 I can already hear the tiny violins playing. Up until last summer, I had never gone more than 90 days without having sex. Let me explain: this is not me bragging about my prowess, nor do I have an addiction (a very real condition, which is often stigmatised). For some reason, in my early 20s, my mind simply created an internal clock that told my body whenever the 'end date' was looming. At first, the timing was a coincidence but soon I found myself thinking, 'oh, it's almost been three months' – and while I never purposefully went out looking for a shag to hit a deadline, I'm a flirty person. I also have a high libido and I've always been very open about my sex life, so asking for it when I want it has never been an issue. I'm not a sex columnist for nothing. But a few years ago, something shifted. Now in my 30s, I found myself getting fed up with flings and short-term romances that I'd previously enjoyed. I was going on dates but found that many of the people I was seeing were more interested in getting me naked than getting to know me on a deeper level. It bothered me because my sexual side is only one part of who I am – and definitely not the most interesting aspect of what I have to offer a potential partner. Conversations, both online and in-person, often veered to sex, and it was getting tiresome (dating apps can be a dark hole sometimes). Physically, getting intimate was still enjoyable but I was no longer connecting to the experiences emotionally. Some friends, including a few I have since chosen to cut ties with, also shared negative comments about my lifestyle, which compounded my thoughts. In hindsight, I should never have taken their unwanted (and sometimes judgemental) opinions to heart but at the time, it made me feel uncomfortable. Suddenly, I became acutely aware of the three-month-mark, asking myself what it meant – if){kind=link}
NEWS… BUT NOT AS YOU KNOW IT
I can already hear the tiny violins playing.
Up until last summer, I had never gone more than 90 days without having sex.
Let me explain: this is not me bragging about my prowess, nor do I have an addiction (a very real condition, which is often stigmatised).
For some reason, in my early 20s, my mind simply created an internal clock that told my body whenever the ‘end date’ was looming.