It wasn’t until I stopped having sex that I realized how sexualized everything has become. Every TV show, every movie, every magazine picture, and every song is some way related to sex. To quote Superbad, “You know what kinds of foods are shaped like dicks? The BEST kinds.” It’s true, phallic (and yonic) symbols are everywhere (and a lot more noticeable when you’re not getting laid) – thanks a lot for that, Freud.

I’m going through what some may call a dry spell. While that’s half-true, I’d like to say it’s more of a self-imposed period of celibacy. Spending the last month and a half in my hometown (where there are ZERO prospects, by the way) and slowly-but-surely losing faith in the male species has lead me to decide that making a conscious decision to take a break from sex will save me not only from sleeping around but also from making any spur-of-the-moment bad decisions.

Well, ladies and gentlemen, it turns out that going without is not quite as easy as I first expected. Due to my current living situation, it hasn’t only been sex that’s been put on the back burner, but also masturbation and any other kind of physical intimacy (except for those nights when my best friend Emma lets me spoon her… that’s nice).

The thing is, as much as it sucks not getting laid in longer than I care to think about – there is a bit of power in deciding not to have sex. Unlike Josh Harnett in 40 Days and 40 Nights, this decision of mine hasn’t made me want to jump everything that moves. It’s actually made me be choosier about who I want to have sex with.

Maybe the problem in promiscuity lies not in the fact that people are having sex like crazy all of the time, but that we think we need to have sex like crazy all the time. This idea that we need to have sex on a regular basis to keep at bay our primal instinct to bone is the kind of mind set that leads to sleeping around and bad decisions.

I know it sounds like I’m being sex-negative here, but read any of my other articles and I assure you, that’s not the case whatsoever. All I’m saying that being sex-positive isn’t necessarily directly related to having sex. If there’s one thing we can control in our lives, it’s who we chose to have sex with (excluding violent, awful crimes).

So far, this plan has worked out okay for me (in that I haven’t imploded yet or anything). Taking a break from sex can be a good thing, really. And think on the bright side – after a sexy break, I can only imagine how great sex is going to be. Eventually I’ll find someone worthy enough to have that mind blowing back-in-the-game sex with, but for now, I’m okay with not getting any.

Although, some alone time would be nice…

Alright everyone. I owe you an apology. Last week's article made no sense. Is she done? What happened? Did she mess up? Why is she crying? Just be? What does that mean?? This is really not very man-free!

True on all counts. I was under, let's say, emotional duress while writing last week's article. It was drama llamas all around, and there's nothing more I hate than a drama llama. They just stand there, all high and mighty with their long necks and furry coats, staring down at you and then turning around like they're disgusted with your actions...drama llamas, who needs em?

Anyway scratch what I said last week. Let's talk about what happened this week!

Friday night my peer health internship was doing an event that we do twice each quarter called Snack Attack. It sounds a lot more fun than it actually is. Basically we (the interns) hand out little bags of animal crackers or pretzels to the drunken revelers in the streets around 1o PM on Friday night "to help them feel better in the morning if they choose to drink."

Yeah, I know...

Nonetheless, you learn many things when looking at the meat market that is Friday night through sober eyes, my young grasshoppers. First of all, yes, your skirt IS TOO SHORT! And no, pulling it down every 3.5 steps DOES NOT HELP. Also, ladies, if you choose to fall at any point during your night out, please, please, do not make it in front of your college town's uniformed finest while wearing the shortest, tightest dress and highest heels known to man. If you do, DO NOT attempt to be helped up by your drunk friend (who, in addition to her super-short dress and heels is wearing a walking boot - the kind you wear after breaking your foot!) who of course will proceed to fall ON TOP OF YOU. How you managed to not get arrested in beyond me. But I digress...

Oh yes, lessons learned. In addition to being aware of your wardrobe choices and managing not to fail epically in front of cops, here's one lesson that might actually save you from a little heartbreak, or at least The Clap: guys will do anything, and I mean ANYTHING. If you are drunk, and you are wearing a dress that screams "SEX SEX SEX," and don't look like a complete mess, guys will try to have sex with you. Sometimes they are more likely to try to have sex with you if you look like a complete mess. They will cat call/ hit on/text/ call/ chase after (no, seriously)/ get in fights for/ flirt with/ do shots with/ dance with/ make out and do a lot more with any girl whom they think will let them put their little friend in. Bonus points if you a) won't remember it or b) actually have a pulse.

That being said, I had my own fun Friday night. I wore my short-but-not-too-short skirt and top under my peer health sweatshirt so that I would be ready to hit the parties as soon as the last of the animal crackers had been forced upon given to the revelers. Like clockwork, I drank, had fun, danced, and then proceeded to get hit on. The suspect was a housemate of my friend throwing the party and was a bonafide Brody Jenner look alike. Like I was going to say no? Man-free May or not, he LOOKED LIKE BRODY JENNER. One thing let to another, and "hey, do you want to go take shots in my room?" was on the table. Now, I've been around this block more than a few times, ladies, and I know that when he says "hey, do you want to go take shots in my room" what he really means is "hey, lets go to my room and get you more drunk, talk a little bit and hopefully I'll see your boobs." The truth hurts.

And he did see my boobs. But not much else. Strangely I saw all of him... Even more strange, I just wasn't into it. I was drunk enough to be like, "Sure, I could have sex with you right now, but it would be a lot easier if we just made out and you played with my boobs." Which is basically what happened. And that's all that happened. Then I stayed at the party for a while longer before heading home, without the guy's digits. I know where to find him if I want to, but bottom line: I really didn't care enough to.

So, then, what does this little story say about my quest to be man-free? What have I learned from Man-Free May? Anything? Nothing? What was I actually avoiding? Men? Sex? Heartache? Rejection? Feeling like a dirty dirty pirate hooker?

Even though in retrospect my Man-Free May could've been a little (OK, a lot) more man-free, the lessons learned are not lost. If anything, they were supplemented through interaction with men. At the beginning of this challenge I was still the girl that basically had "LOVE ME" written across her forehead. Week one, I started off feeling free and focusing on me, which was amazing. Week two I started to miss the touch of a man. Week three was drama llama. I can say, though, that by abstaining from dating/hooking up this month I didn't form any suffocating emotional ties to any one guy. If "sex is the glue of God" as my mentor likes to say, I was glue-free for this month, and that was really reallyyyyyy nice. Now I'm not saying that being love-free or intimacy-free is the way to be, it just was for me this month.

The most valuable thing I've learned? Whether it is to be loved, to have nearly no interaction with the opposite sex, to date like a guy or to just have fun, make sure you know what you want. Take time to look at your history of love and sex and figure out when you were the happiest and the most unhappy. Ask yourself why, and what you can do to change that in the future. When you know what you want, you will be more confident and actually more attractive. And that's never a bad thing.

Going completely Man-Free is a big challenge, and I commend any woman who can. But at the end of the month, I know how I feel, what I want, and maybe even what I need.

[Come back next month to follow Jill on her journey to live outside the box and face her biggest fears.]

Don’t get me wrong– I like being single. I’m pretty independent. I can still study and interact with other humans. I function. But when it comes to the menfolk, I get easily distracted. And attempting to stay celibate in college is like asking Whitney Houston to get clean in a crack house. So, thinking that the best offense is a good defense, I’m using a plethora of methods to stay on track and focused.

These are the ones that didn’t work.

Fattening Food I started eating pizza every day. Like, a lot of pizza. There’s this place down the street from my house that serves whole pies for five dollars. (I get the “Oahu,” which is just fancy-pants for Hawaiian. Eating an entire pie in less than three minutes almost helps you forget you’re totally pathetic.) And the first few days I was feeling all blob-like and disgusting, but that’s actually passed. Because after a few weeks I’ve plumped up a bit, and now my skin glows (read: has a greasy sheen) from the extra calories. It kind of makes me want to have a baby. Which is bad. Bad, bad, bad.

Doogie Howser, M.D. Initially, I thought using viewings of Doogie Howser, M.D. on Hulu to stop thinking about dating was a great idea. I mean, the Doogster’s like the definition of innocence and purity. I was so, so wrong. Doogie Howser is really freaking earnest and adorable, and also kind of good looking in an (obviously) boyish way. I don’t care that he’s sixteen, or that our fictional relationship is very, very illegal. I want to be his date to the junior prom, and then I want him to give me an emergency appendectomy. And then I want to scrub myself with a wire brush for being such a perv.

Office Hours “Hey, Dr. McQueen. Can we talk about the upcoming exam for a little bit?” This is how it starts. This is how it ALWAYS starts. Because cute professors are still fun, but they’re off-limits. It’s like having only a bite of a chocolate bar — not harmful, and just enough to hold you over. And then you’re drinking too much and feeling a little restless, and then you’re leaving voicemails on Dr. McQueen’s work extension where you slur, “I’m not wearing any panties,” and then his wife is all “Who is this girl?” and then you’re having meetings with the Dean of Students, and then you’re forced to drop out of British Modern Lit because of the restraining order. It’s all very exhausting.

Knitting I saw this on Grey’s Anatomy. I think somewhere in the second (third?) season, Meredith uses knitting to distract herself from the fact that she can’t keep off McDreamy and every other random dude at Joe’s Bar. Her routine lasts maybe five minutes before she drops the yarn in favor of some loving. I should have learned from her mistakes. This is mostly because knitting is one of those things that only really cool artsy girls do (which I am not), and also because knitting needles are clearly phallic, and therefore unconsciously distracting. Knitting is also super boring. Mer didn’t stand a chance, and nor did I.

New ideas to help me stay off dudes this for this week: buying a cat, raking leaves, learning to juggle. We’ll see which ones work. Wish me luck.

Ladies, I’m sure you’ll agree with me: one of the most important aspects in any serious relationship is the sex. There’s no denying the physical and emotional needs for it, so what happens when you’re not getting any?  I had never anticipated being in a sexless relationship, so it came as a shock when my guy had a confession: he valued love and intimacy over the physical act of sex.

Right.

Naturally, it was a blow to my self-esteem. Was it me? Was I not sexy enough? Did the thought of me naked make his manhood shrivel with disgust?

This is where the ever-important “honesty” came in. I expressed my self-doubt to him, and he explained how he’d come out of a really bad long-term relationship and he wanted commitment, not just wild nights. Being the amazing, understanding girlfriend I am (yeah right), I supported his needs for an emotional connection.

It drove me crazy. I had no idea how to handle this situation. We were ridiculously into each other… just not literally. And after a while, it started to suck. Again…not in the way I wanted. What’s a girl to do? Well, buy a battery-operated buddy, to start.

After a while, though, I realized maybe we were (gasp!) better off sex free! How could I ever think that? For one, we had no need to worry about condoms or me missing my period. And we were really enjoying one another in a way I had never really known before. I even began to think that maybe sex was overrated.

Yes, I too thought I was losing my mind.

But as we spent more and more time together – without all the physical stuff – I realized that this was the real thing. There are so many more important aspects to our relationship. We have 6-year age gap, so we’re learning how to manage a real relationship outside of college, which I’ve found to be harder than dating someone on campus. It also taught me that intimacy doesn’t come from sex, it comes from being happy with what you have.

Would I recommend a sexless relationship? They’re not for everybody. Am I happy? Absolutely. What about you? Have any of you been in sex-free relationships?