Sex when you’re a single female usually follows one of two extremes: you’re either getting too little and gagging for it or getting too much and gagging on it.
My mum is a sex therapist, and she likes to regularly remind me of exactly how little sex I am getting compared to not only my parents but also some of her more sexually-challenged clients. Wonderful. But how much sex is really normal for a young, average-looking human being in 21st century Britain? Now, I’m not talking about in-a-relationship sex – you know, the one with the set routine – I’m talking about sex as a chronic singleton; having to make the effort to shark out your next prey and actually shave every now and then.
When does a dry spot become a drought? When does a drought become a trip to the hospital with a wrist injury? Will we ever be able to enjoy the miraculous ‘drought-breaker’ or will we always spend the whole time thinking “Oh em gee, it’s actually happening; is this real life?!”
Eventually, it gets to the point where telling people how long it’s actually been becomes too embarrassing and we have to mumble some vague lie about not being able to pinpoint the exact date. However, when your pheromones have been overly-successful in cock-catching (men are like buses), it again becomes too embarrassing and we have to pass it off with some “Oh, well one of them was so small it didn’t even count” excuse.
As a general rule of thumb: if it’s shorter than your thumb, it generally doesn’t count. Them be the rules.
In this modern world, not everyone is lucky (or silly, depending on how you view it) enough to choose their life partner in their early-twenties. But singletons are still human; we have
‘needs’, and this pushes up the norm for an increased number of sexual partners than the traditionally-accepted 1. Since I am long past the point of virtue and refuse to marry my childhood sweetheart, it looks like that’s just something that society is going to have to get its big, judgemental head around.
Let’s be clear here – if I sleep with everyone who takes my fancy (which isn’t an extensive list of people but hypothetically speaking) I’ll risk a pitch-forky village slut-shaming parade. If I wait until ‘the right one’, with whom I am definitely serious about starting something special and sickeningly soppy, I’ll have had the most boring few years of my life, forgotten what to do with it, and will get hurt even more when he inevitably fucks off for pastures new (because that’s what young men do).
As women, we are ‘sexually liberated’ but only to a certain level, and once that level is reached you cross into near-strangers-think-it’s-ok-to-tell-you-that-you’ll-never-find-a-husband territory. Is there a formula for working out the acceptable number of partners? I imagine it’s something like:
F = age / number of days you’ve attended school
M = age x (height in cm + number of times masturbated whilst thinking about mate’s older sister)
So there you have it. I’m screwed. Maybe a little too literally.
Perhaps the limit on how many partners you can have is when you can no longer remember all of their names? Maybe once you stop giggling and take a sombre step back, achieving “Skegness Man 1, Skegness Man 2, Skegness Man 3″ for your list at a 48 hour festival is – no, lols, that’s still really fucking funny. Hats (and pants) off to that very special lady, you will always have a place in both my heart and the stories I tell my grandchildren.
Sex is a skill, and the point of the matter is that the more sex you have, the better at it you’ll be. Would you rather your next partner be confident in themselves and their sexual ability or have a tiny sexual history and still think a blowjob involves the actual blowing of air? Difficult one; I’ll give you some time to think.
I don’t want to get 20 years into a marriage and worry that I haven’t tasted the fruits of life (ew, mega-cringe). I don’t want to look back at photos and wish I’d cared less about what people thought and enjoyed my body’s peak before I started to trip up over my nipples. Youth is wasted on the young.
Now I’m not saying a girl should hop in between the sheets with anyone who buys her a drink – in fact, the buying of the drinks makes me feel a little uneasy, not because I feel like I then owe a man something but for the very notion that a man might think he can think I owe him something – did that make any sense?! Anyway, cheers for the drinks, lads; you will never get this. Your own personal standards must be upheld, and although these may make your successes less frequent, it’ll all pay off in the end when you get to proudly snapchat a pic of them asleep to all your mates (lol jk I would totally never do that).
Is there such thing as too much singleton sex? As long as it’s safe, probably not. Any man immature enough to value your sexual history over either your personality or that fantastic BJ you just delivered probably isn’t worth your time. Just sayin’.
This started off as a self-deprecating joke about my sex life and has turned into some weird type of “Who cares; girl power!” rant that I’m probably going to regret. I think I like it.
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