image by soofiya.com
Last month, something so surprising and rare occurred, that I broadcast the news on more platforms than a far-right populist on a mission. I had a one night stand – and came. I told friends at dinner. Cool colleagues. Ex-colleagues. I shared it in shouty whispers whilst dancing at Jazz Cafe. I received praise and hi-fives in celebration. Who knew OKCupid could be so fruitful. Bad sex was a thing of the past! (Or so I thought).
Sadly, last weekend was more indicative of the norm; an omnibus of sexual experiences past. Limited foreplay, sticking it straight in, and cringe commentary. Sex, when you’re single, is a game of chance. Spinning the roulette wheel and praying it lands on someone who gives a shit. Suddenly, I realised it didn’t have to be this way. I told him to just stop, shut it down and fell promptly asleep.
The next day my thrush was back. Why even leave the house for this, when I have a vibrator and a vivid imagination, which results in a 100% success rate and does not upset my PH balance? There is absolutely no point in cuffing season if it chains you to bad sex and sub-par encounters.
Sex is weird, awkward and strange with a new person. And I’m by no means an expert. If I were to put it on my CV it would read: “seven years ad hoc experience, two years full time, adequate proficiency”. But I have had bad sex like this, countless times before. I don’t mean the type where everyone is doing the most but it just doesn’t happen. Or when it’s been a long day and everyone’s a bit tired. I mean the type where there is a complete lack of care as to whether you are having a good time or not. In 2019, I will not allow this to happen anymore.
“Why even leave the house for this, when I have a vibrator and a vivid imagination, which results in a 100% success rate and does not upset my PH balance?”
In my social life, I have tried to cut back on unbalanced emotional labour. I have stopped being the sole organiser and arbiter of social events. I have stopped rearranging my calendar for flakey friends – unless their mental health is the reason. Yet I have prioritised the feelings of men for fear of their perceived emasculation at the expense of my own enjoyment many times.
There is nothing more woke than giving a fuck about a woman’s pleasure, even if you’ve finished. If I’m calling for a revolution everywhere else, why not in my bedroom? Having sex leaves us in a state where we are vulnerable and exposed – we should be sensitive, but that doesn’t mean silent. And I have been guilty of that.
At a Christmas market, whilst retelling my shit sex story of the previous evening, my friend said: “I’m over bad sex. I’m bored of it. In 2019, it’s off.” She is smart.
As I put together my resolutions for 2019, better sex and sharing the awkward, emotional load it brings will firmly feature on my list, along with random musings about my career and swimming lessons. I have a world to win.
Catch up on the rest of the Woke Men Only column here.