I’ve been thinking – an explanation of sorts

I know, thinking is dangerous. But more than a few of you have asked how I can write about sex after what happened to me.  Well, you know what?  Once upon a time, I had sex after what happened to me.  It was a long time ago.  And I’ve had a fair amount of sex since then.  I’m almost 40.  If you believe I’ve been celibate this whole time, well, you don’t know me well, do you?  I mean, really, I’m almost 40, and if this blog is any indication? I’m a fan of getting down.  I was going to apologize to my parents here, but hell.  I’m almost 40.  I do what I want.

About a year after that happened- I met up with a woman (I call her a woman, but to this day, I think of her and myself as girls)  I knew from high school.  We started working together.  She introduced me to being a waitress – thanks to her, I have a history of almost nine years (off and on) in the business, and I don’t regret a single day of it.  I’ve lost touch with B, but my parents are still in touch with her, and I hope she sees this.  It literally made me a better person.  Restored my faith in people.  Met some guys that I may or may not have done the dirty with.  Made me a fuck ton of money too.  But just from waitressing.  She wasn’t that kind of girl. Neither was I.

Because of what happened to me, I didn’t trust anyone for a long time, but I tried my hardest to develop real relationships. Most of the time, it didn’t work, but I think I played it off pretty well.  I never got close to my sorority sisters, but I played the game really well.  I’m not friends with any of them now because I didn’t try or care after one of them called me a frigid bitch and a lot of them laughed, but I had mostly good experiences there.  I wish I could do college over again sometimes, but such is life.

I wish I could say sorry to a couple of guys who tried so hard to get close to me.  It was too soon, and I didn’t know how to tell them.  One guy in particular sticks in my brain.  Marcus was a lovely human being, a fantastic person, and a wonderful friend.  If times were different, he’d be number one on my phone to text.  But back then?  I pushed him away.  Probably for the right reasons, romantically, but I should have figured out a way to keep him close to me as a friend.    Instead, I shoved him away because I was 20 years old and didn’t know better.  I’m still pushing people away, and if you’re one who gets pushed away?  It’s not you.  It’s me.  Promise.  You’re probably fantastic.

But do you really have an active sex life with one person or just random flings?

Actual question, friends.  And feel free to ask questions.  I’ll tell you when you should mind your damn business.

I was engaged at one time in my life.  I know.  Who in their right mind would want to marry me? When I was in law school (Yes, I’m a lawyer, laugh it up!), I met a guy.  We dated, we fucked a lot, we broke up for a minute, but the sex, and then he got down on one knee in a hotel bathroom in Seattle (that city sucks, IMO. I showed up, so did thunderstorms and everyone was all OMG STORMS.  Shut the hell up.  One thundercrack is not a storm, you idiots), and for some stupid reason I said yes.  The love of your life isn’t proposing marriage in a hotel bathroom, fam, I’ll tell you that.  The guy who wants to have sex with you for a hot weekend and doesn’t want to let down his family does.  I was supposed to have a gorgeous sunset proposal (he told me this on the way back to the hotel after dinner with his ultra-conservative family who had presents and shit).

I got a “dude, get up, I have to wash my hands,” proposal.  And I mean, I told him to get up because I had to wash my hands because of course I had my period that weekend. (We’ll talk about having sex on your period another time.  For now?  Don’t rule it out.)  Some of it was me realizing he wasn’t serious.  Some of it realizing that I had to call my parents and act excited.  Days  before cellphones.  We worried about how much the call cost.

Anyway, the engagement didn’t last long, the sex took a break and then lasted until he moved (he was living in Chicago only for law school and had every intention of moving back to Seattle), and I swore when he was gone that I wasn’t ever going to be that stupid again. And I haven’t been.  Probably because I don’t let people get close.  However, I’ve had sex again.

That guy who loves the chick who sings the songs in the SPCA commercials.  The guy who loves summertime as much as I do.  The guy who accepts me for who I am and goes on to find his amazing wife (I won’t tell if you don’t – you didn’t know her then anyway!).  The guy who calls on a random Tuesday and doesn’t care if I’m not wearing any makeup and am having a breakdown but just wants to be there for me, and there’s not even a hint of sex.  The guy who asks why I don’t have the heating pads in the foot of the bed (they’re in the microwave).  The guy who . . .


How many are there?  Well, that’s none of your goddamn business.  But in the interest of public health, I’m even more careful about birth control than I am about sunscreen.

Oh, and to get back to Cosmo?  There’s a thing this month, and I’ve never had this issue, but here we go:  sometimes my guy slides out of me during sex: I’m gonna skip the advice on this one.  Google is your friend.

I love you guys.


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