sex.

I did not think anything about it, removing my dress to have my armpits waxed. I did not think about the time it took for my waxer, her breasts pressed against me, as she plucked loose hairs that the wax did not grab. I did not care that my panties were faded from bleach or my bra, while nice enough, did not match. I don’t think about physical arousal that much. I don’t long for sex. It is not the forethought of my mind when I am about the world living my life. I spent most of the 2010s not caring about sex with anyone until I met the one that made me want to have sex for the first time in a decade. And while I shied away from wanting anyone in my bed again, I had to think about the sex I did have and wonder if it was worth opening my bed again.

My first sexual encounter was with my first girlfriend. I gifted her my initiation into the sexual space as a birthday gift. It occurred in my best friend’s bed and was not pleasant. I had four more sexual encounters with her but what I recall with vague fondness is her purchase of a wire wrapping kit as my Christmas gift. I rarely used it, but it was a supportive gift that she could give, and it touched me knowing she wanted to be involved or at least enjoy my own hobbies even if they did not give her anything. Her relationship with money and cheating tanked our relationship. Sex never mattered to me in that sense, but I knew then that it was part and parcel of a standard relationship, and if I wanted to achieve the elusive quest object of a relationship, I had to endure it.

I was not keen on having sex again, but I did want to try another relationship. So I went into dating for something different, thinking my physical standards of the masculine of center female were the culprit to my first relationship failing. I knew that it was not the entire case as my heart was not into that experience, as you may recall from previous essays, but my standards for a relationship were deemed too mature for a 20+-year-old to have and hold on to. I was supposed to make mistakes for standards to start to form. I never wanted to be older than my own age; emotionally raising my mother at times made my spirit old.

So in my next sexual relationship, I was quickly bored. The only thing I admire about that relationship is how much fun one can have on $20 in my home city. All knowledge is worth having to quote an author I admire and value that information. I hated having sex in the second relationship. I never wanted to see my partner naked, nor did I want to explore their nooks and crannies or kiss them on the neck. And I love making out and kissing my partner on the neck (blame E. Badu’s song for that. She made kissing someone on the neck sound sexy and I like bringing that kind of pleasure to my partner). When she broke up with me, I was amused more than angry.

Then there was LC. I loved LC for being nice to me. Our relationship was based on respect for my rules and why I felt they were needed. And she liked to talk to me. She was friendly. Even though she only spent time with me on Sundays until she knew I was willing to do more than be friends. Making out with her was fun as hell. I looked forward to it. And when we had sex completely the first time, I enjoyed it. It took a while for me to warm to having sex just for the pure joy of it. With her, I thought it was possible. She dumped me before I could ease into that level of comfort with the bedroom space. Even when our sexual encounters began to span the years, I was never consistent enough with her to want to do more “fun” sex stuff. Why? Because I came to her bed hoping for a glimmer of love tied to our mutual lust. Sex with her became… an odd comfort in my decade of dating irregularities. I recently told her that as long as we kept the sessions to the one-offs that she was offering, I could handle a casual sex relationship. Some years that was true. But she did not want me for me. She never will. And I would never get to be comfortable in bed with her knowing it was fleeting.

I had three other partners than these three. None compared to what I hoped to have with LC nor what I long to have with my soulmate. When pressured, I can recall some of the bed play with LC; yet, the treasured memory of our relationship remains a Saturday she spent with me reading books off my bookshelf. I think it was a rainy or overcast day, and she wanted to spend time with me. That was in 2007. All the intimate encounters I shared with her can be wrapped into a few months; none of those encounters touch that memory.

Some days, that memory is enough for me. Not many. I want more memories like that one. That is the kind of relationship sex I need/am seeking: sweet, passionate, safe, consistent, comforting. That is what sex needs to be for me.