Sunday, 12 February 2017

Please, tell me how many people you’ve slept with so I can make incorrect assumptions about your values.

People (aka me) say that we live in a time where we we have more sexual freedom; but, as long as we’re still judging each other on the basis of how many sexual encounters we’ve had, we’re no better than those utter imbeciles who shunned women for being pregnant out of wedlock.

It might seem like I’m exaggerating for ‘dramatic’ effect (and I am), yet the sentiment of what I’m saying is completely accurate(ish).

If I wanted to, and I don’t, I could spend a few minutes trying to calculate all of my sexual encounters, and I could probably give you a pretty accurate figure. Although there’s likely to be the odd one or two I’ve forgotten about. And there are definitely some names I’ve forgotten. Yes, that might say something about my character (#narcissist), but ultimately, I think forgetting someone’s name says a lot about what that relationship meant to be eight years ago, and what it means to be today.

And that’s the point, isn’t it? Who I slept with nearly ten years ago doesn’t reflect who I am now. Yes, I might have learnt a lesson from ‘Roller Coaster Guy’ (lesson being that if you shag a stranger, who you literally met on the streets, all you’re likely to end up with is motion sickness and an unexpected trip to the clinic, again). But I never think about him (until now, obvs). Nor do I wish it hadn’t happened. It means nothing to me. And 9.7 seconds, at best, of poor decision making shouldn't impact your opinion of me. 

Ideally, I would have loved the disney romance, where you find ‘the one’ at the sweet, and rather convenient, age of 16. But that’s not how my life worked out. In fact, since I started making sweet sweet love (and hate), I’ve spent more time alone than I have with a partner. So yes, my ‘number’ is likely to be a lot higher than someone who is incapable of being single. And that’s more than okay.

It’s more than okay because I like sex. Actually, when it’s great, I love sex. So why should I stop myself from enjoying one of life’s greatest pleasures? Because some blinkered areshole might find out that I’m into double digits and call me a whore? I don’t think so.

Let’s look at the facts (I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before, but I have an A Level in maths #kindofabigdeal #makingALevelsrelevantforonce).

Say you were single for a year. Say you were still desperate for a romantic companion, but you also believed in the backwards ‘you can only have sex after a month of knowing each other’ rule. And say that, after sex, you realised you hated that person’s entire being and immediately sacked them off, you could potentially have sex with 12 different men or women (or both) during that year.

So let’s say you lose your virginity at the ‘respectable’ age of 16, but the ‘love of your life’ ends up dumping you (suspicious timing, but it always happens). Since then, let’s say you’re 25 now, you’ve been unable to hold down a relationship that lasts longer than a month. If that was the case, you could still stick to your backwards ‘you can only have sex after a month of knowing each other’ rule, and still manage to successfully sleep with 108 different people.

Yes, that’s right. Even if you’re not a ‘whore with loose legs and looser morals’, you can still get yourself into triple figures quite easily.

(When I say easily, I’m assuming you’re a master of tindering and capable of charming every single person you date.)

Does it mean you’re a terrible person? Of course it fucking doesn’t.

Even if you’ve slept with over a thousand people. Even if you slept with more people than Russell Brand did back in his fun(ny) days. As long as everyone was of legal age, as long as it was consensual (insert apparently slanderous, yet 100% accurate, ‘joke’ about Trump here), and as long as you wrap it up before you slap it up, it doesn’t matter how many people you shag.

Fair enough, some people might use sex as a coping mechanism, and those people might need help. But there are plenty of people who want the joy of sex, without having to go for brunch or hold hands in public, and that’s totally their prerogative.

At the end of the day, I would much rather be surrounded by ‘whores with loose legs and looser morals’ than judgemental pricks who are incapable of seeing beyond their limiting opinions.

On the other hand, I completely respect people who have made the decision to a live a life of abstinence, unless they’re married. I might not understand it, but as long as they have made that choice out of personal preference, rather than judgement, I will always be in awe of their self-control.  
Ultimately, whether you’re having it or not, sex should always be your choice. And, as long as you’re happy, it doesn’t matter if you’ve only ever slept with one person, or if you woke up this morning to a naked stranger, who you’ve subsequently, and rather dubiously, nicknamed ‘Beefy’.

Basically, the moral of this rant is: fuck anyone who makes you feel ashamed of your sexual history. You do you, and anyone else you fancy.