl, maybe even more so, but I just don’t want to give it that much power in my life. I much prefer to worry about things like love or general affection in my relationship with men.

I’m a one man woman now, but before I got in to this long term relationship, I had cracked double digits. Most were one night stands with guys who were generally decent and thoughtful in the sack but I didn’t expect much from them outside the bedroom and the feeling was mutual. I don’t know if this means that I’m a modern woman in my opinions about sex, but I prefer that classification more than “whore“, or “slut“ (“Harlot” and “Hussy” I’m okay with, because they are fun to say and don’t have quite the venom that the first two words do).

For a long time, I felt like I should feel bad about my sexual history, that it meant something awful, like I had been sleeping around because I had low self esteem and a need for approval, or a daddy complex. The more I think about it, though, the more I realize that although I might have had all of those things, I had sex because I enjoyed it. It made me feel powerful, desirable and I found the little (okay, sometimes big) differences between all these men fascinating. I especially enjoyed the hour or two before the deal was sealed, when you knew that you were going to have sex with this person and everything that you said to each other was so charged and sexy and full of promise.

My boyfriend has had as many partners as I have, almost down to the number, and he has had more of a problem accepting my past than I have his. Honestly, the thought of him having had sex with one of his old partners doesn’t bother me one bit. If he had sex with someone else now, I would probably lose my sh*t, but I don’t begrudge him any of the pleasure he may have had with other women in his past. It’s all a part of the history that makes up this person that I love, in the same way that my history is a part of me.

What concerns me more than sex (mine or his) are the emotional attachments formed. I would have more of a problem if he told an ex that he still had feelings her but never saw her again than if he met up with an ex and they had sex.

When I think back on my love life, which is fairly rare-to-never now that I’m in such a happy relationship, I think more about the night I spent kissing a guy and joking around with him — something that was sweet and fun — than any nights I ever spent having plain old sex.