Apparently the Kink Scene Doesn't Turn You into a Slut

Yesterday I got laid. I went out with a sexy, nerdy supermodel type, and when he dropped me off, he took a few whips and a ball gag out of his fancy-ass convertible. We fucked for three hours, and then I stared at his sexy-as-hell face and perfect abs for four hours straight.

Okay, I’m lying. This is how it really went: Yesterday I went out with a sexy, nerdy supermodel type. We *talked* about ball gags, whips, and kinky sex. Then on the way home, he said, “Let’s fuck.” Guess what I said?

“Nah. I don’t do casual sex.”

I honestly did. It was an accident. The words came out of my mouth all by themselves. I sweddegod. It wasn’t me. I took one look at that face and thought, “Hellz, yes,” and then that word came out of my mouth: “Nah.”

Huh?

I spent the rest of the day mentally beating myself up over it. I’m trying to get comfortable with casual sex, but I’m failing spectacularly. Even having it suggested to me makes me feel a bit sick inside. I have the utmost respect for sluts. Hell, I consider myself a slut. I’m just a little weak in the random hook-ups area.

Surely being sex positive should make me comfortable with having sex with whomever I’m attracted to? But no. I still want love and sex to come together 100% of the time, (pun unintended but not regretted).

I can’t get naked without intimacy. I just can’t. I feel this is a severe character deficit because, duh, less sex, but it appears to be sewn into the seam of my psyche. I’m not created to fuck randoms, and I resent the trait.

In my twenties I went out with a new man every night. I had sexual adventures that were hair-raising enough to last me well into my sixties, but somewhere along the line, I lost the ability to get naked outside of a relationship. It’s not for want of motivation. I truly don’t believe having sex with a random man is a major decision either, and yet I have an inability to behave that way.

When I found out there was such a thing as a play party, the first thought that sprang to mind was, “<drool> Tons of kinky sex with random people. Orgies! </drool>” Then I went to my first play party only to find that the personality I’d walked to the door with did not leave as I entered. I still couldn’t fuck without intimacy and I still couldn’t get away from the red velvet cupcakes. I am me.

There is no elegant conclusion. “Fuck” is the only thought I can end with. Fuck.