The other day, my friend and I were driving to Hudson (Wisco) on a Sunday afternoon to buy some wine.  Yes, that calculation all together means we physically left the state we were in (Minnesota) and cruised controlled our way to Wisconsin so we could legally buy booze. On a Sunday.

Girls gotta do what a girls’ gotta do, okat? Even if that means taking a flashback ride to the high school days – when you would beg someone older to drive the healthy hour into a state where no one else had anything better to do than drink on God’s day o’ rest. Cheers.

Basically, while she sped east and I sat and ate my Uncrustable for breakfast in the passenger seat, we had a chance to get down to talking. And of course, that conversation was about boyz. I immediately assumed it was kosher that we were being desperate about booze and discussing the one thing we couldn’t ever seem to figure out. My roommate and I can relate, we’ve both been single for a while, we both like to go out and have fun and we both like to dish about it. Naturally, our conversation led to something a little sacred in the dating world. Sexay time.

It has been (let’s just say a while) since we’d been “intimate” (for lack of floozy words) with anyone. So we began comparing time frames.

“It’s been a year.”

“It’s been nearly two years.”

And then we looked at each other with the type of fear people save in the back files of their emotions and feelings for jail, court, car crashes, in-laws, and moldy bread combined.  It made a little sense; I had graduated from college a year ago and she, two years.  The time frame of our intimate encounters with men coincided brilliantly with our behavioral habits in school. Is this coincidence?  Or does this mean something more? While I was thinking this, my roommate laid it out into the thin, winter car air-

“Do we stop being so promiscuous during a small portion of our twenties?”

At first, this threw me for a total loop de loop. WHAT? We stop getting busy during the peak of our beautiful lives? We look great, our boobs are purky-purkerton, our skin is taught and soft, we have a thriving drive to reenact scenes in Ashton Kutcher romantic comedies. Sexually, twenty somethings are there. They are well aware of what they want and they will go out and get it. Look at the McDonald’s drive thru on a Saturday night. But are they really…there? Is there a small portion of confidence that isn’t in the stats of a twenty something? Is there a blockade that brims through their lives during a certain age that makes them balk from the possibility of misfortune?

What I’m saying is, I do think there is a small portion of one’s twenties where sexy time with men isn’t as appealing as it had been in say…college (right out of high school). We become more self-aware, we are presented with consequences, we foresee our future, our ‘wants’ blend with our ‘needs’ more efficiently. And sex is not the means we want to take to get there.

This all may seem far-fetched.  I know a ripe batch of twenty somethings having a lot of sexy encounters with men (especially the ones in relationships).  But certain things constitute the loss of action. Ask any single twenty something besides Chelsea Handler or Tucker Max  how often are you doing the dirty? and I bet a ton of them will say, “Not that often, compared to the time after high school when I wanted to explore the mountains of havoc in bed.” Trust me, I’ve seen this among many.

But why? Why aren’t people doing it at a fresh, young age? I won’t begin to compare twenty somethings to an un-ripe fruit, but I really want to. Twenty somethings are in the process of softening up. Unlike thirty somethings (and all the hot chicks in Sex and the City) twenty somethings face so many consequences and they’re not confident enough to sacrifice their undefined selves to make them. Lots of things happen during this time – we switch around jobs, boyfriends, diets…having constant bed favors throws us off. We can’t get pregnant at twenty-three, we need to find a steady job first. We can’t get married at twenty-three, we need to find ourselves first. Twenty somethings don’t hold the capacity of confidence needed to sleep around – without feeling crushed or used and confused. I’m not saying thirty somethings are sluts and dry hump everything that moves (including trees). But thirty somethings have different consequences. Getting pregnant wouldn’t be a complete doozie, nonetheless getting married. They’ve effectively defined themselves – therefore making self confidence and sleeping with people, less of an issue. They are a soft, prepared fruit. [Sorry...]

So…let’s hear what YOU think.  Is there a small portion during an individual’s twenties when they stop doing the dirty?  Now, seriously, I’m ruling out all ya’ll who are in a healthy and stable relationship.  So, let’s be honest this lovely Wednesday. If you agree with me, what’s the reason for stopping the sexy time?  If you think I’m totally off kilter, what’s your reasoning there? As a single girl out of that realm of hope between the sheets, I’m dying to know.

Up until very recently, I was living with a seriously awful roommate. She was your typical passive aggressive person who refused to communicate and would let issues fester and fester until she would explode in a fit of pure crazy. One point of contention was my boyfriend. Roomie and I shared a big house, but boyfriend and I always kept to ourselves in my room. Of course, since boy and I are both pretty vivacious, we had sex regularly. We were pretty considerate, since the acoustics carried. We’d generally try to avoid doing anything when we knew she was home, or we’d blast the TV or our music, but she still couldn’t deal. (Going to the boy’s place wasn’t an option most of the time because his living situation was even more oppressive than mine.)

So, in an effort to be a decent roommate, I stopped having sex with my boyfriend, regularly, for almost six months. It wasn’t a total sex desert  — we went on a couple of trips during this time (hotel sex is amazeballs), and sometimes he’d go house-sit for his parents when they were out of town and I’d tag along. But, for the most part, my vag was closed for business.

At first, it was miserable. I was resentful and annoyed at my roommate, and frustrated that I couldn’t ravage my boyfriend any time I wanted — like, hello, isn’t that one of the perks of a relationship? But after a bit, I started to enjoy it. Sex can be stressful, especially as someone who is hypercritical, hypersensitive and obsessed with analyzing. I was always worried about my performance, about the way my body looked to him and, of course, the slight possibility of pregnancy or STDs lingered in the back of my head. Sex can also be too consuming — for me, between having it, thinking about it, reading about it and writing about it, sex was almost becoming a mundane chore. Though I do love sex and all the pleasure it brings, it also felt great to feel like my body was purely mine again. There is something about being naked in front of someone else all the time that starts to take a little bit of a toll on my autonomy. I went from going to the gym so I’m attractive for my boyfriend to going to the gym because I really love feeling strong and fit.  I went from looking at my body from a perspective of “How can I use this to please my boyfriend?” to “How can I take care of my body to the best of my ability?”  I am independent by nature, but sometimes I start to lose myself when I’m trying to connect to others.

The best part of my forced celibacy was that my relationship did not suffer at all. We remained just as close as we were when we were boning on the regular, we still did intimate things, and he still called me sexy and hot. Some people perceive “dry spells” as being the end of the world, and I’m pretty sure some people would think that a forced sex hiatus would be the ultimate death knell for a couple, but that was far from the case. It was a great opportunity to get reacquainted with myself (what can I say, I’m a bit selfish sometimes) and relieve myself of a little mental stress.

In reality, though hook ups are common, an increased number of students are identifying as virgins. As much as I love talking about sex, and how amazing it can be, I totally acknowledge abstinence as a legitimate choice. For much of my college life, I was practicing abstinence. Contrary to stale stereotypes, I wasn’t a sullen, judgmental prude waiting for the perfect man to marry me before I gave it up. I was sex-positive, make out-friendly, and always looked forward to Sunday mornings so I could live vicariously through my friends’ recaps of their sexcapades.

Despite my deep interest in sex, I knew I wasn’t ready to engage yet (unlike others). I was waiting for someone I could trust. Someone who would grab breakfast with me in the dining hall a couple of times a week, who would respond to my texts in a reasonably timely fashion, who I could have the “let’s get tested” convo with, who would be there for me if I did get pregnant and would be a source of support for me while I figured out what my next course of action would be.  And I just wasn’t coming across dudes who fit that description.

I’m a sensitive, emotionally-driven woman.  I was distraught when I kissed a guy and then he would proceed to pretend I fell off the earth. The idea of actually having sex with someone who would then refuse to acknowledge my existence was just unbearable to me.  I wasn’t begrudging of my friends who were able to hook up with whatever random cutie they found at the bar, or my friends who snagged amazingly kind guys. I was totally comfortable with the path I chose.

And that’s the most important thing.

Really, whenever you’re having sex, you should be completely at peace with your decision to do so. Abstinence is a totally commendable option for college students. We all have different comfort levels, and none of us should be stigmatized for our personal choices, especially if we’re not harming anyone else.

In a recent New York Times article titled “Students of Virginity,” about college students who choose to abstain from sex, one founder of the Harvard abstinence club said, “We wanted to make abstinence look fun; interesting.” OK, I understand how abstaining from sex can be safer than actually having sex. But abstinence is fun? I wasn’t aware.

Choosing to abstain from sex until marriage is a personal choice you make, and I’m not quite sure I understand the need for abstainers to work on convincing others that their way is best. On Valentine’s Day 2007, members of the True Love Revolution sent out valentines to freshman girls saying, “Why wait? Because you’re worth it.”

So, you’re telling us we need to save ourselves for marriage because we’re worth a lot…and by not waiting, we’re lessening our worth? Whoa. Will men not want to be with us because we’re, gasp, tarnished? This year, they sent the valentines to both freshman women and men. So, now it seems we’re all lessening our worth by having sex.

Janie Fredell, president of the True Love Revolution at Harvard asks, “Why bond yourself so intensely when you’re not sure you’re going to spend the rest of your life with this person?” which is, to some, a valid point. But to others, sex does not necessarily mean intense boding. And in this day and age, let’s be honest, marriage does not always mean forever. Is there ever a time when you can be sure you’re going to spend the rest of your life with a person? Should we be so cautious in life that we pass up every chance to love as fully as we can because, this might not last forever? Or should we live in the moment, enjoy our sexuality smartly, and learn to deal with our broken hearts and bruised egos?

Then again, Fredell seems to have a way of dealing with her sexual urges that the rest of us could maybe learn from. According to the article, “Whenever sexual urges struck…she was able to manage them by going on a long run and assumed that everyone should be able to do the same. ‘The biological drive can be overcome,’ she said. ‘It’s not like it reaches a peak, and you have to go out and have sex.’” Wow. I wasn’t aware you could repress your sexual urges and didn’t absolutely need to have sex. Maybe I should try that whole running thing when the urge strikes me.

According to Fredell, “It takes a strong woman to be abstinent, and that’s the sort of woman I want to be.” I tend to be more on the side of Harvard student and Sex and the Ivy blogger, Lena Chen who says, “For me, being a strong woman means not being ashamed that I like to have sex…to say that I have to care about every person I have sex with is an unreasonable expectation. It feels good! It feels good!”

Really, I think being a strong woman means making your own choices. Being a strong woman means having sex when you choose to and not when some guy is pressuring you to. And being a strong woman is choosing not to have sex because you don’t want to, not because some organization is pressuring you.

I would never look down on someone’s decision not to have sex and hope nobody would look down on my decision to have sex. And really, if you have ways of showing me not having sex is fun, by all means, bring them on.

Just as soon as I get back from my run.

Okay. Fine. College has a lot to do with having sex. Everyone’s horny and when there’s alcohol involved, people get hornier. It’s only natural. Yes, I think too much of anything (even sex with random guys) isn’t healthy. But I don’t think sex is a bad thing or something not to be had.

Which brings me to Harvard. The campus that has both created a student-run “porn” magazine and now “True Love Revolution.” Yeah, the name is a little dramatic, I know. Anyway, this is a group on campus founded by a couple (Sarah Kistella and Justin Murray) who think too much mindless sex goes on all over campus. I’ll interpret that as meaning people don’t think before they have it. Hmmm … okay.

And they believe students are sexing it up so much because the unversity encourages it. How? Well apparently having the incoming freshman attend seminars on date rape with some free condoms on the side are aphrodisiacs. Give me a break. This is done to educate people about sex. That’s more imporant than simply telling them not to do it at all.

Abstinence is none sense. Hey, if you want to be celibate. Cool. But at least be knowledgable about the subject. Harvard University is promoting sexual safety, not the act itself.