Let’s Have That Sex Talk Now, Kids

I’m writing about sex today because it’s on my mind. And not in a good way. And it’s SEX, dude. If I’m thinking about it or you’re thinking about it, it SHOULD BE in a fucking good way, amiright? But it’s me here so let’s get real. Sigh.

While I began my POF journey with a hormonal flood that would have drowned Noah and Co., I now find myself, years later, pretty much emotionally tapped out and therefore OVER IT. As in I couldn’t be bothered to get hot and bothered. And I’m a 52 year old woman which, sexually speaking, is the equivalent of a 17 year old boy when it comes to getting down and dirty. Basically, we’d be on the same dream agenda: Every day. 3x a day. Any time. Anywhere.  Or at least it used to be #memories

How did I get to this untenable state, you ask? If I had to pin it down to one guy, I’d have to say it was Irish. He was the straw. I was the camel’s back. And Irish broke my sexual will. Fucker.

But if I were to go aaaalll the way back from Irish the omega, I’d have to name BMX as the alpha, oc, because he was sooo good, dude - like master class/ Olympic gold medalist in the event all women want a bonafide star. Enough said. Except for HOLY FUCKING WOW. We may have only gotten naked a couple of times and he may have ended up being just not okay to be with but in that way, I will NEVER forget him.

Now, please recall before BMX, I’d gone for seven plus YEARS living like a girl monk, unseen and unknown by man, so when he touched me, it was like sex was the only thing I wanted to see on the menu of my life. SEX starter/ SEX entrée/ SEX pudding. With a side of SEX PLEASE. He released a tsunami of energy from within me and it was never going to not exist…until apparently now.

After BMX disappeared, I spent six months wandering the POF desert, as we all know. Sex wasn’t even an option because a second DATE wasn’t even a fucking option, dude. I was all tsunami, no shore. Even when I began actually meeting and dating real and fun guys, I’d like to say my naked dance card was full but yeah no. Let’s just say I could not get laid on a regular basis FOR THE LIFE OF ME and leave it like that, shall we? IN CAPS.

Then it was the Cougar Life escapades. Since no one close to my age wanted to volunteer, I went younger. Waayyy. To no lasting avail. Shocker. But I do recall still WANTING to have sex though it’s a bit hazy. Like an acid flashback.

Cue Christopher and Nicki Minaj:

He just gotta give me that look, when he give me that look
Then the panties comin' off, off, uh


Then HE disappeared and I went back to CL at the beginning of last summer. Still had sex on the agenda. But. By the time I’d finally met Irish then he ran out half way done - and no, I’m NOT exaggerating - my drive to have sex was pretty much exhausted. Sooo much work for sooo little or no return. To find a FWB!! Seriously. So I deleted my CL account for the final time and put the last of my chips on POF. God help me.

The third time began so well. Ish. I was out on a date a week with very light or no suffering invoIved. And I wasn’t consciously asexual yet. I was still capable of daydreaming in bed about making love with a special someone; I was still capable of belief and trust and giving the benefit of the doubt.

That was then. This is now. In between was my trio of what I call my “good men behaving badly” series. This is the best way I can characterize them, meaning they behaved like dicks to me but probably don’t do it for a living. You know?

The first one, Yukon, didn’t have the courage to come and meet me because “what if he fell for me?” But. The Yukon. Fair enough.

Next, Sean Henry made me realize, in all this time, I’d never considered really falling in love again until his particular and very persuasive words opened up something inside of me - then he stood me up. And never contacted me again. When I reached out a month+ later to ask what had happened, he pretended to not know who I was and sent me "??" But maybe he really didn't remember me, which is another paper cut to the soul.

Finally Climbing Boy, after weeks together with and without clothes getting along great so I thought, did a 180 and broke up with me over the phone with the words: “Remember when I said I didn’t want a girlfriend?" Uh, no. Pretty sure THAT would have stuck. Jesus. 

Now, emotionally as well as physically, I don’t have it in me. My feelings and my libido are on strike and I am sexually devoid of the ability to believe any man or his words at this time. Even a “hello” will be held for further questioning. I'll get back to you on that. Maybe. #sincerityisnotjustavaguefuckingconceptdude

So what’s my point here, kids? I guess what I’m trying to say is all this time and “all” this sex…hahahaha…and I’ve realized sex without love feels utterly soulless to me. And right now, the thought that love might actually exist for me via POF cannot take hold in my brain let alone my heart. I’m just too sad and cynical because of all the less than decent behavior I’ve encountered lately. And I hate feeling this way but I can’t deny that I do.

So yeah. No sex for me is no problem because with no good men and no love, there’s no reason.

Lucy aka Girl Monk 2.0 still "dating" but not fucking happy about it.

I'm gonna just THROW this out there: Is there any one else as disheartened as I am? How do you recover? DO you recover? Because I've gotta say my patented bounce is pretty fucking pathetic right now. Please share.

xo Lucy