I have a colourful sexual history. Don’t get me wrong, the number isn’t actually that high at all (considering I’ve been pretty much single for the past 10 years) but most of my encounters have been regrettable to say the least. They say quality beats quantity, but when you have neither… you start to seriously question your judgement (or lack thereof).
Naturally, alcohol plays a huge part in the one night stand game and thanks to my Welsh roots, my sense of control in this regard is severely limited. “One tequila, two tequila, three tequila: floor” might make a nice birthday card but for me it’s more like “13 beers, 7 vodkas, 2 sambucas: wake up next to some hairy-backed cretin in an unfamiliar bed”… (if I’m lucky).
To be fair, not all of them are gut-wrenchingly horrendous. Some of them are perfectly nice. But either way, I still have that icky feeling for the next few days… as if a gaggle of moths have started squatting in my stomach (the not-so-great version of butterflies). I spend the following weeks beating myself up about it until I inevitably start drinking to forget the pain and then the cycle of doom begins again.
A sex column has gone viral after a guy asked for advice as to why his girlfriend was masturbating AFTER sex, that’s why it is time to talk about men and orgasms…Post continues after audio.
I battle through this bleak, horror-show version of the circle of life with what I like to call “blanket moments”. It’s that moment when you’ve let yourself be alone with your thoughts for just a millisecond (rookie mistake) and suddenly the sheer devastation of your actions hits you like a surprise turkey-slap (google it)… and all you can do to deal with it is throw a blanket over your head and groan. This little method got me through my university days (where you repeatedly make bad decisions at night and have nothing to do in the day).
A lot of the time, I also end up feeling something for these idiots, even the highly undesirable ones. Don’t get me wrong, it doesn’t happen every single time and I hate to perpetuate the stereotype that women can’t have no-strings sex. I’m sure many can, but for me, more often than not I do feel something, even if just for a week or so, despite the fact that my head (and what small sense of logic and reasonable thinking I possess) says otherwise.
I honestly think a lot of the time, it’s my half-witted brain subconsciously trying to justify the fact that I slept with a random (or, let’s be honest, a colleague or ill-advised friend).
“This wasn’t just a stupid decision, Siri… you like this guy. There’s potential here.” Trust me, there isn’t.
So why do I always feel a little bit shitty after a one night stand? Why does there have to be some kind of hangover (pun intended)? Is it years of subliminal patriarchal brainwashing that’s conditioned me to doubt myself? Or is it, despite aeons of evolution, still a little bit biological?
Am I alone in this or do other women feel the same but just don’t talk about it?
As an independent, self-sufficient woman who grew up watching the Sex and the City girls blissfully humping anything that moves, it almost feels like a betrayal to modern womankind to admit that I don’t necessarily enjoy “having sex like a man” (that’s totes an early-doors SATC quote… told you I grew up with it).
But alas it is, more often than not, how I feel. So in the interest of ending the pretence and waving the flag for women who like to reserve their basic human right to bone randoms when they please, but don’t actually enjoy it most of the time (like The Derek Zoolander School for Kids Who Can’t Read Good and Want to Do Other Stuff Good Too)… here I am, putting it out there. Loud and (usually not so) proud.
You can read more from Siriol Dafydd at her website.