sex

*Back To Our Regularly Scheduled Program*

So, by now I have gone maybe….oh, I dunno. Wow. Has it been THAT long? Shit. What is it now? Three entire months without any inkling of a semblance of sexual activity in my life? Of course, the sex I had three months ago is barely worth mentioning. It’s actually barely worth remembering. The fact that I had to strain so hard to remember, is making me want to throw up in my mouth. Now that I remember– he was very cute, but way too young (not that young) and way too…uh…young, if you catch my drift. So, we’ll just pretend it never happened. Wow. It’s been what? 6 months since I last had sex?

I think I had sex twice in the 6 month span prior to the sex that never happened, and one was good, I’m almost sure of it. In fact, I can’t recall having really great sex at all over the course of the last 3–got that–3 years!

My past pattern, it seems, was that I go several months of drought, get a stupid craving for male…uh…irrigation, hang with the girls with a few drinks and what not. End up flirting with someone I’ve been flirting with for years. We rekindle that phone chat thingy for a few weeks, maybe go for a date or two…one thing leads to another…then I politely… stop calling…or answering.

Considering that this pattern has not proven successful for the last 3 years. I’ve stopped drinking. And apparently, stopped having sex all together, as well. I know, boooooooooooo.

I never had this problem before. Prior to be being a mama, I can’t recall really having bad sex ever. Granted, I started having sex at 21. I can only assume that when you start kindof late, it’s all just great. I guess, until you figure out what you’re doing and then you realize a lot of male people really have no idea about what they’re doing in bed. Which makes things kindof complicated. Especially if you happen to like the guy prior to having sex with them.

Is being a good lover really that hard? I mean, yes. The stars, the sun, the moon and all the planets have to align properly for me to meet someone I actually want to consider having sex with. We do all of the typical courting rituals to determine if the notion was fleeting. Once we determine that I actually like you and want to get to know you and I start to get all gooey at the prospect of lending out the sacred temple cookies… then.. do you mind if I’m blunt here? The sex sucks. Then I don’t want to like you anymore. I may give you a second or a third chance to get the oven going again, but after that, it’s like–I CAN’T LIKE YOU! Is that shallow? Of course it is. But I don’t care. Bad sex is like…ugh.

Ladies, I do hope you feel me on this one. How can you like someone and pursue a relationship with someone who is not good in bed? It’s like busting your ass at work, 60 hours a week, to get paid in Sponge Bob figurines. You may like Sponge Bob figurines. You may actually collect them. But what else can you do with a flipping Sponge Bob figurine besides let them take up space on a shelf in your attic? Okay, maybe you can trade with your friends. But if none of your friends collect Sponge Bob figurines… Exactly. Nada. Collecting Sponge Bob figurines is actually kindof pointless isn’t it? And you certainly wouldn’t stand for the job to pay you in them. Unless, you’re just that into Sponge Bob figurines–in which case–that’s totally your problem.

For me, while sex is not the only thing going on in a potential romantic relationship, it is just as important to me as being able to earn a relevant living. That is, being paid in actual currency. I don’t care if it’s Dollars, Euro, Pounds, or Yen. I don’t care if a man has 20 trillion dollars in his bank account, if he’s booty in bed, in my world–he’s broke, depleted, very, very poor. Really hear me on this one folks. While I can date a guy who is finacially lacking in the legal tender department; I can’t hang out with no broke as n*****. I do hope we now agree on the difference.

I’m venting a little because, more and more, when I get to feenin– (heavy breath, got the shakes, almost panting like a crack head)– where most girls my age have that one or two or five phone calls they can make in a bind–I look through my phone and literally have no interest in dialing anyone. I simply go to my now dusty lingerie drawer and pull out my purple plastic prince (got him in Paris in the Moulin Rouge sex district area). On some fronts, it’s sad. Sure, my purple plastic prince can keep the cobwebs out, but it sure don’t have yummy lips to kiss on or a chest gleaming with sweat or even an ear to hear me say, “Thank you so much honey…the money is on the dresser”.

I get it. I’m picky. I get it. I’m a lot of woman. I get. I can get sex anytime and place that I want. I get it. I just don’t want to have to weed through the duds to get to the one I CAN actually call in a bind. I’m not built to have that free emotionless sex. I inevitably get some kind of attached and if the sex is good, we’ve already covered that for me it’s like winning the fucking lottery. I’m the chica that will spend every last damned cent.

What I’m built for is a solid relationship, with a solid man who is also very good in bed. Is that really that much to ask in 2009? In this very free information age that we live, full of porn and sexual inuendo and blatent sexual overtones and instruction video–is there really anyone who can live with themselves being horrible lovers?

One of my good male friends suggested that a lot of guys can get sex so easily they just don’t even care. Especially as they get older. HE said–male people pull out their penis to get their rocks off and if the woman they’re with is quick enough with hers, everything works out. If not, sucks to be the woman they’re with ( I don’t mean that literally).

And so. The prospects don’t look good for a woman like me. That is, a woman with such high sexual standards. For me, the best sex begins and ends between the ears. A lot of these dudes out here don’t even give good brain. All I hear sometimes is “blah, blah, blah, my car, blah, blah, blah, my watch, blah, blah, blah, blah blah…” Maybe it’s Philly. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I just don’t have the patience to deal with male people in general with all the other stuff going on in my life. Maybe it’s true what one of my mentors told me recently: “Women had to evolve and so have become like the lotus flower, ever blooming, even from the mud. Men just like mud.”

I am, afterall, a glass half full kindof girl. At least, I have my trusty purple plastic prince to tide me over until the yummy lipped, glistening chested, great brained one comes along…

The moral of this story? I’m sure I could think of a few, but none to be found here today. Just some food for thought. Thank you for reading this though. Peace and many abundant great sexual blessings. -e-