Casual sex has never been my thing.
The several sweaty, drunkenly awkward trysts I've had ended with me sneaking out (or kicking them out) and the two of us never speaking again. I've ignored and even blocked phone calls, rolling my eyes heavenward at text messages seeking a second encounter. My memories of sharp tongues and hot panting breath in my ear would eventually engender in me a feeling of complete disgust towards the men I knew for just one night.
Sex is an invasive act; that's why uniting our most intimate body parts—but deeming it a passing fancy—just feels wrong to me. Don’t mistake my intentions, though; this isn’t the judgmental prattle of a right-wing zealot. As a liberal, well-traveled, and educated woman of color, I’ve had my share of experiences across borders, oceans, races, and cultures. Still, every one of my spontaneous sexual experiences has somehow left me feeling empty.
At 13, my friends were already having sex and giving impromptu blow jobs in pitch-black movie theaters. Although I helped them keep a lookout, the idea of engaging someone sexually—especially with my vagina—seemed so foreign to me. By my senior year of high school, however, a mix of curiosity and peer pressure pushed me to be more proactive about losing my virginity.
I picked someone I had known for awhile who was discreet, clean, and kind. Then one summer night, I went for it. My mission ultimately went unaccomplished due to technical difficulties, but I'm immensely grateful for that. Only now, 11 years later, do I realize how much I would've regretted the act had it been fulfilled.
After my casual encounters, I always felt as if something had been taken from me.
When I started college, I still didn't understand how so many of my female friends seemed to have fulfilling casual encounters. I mean, they couldn’t all be pretending, right? One friend, in particular, seemed to find the satisfaction I couldn't.
Doris* could orgasm just from penetration. Doris could compete with any frat boy when it came to one-night stands. Doris made it her drunken mission to take someone home on a weekly basis. Today, she works on a kibbutz in Nigeria, and is as happy and healthy as ever, proving there are plenty of well-adjusted women who just enjoy casual sex.
But I wasn't Doris. After my casual encounters, I always felt as if something had been taken from me. I was always left wanting. Even worse were the awkward attempts at post-sex conversation, when we tried to fill the void of not knowing each other with inane questions neither of us really cared to answer.
I enjoy analysis and introspection; getting to know what makes someone tick and then applying that information during sex is what makes the experience exciting. So while I don't need to sleep with a boyfriend or husband, he should be a friend at the very least—someone you can go to for more than just sex.
Part of what makes a sexual experience profound is when your mental and spiritual connection with someone transcends the physical. Although I understand the power of lust, when did society's prevailing attitude become so cavalier and so focused on fleeting fulfillment? When did we start opting for quick orgasms over deliberate seduction?
While not every woman who has sex with strangers has some void she's trying to fill, I couldn't help but feel that many of my friends—both in college and afterwards—were imitating behaviors they found socially acceptable, as opposed to actually deriving genuine pleasure from them. My friends would say they just needed to “blow off some steam,” but in reality, it seemed like they were trying to prove a point: "I can have casual sex and not give a damn, just like a man, see? Look at me being a cool chick."
When famed Afghan feminist writer Nawal El Saadawi spoke at my college, she asked the entirely female audience why we thought American women were freer than the horribly oppressed protagonists of her controversial novels. We all had similar responses: “We're free to work where we please,” “We're free to dress how we want because we don't have to wear hijabs and burqas."
But El Saadawi laughed off our naive replies. Seven years later, her response still resonates with me whenever I have most any sexual encounter with a man: “It seems to me that you American women are only free to have sex.”
On a more spiritual level, this dismissive attitude towards sex seems to speak to a broader societal problem: the desire to avoid introspection by indulging in temporary distractions. Feeling crappy? Call over some guy to make you feel better. But what happens the next day? And the next? Before seeking comfort in external pleasures, we should take time to contemplate what our decisions truly mean to us—not just in the moment, but in the long-term. We should look to more effective and fulfilling self-care options, like meditating or reading a great novel.
It may seem radical, but it’s a longer-lasting solution than an anticlimactic climax.
*Name changed to protect privacy.
