A woman swears off sex for a year and writes a book about it.
A picture of the woman is here:
If you go to the link, you will notice she’s blond now and more attractive than this picture. I guess when the year was up, it was time to ratchet it up, perhaps?
I can’t help laughing over this one:
And yes, it had to do with numbers as well — those tallies we each carry around with us, inscribed in our minds (because they don’t always belong in our hearts) in the faintest pencil lest anyone see them. Mine is a greater number than I’d like and contains some names I’d rather forget. I won’t tell you exactly what it is, because a note of coyness here seems more instructive: while we’re no longer supposed to be judged for our sexual conduct, we all know that the double standard lingers on.
How many of you have your slut radar going off with that comment? She goes on to say that men may no longer care about numbers (oh yes they do, princess, especially the ones that can be fussy in picking their long-term partners).
She says she is not trying to revirginify herself (something you can’t do anyway) but if you watch the video you’ll see the women discuss the loss of romance and intimacy in their lives and what started this quest (I’m sure its much more complicated than this . . . heh) was when she ran into an old boyfriend, her “first love” getting married to another woman and realizing that he was the last man to tell her he loved her.
I have not read her book, and the excerpt does not give her long reasons as to why she really did this, but all you need is right there.
She has her first love. Any bets on who was the dumper and who was the dumpee? The odds heavily favor her being the dumper and all my gentle readers can guess why . . . she needed time to explore, she needed time to ride the carousal.(and her numbers are greater than she wishes now)
And ride that carousal she did:
I did badly want sex to be legitimately momentous again, rather than an inexorable conclusion given the right cocktail of time and place, as had begun to seem the case.
I submit that you don’t feel that way about sex unless you’ve had scads of partners, especially when you factor in this:
Sometimes my decision to have sex seemed to be based more on what was appropriate to the moment than on what was right for me. At a certain point in certain scenarios, a part of me abdicated and gave in to the inevitable. Tipsily noticing that it was after midnight and I was far from home, say, in a dwindling group that happened to include a man I’d found myself in bed with sometime before.
Now at thirty, the wall upon her, cougarville a few short years away, she runs into the man she turned down because an exciting world awaited her, and now she sees him getting married and there’s no ring on her finger, and the emptiness of her womb calls to her and she realizes she’s made a mistake.
The solution?
To do the opposite of what she has been doing, or at least stop doing one thing, sex which she marks as penetration.
I am reminded though that chastity is not the same as merely not having sex, has more to do with being pure of spirit. The words get intermingled in our society. However, one can be a virgin and not be chaste.
In the end it is the same old pattern, the alphas got her prime years and then beta boys that she’s turning to now have to wait while romancing her (translation: spending time and money to get access).
Same story, different marketing.
The time to refrain was twelve years ago.
