Behind Closed Doors: Abstinence? Why Not?

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COURTESY IMAGE / PIXABAY

For some, human connections prove vital before beginning sexual relationships

By: “Touch Me Maybe”

As an extrovert, one of my top love languages is physical touch, making quarantine not my moment to thrive. I was lonely. When we were first told to stay home from spring break, I was disappointed but not surprised. As the days turned into weeks, though, I struggled. I had one specific thought that kept running through my mind: I wished I had the mental capacity to be a “hoe.”

Later in the summer, I reconnected with some friends from high school. The four of us were sitting outside and the conversation moved to funny sex stories. Two girls were able to go back and forth with many stories, while the other two of us had nothing to add to the conversation. We had all known each other well and long enough that there was no judgement from either group, but it opened a conversation between my friend — who attends college in Miami — and me where we came to a mutual conclusion that we both needed an emotional bond with someone before sex.

It took that conversation with my friend for me to sit down and have one with myself. Because although part of me wanted to allow myself to get on a dating app or — when it is safe again — go out to parties and bars and interact with people, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. The part of me that has always won this argument, the one that probably stemmed from the fear instilled in me by my mother who started giving me the “where babies come from” talk when I was ten, pulled through yet again, putting an emotional block between myself and any kind of promiscuous behavior. It was during that internal argument when I paused and thought: why is this even something I have to think about? I felt some sort of pressure within myself, like something was telling me that I was supposed to be out screwing random guys, but there is no reason for that. It took that moment for me to finally tell myself: It’s okay to not have sex.

I felt some sort of pressure within myself, like something was telling me that I was supposed to be out screwing random guys, but there is no reason for that. It took that moment for me to finally tell myself: It’s okay to not have sex.”

Now don’t get me wrong, sex is great. I was lucky enough to meet a great guy my freshman year — I’ll call him “Joey” in this story, and we dated for two months before we did anything more than kiss. He was extremely respectful and never pushed me further than what I was comfortable with. We both came into college pretty inexperienced in bed and the most important thing with that was we were both able to laugh at ourselves. I don’t remember every detail from our first time but there was a lot of giggling on my end from how awkward we both were. Even after we got quite a few practice rounds in, there were plenty of not-so-sexy moments that still make me look back and smile, including the countless times one of us would hit our heads on the ceiling due to our lofted beds. It wasn’t all awkward though; we definitely had plenty of fantastic f—ks, as great as a GGV twin bed would allow for.

“I want it to hold weight when I say that the most attractive thing “Joey” ever said to me was “Is this okay?” His pause to check in with me did not detract from the moment at all, if anything, my saying yes only made it better.”

On a much different note, I dated a guy in high school, we’ll call this one “Julian” — what can I say? Apparently I have a thing for guys with J names. “Julian” was hypersexual. I knew I wasn’t ready for anything, but “Julian” would slowly chip away at my resolve, and though we never had vaginal sex, we still did quite a few other things. I much later learned this was really not okay; he was manipulative, and I wish public school sex-ed had a chapter on the definition of consent. I bring this guy up because I want it to hold weight when I say that the most attractive thing “Joey” ever said to me was “Is this okay?” His pause to check in with me did not detract from the moment at all, if anything, my saying yes only made it better.

“Joey” and I aren’t together anymore, but I have no gripes against him. I made sure it was okay with him before writing this piece, because I’m not the only person involved, and his response was “Abstinence is for pussies.” It made me laugh, because that’s how I had felt before. Then again, maybe he is right — but then what’s wrong with being a pussy? I’m not hurting anyone else and that’s what’s important.

I have nothing against sex and if I found myself in a relationship, I would gladly partake, but I personally need a relationship to be comfortable with sex. All in all, this has been my long-winded way of saying it’s okay to f—k, but it’s also okay to not. It’s your body and you should never feel pressure, even from yourself, to do anything you’re not comfortable with or ready for.

Touch Me Maybe affirms all acts of thottery, but wants you to know that it’s okay if you’re not that promiscuous.