August 13th is the last day that I had sex, which really mucks up the works when you write a blog called, “Awkward Sex…”
And let me also point out how gross it is that I actually remember the date, too. Vomit.
To be perfectly honest with you, that was a terrible day for me (with the exception of the sexing). It was the day that I knew it was officially over and could no longer make a fool of myself and reach out to a boy that I could never change how he really felt. He slapped me in the face with one final text message, and August 13th was also the day I’ve vowed to myself to never contact that boy again. I’ve kept my word.
I decided it was time to move on, even though I was obviously not emotionally equipped to start anything new, I decided to have sex. With a boy I put through hell and strung along, because I kept holding out for the boy that broke my heart.
This is going to make me sound like a terrible person, but I had been hooking up with the boy I strung along for months. There was no official title with the other guy, and for other circumstances as well, technically I was doing nothing wrong. But the self-inflicted guilt was hell to bare, and still makes me cringe to this day.
We hooked up that night, and the sex was amazing. I thought I had finally kicked the former dude. Sex does cure all! I was free of any pings of sorrow and remorse. Feel like you’re in the shitter? Just have sex! Yay! Being a 20-something year old is awesome!
And then I woke up.
Searching for my bra in my new apartment while the boy slept, I realized how sad I actually was. And it wasn’t even sadness, I was just messed up. Everything reminded me of him, and finding myself with another guy actually made me physically sick. I couldn’t hide from it anymore. I had to finally accept that it was going to take longer than two weeks to get over him. And that that reality fucking sucks.
This hook up guy’s a great guy, and the sex was amazing, but I knew I wouldn’t want anything more. I couldn’t be that selfish person. I couldn’t be the one that fucked someone else over. It had just happened to me, and I was a wreck and in no place to return the shitty outcome I had just received to someone new.
Actively choosing to not have sex is not a “new” thing. I’m not a pioneer or anything of the sort, and many times I truly hate that I’m doing this to myself.
Like, right now. I hate that I’m not having sex right now. I really want to have sex right now. And I know I have options. That’s the worst part. But I’m so afraid that partaking in unemotional sex will send me into a downward spiral back to the same feelings of longing and sadness that I’ve tried so hard to forget.
I don’t know what I want anymore. It’s been a long time since that summer morning of regret and confusion. Personally, I think I’m finally ready to partake in some new sexual memories. I'm just afraid.
It has to be with someone new. Right? It has to be something real. I can’t just have sex anymore. As much as I love to find a friend that is willing to have sex with me on a regular basis. It’s time to grow up. It’s time to be an adult. And do adult like things, like crossword puzzles, and listen to NPR, and maybe even actively listening while others talk.
… but I dunno, the last one might be pushing it.