(A more accurate title might be, “Sorry I didn’t sleep with you last summer!”)
Anyway, remember that time I was abstinent? Yeah, it happened. April of last year. When I realized the guy I was into at the time was a cheater, compulsive liar, and probably a sociopath. (This was the same guy who later published nude photos of me.) After I compared stories with the OTHER girl he was fucking, I started screening his calls, quit believing in romance, and decided to let my hymen grow out. I was so angry (not heartbroken, not sad, but PISSED OFF) that I was determined to not repeat this mistake. So I took an absolute approach. No sex ’til love, I said. What I really meant was, “No sex until I fucking feel like it again, assholes.”
I moved to New York at the end of May, and my phonebook started filling up with numbers despite minimal effort on my part. It was summer in the City and everyone was feeling frisky. Yet despite feeling pressure from guys in the double digits, I managed to remain unpenetrated (and thus, appear totally game-less in New York magazine) for the first two months of summer. There were hot models and blogworthy exploits and everything, but I kept my legs SHUT. Trust me, temptation was in the air.
Had I wanted sex bad, I probably would’ve had it, but I was still completely wary of anything with a dick. So I did what seemed reasonable at the time: I put dicks in my mouth. This was the summer of the grand blowjob. I have never before, nor have I since, given so much head and been so good at it. Seriously, I wish I had transcribed some of the post-orgasm reviews. But despite the fact that I blew so many people that I would need to refer to my Word document of hookups to tell you how many penises I sucked, this slut drew the line at third base. Why? Spite. I didn’t say no to sex and yes to oral because of some misguided notion of what “real sex” constitutes. I was just angry at men and I liked saying no. I liked the power that came with refusal almost as much as I liked the power of being able to clamp down my teeth at whim. Defiance for the sake of defiance has always been how I roll. Couple that with a mad desire for revenge and the result was a stubborn bitch who’d lick your balls but wouldn’t engage in either extreme of kissing or fucking. I drove guys crazy.
Anyway, I didn’t care. I didn’t give a shit about any of the dicks I sucked which is probably why I can barely recall half the men who were attached to said dicks. In the end, I broke my abstinence streak after four months with a former fling. He was someone familiar and safe and good. He was someone I used to really like, who I suppose, in one way or another, reminded me that there are men worth loving and fucking, and even if I hadn’t stumbled on the one I wanted to love yet, there were certainly others — unattached, decent, respectful others — who I could fuck in the meantime.
That being said, this was a guy I probably shouldn’t have slept with (because he once upon a time stomped all over my heart), as evidenced by this entry from my private journal the day after the de-revirgnization:
30 July 2007 @ 02:08 am
had sex last night. first time in four months. cannot really tell my blockmates or they will kill me. the end.
I didn’t tell them until weeks into the school year. Which probably speaks for itself.
So despite the vow on the blog back in April, I didn’t start having sex again because I fell in love. I had it because I felt like it. For whatever reason, the person (an old flame) and the occasion (a boozey birthday bash) felt like the appropriate circumstances under which to bid my short-lived abstinence streak adieu. Frankly, it was really immature in retrospect to react with vengeful abstinence after being deceived by some guy who really won’t even matter in the grand scheme of things. And my weird use of my vagina as some deranged tool of evening up the cosmic forces? Really weird. And deranged. What I did was every bit as fucked up as withholding sex until accumulating a certain number of dates with a guy. Or until getting a ring on my finger. Simply not wanting to have sex is one thing, but downright refusing it across the board on the basis of an ignorant and stubborn adherence to a rule (in this case, a self-made rule) is another. It reduces sex to a bargaining chip. And that’s not what it should be.
In my life, there have been plenty of guys who I fucked on the first date (for example, the one I’m currently involved with). There are some guys I didn’t fuck until the tenth date and only then because I wanted to know if there was reason to stick around for the 11th. And then there are the guys from New York, the ones from the summer of the blowjob. They were the ones I blew but wouldn’t fuck, who got no real explanation beyond “Someone was mean to me and now you have to suffer for it.” Well, this is your explanation M, J, N, B, M, and whoever the hell else there was. I’m sorry I wouldn’t let you stick it in, not even “just the tip.” If I could go back in time, I’d probably accept your valiant effort to make me cum via a series of thrusts. But hey, the likelihood of a time machine being invented is roughly equal to the likelihood of your success at triggering cunt spasms, so let’s just cut our losses and agree that things are what they are. I may have not fucked you, but at least I swallowed.