I don’t like casual sex, that’s what I say to people when they approach me with anything resembling a hook up invite. Not because I don’t like the sex itself but I don’t like how I feel after it, especially when the person is not interested in me anymore than he was in yesterday’s leftovers. I don’t want to feel like an undesired leftover.
Somehow because you felt immediately attracted to the person and let yourself get carried away with that feeling by participating in consensual sex, that makes you an undesirable candidate for a relationship, they don’t want to know your name, your number or whether you are really human with feelings that can be hurt.
Casual sex makes you the slut who doesn’t deserve anything. You’re somehow less human, less of a woman and definitely not girlfriend material. All this leads back to the first few words of this post. I don’t like casual sex.
For social convention and to prevent the old story from repeating itself over and over again, in an act of self preservation I must be chaste and keep any sexual desired locked in by my socially constructed chastity belt.
However, sometimes I desire sex with people simply because of what I see in them, their energy, how they make me feel, but I can’t be sure if they look at me like dinner and later like tomorrow’s leftover for they are unable to break free willing or unwilling of the social construct. Somehow that phrase “I don’t like casual sex” for some becomes a challenge. How to go about bringing down the barrier only to leave me standing there later confused as to why that much effort was put in only to quickly disappear as quickly as they had come.
My behavior is therefore self destructive, unhealthy or so I always thought. Because in most instances I can identify it but with this insight comes hope. Hope that somehow this time it will be different that this man will see me as more than just a body or a lucky find, I see the man behind the lust and somehow hope that he can see me too. That and my own lust pushes me to go ahead and flagellate myself with the unhealthy exchange.
It’s not an easy admission to make, after all we like to appear to others somewhat as the best part of ourselves whereas this post may appear to be merely a continuation of the self flagellation of the aforementioned leftover syndrome.
What then should I do with this feeling if not brush it up under the carpet and forget all about it until I hear myself say those words again, until I have to make a choice to take a chance or walk away.