Confession: I’m Accidentally Celibate (But I Think I Really Like It)

I miss sex, though.

But not, like, miss miss sex. There is precisely one person in my life that I think I’d like to have sex with*, but beyond that, at age 30-something, the idea of sex with someone new is a bit unpleasant. Unappealing. It seems really complicated! And terrifying! And, like, I know how it all works. I remember. I remember vividly. But I have no clue how to get to that point anymore.

And frankly, even in the heady days of youth, I never liked casual sex. I’m a delicate emotional flower who needs to trust the person I’m having sex with, and has trouble trusting strangers. Hookups and one night stands hold no appeal–I need to know your name and maybe your birthday and to have sat next to you for a meal and probably talked to you for hours about sci-fi novels and, like, can I see you doing something boring and mundane like cooking or taking in your laundry, ooooh yeah, baby, that domestic intimacy really gets my juices flowing.

I also have that really endearing combination of being emotionally intense on the inside and emotionally frigid on the outside. Like the world’s worst emotional Magnum icecream.

So I haven’t had sex in three years. Haven’t made out, kissed, fumbled, fondled.

I’ve had orgasms. With myself.

And I worry that the underlying trust issues that make it so hard for me to get intimate with people are going unresolved, but the immediate problem? The no-sex problem? It kinda isn’t a problem.

Because I’m the kind of woman who gets hung up on stuff. Stuff like does this outfit make me look like I’m trying too hard? and would it be better if my bookshelves were alphabetised? and where does all the hair that washes down the drain actually go? and who exactly voted in this garbage fire of a government? and why isn’t my partner having sex with me, like, right this second, do they hate me, they hate me, don’t they? And it is just so much healthier for me to not be hung up on sex (and the emotional and physical weirdness that it can sometimes bring up) right now, on top of all of the other things.

God, I sound like a total fuckup.

Maybe I am.

But maybe I’m not. I can focus on being emotionally available to my friends, physically comfortable with my own body, dedicated to my own wellbeing. I’m not saying that sex always and by its very nature gets in the way of that. But for a long time it was a complication and a burden, and that made it bad, and I’m just trying to get back to a place where it can be good again.


*sorry, I mean, there is one person that I think I could realistically feel comfortable having sex with. There are plenty of people I’d like to have sex with, starting from an emotionally intelligent Richard Armitage (turning up at my front door in a waistcoat and rolled shirtsleeves with a small wicker basket full of fresh fruit) and working my way down.




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