You know, this whole recovering-Catholic thing plays so badly with writing any kind of exposés about my own sex life.
I feel horribly guilty, like a first-class cunt, for having posted my thingie about my “underwhelming weekend sex” yesterday. But then I got to thinking about it.
First, I placed an ad for sex. I made it very, very plain that I was looking for someone who was a talented, attentive lover with brains. But the sex, I said, was the whole point. I was very, very clear about this. Not about having a relationship, having a boyfriend, bringing someone to staff parties, or being a couple. Sex, sex, sex. And not even one-time sex. Someone who wanted a good shagging and often, that’s what I wanted. And I mentioned I had two very key things: ample libido, and killer endurance.
Second, the guy read my blog. He knew I wasn’t just some average chick who was happy to play around for five minutes. I mean, I write a sex blog! If a guy’s going to bring his “A” game out to play with anyone, wouldn’t that someone compute to be someone they knew to be into quality shagging, someone who ran an ad seeking quality shagging?
Third, if it was underwhelming sex but he’d tried in ANY OTHER AREA — intimacy, cudding, conversation — afterwards, I’d have given him a pass. Because he was cute and nice and I’m a sucker that way. But, nothing.
Fourth, if you’re going to take the risk of having casual sex, shouldn’t you really indulge in the experience? I mean, you’re taking a shot at the whole “possible transmission of STDs” gamble, so HAVE SEX, right?
Fifth, it really is for the greater good. I would like to think that, if I’ve stopped one guy from doing the foreplay-only-as-long-as-necessary, get-off, and-forget-about-her kind of sex I had on the weekend, then I feel I’ve done a good service.
Because, whether it’s initiating what’s hoped to be an ongoing casual sex relationship, just a here-and-now shag, or something more, one of the most important things about sex is to feel appreciated — and spent.
If you don’t even feel appreciated at the end, not spent, and just used, and not even in a good way, then why even go there?
Honestly, I’ve probably felt more used out of this experience than I have since I was in my early 20s. Used, absolutely. And that, friends, just isn’t fair.
So perhaps we’re at a more honest place about why I’m so pissed about that experience. Because whatever else my ad might’ve said I wanted, getting used wasn’t one of them.
(Now, had I been used for great sex… Well, y’know, that’s something I might make an allowance for. )

Don’t forget, I’m on Twitter now. Come have a boo.