That is approximately 60 weeks.
That’s how long I went without sex. Yes, I was virtually a nun!
My period of celibacy was circumstantial and definitely initially unintentional. But then I began to realise that whilst I missed sex I didn’t miss meaningless sex. I missed making love, in it’s proper sense.
Whilst I didn’t intend for the period to be so long- I became set on only breaking my oath of celibacy when it truly felt right to do so.
So, let’s imagine my celibate self. Sexually frustrated. Actually no, just generally frustrated. Gagging for it. Low self esteem and desperate for attention. NO, NO, NO.
I actually felt sexier without sex than I have in a loooong time. Whilst the deed itself might be hot, waking up to realise that last night’s Casanova is a bit podgier than I had remembered certainly isn’t hot. Equally the unbrushed hair/teeth combination and last night’s clothes complete with laddered tights isn’t so hot when making the inevitable walk of shame home. It isn’t hot racking your brains trying to remember if his name was Jack, Josh, Joe, John- anything beginning with a J, really, either!
I was appreciating the break, to be frank. Remember those pre- losing virginity days when your imagination was sizzling?!? I was back to that. I developed a newfound love for porn and masturbation- now, this is far hotter. Pleasing MYSELF rather than waiting for his big moment.
Oddly, there is something so satisfying in looking incredible on a night out but knowing that secretly, beneath your tights, your legs haven’t been shaved for the best part of a month! There is something hot in chatting to charming young men, even flirting my way through a few free drinks but knowing that that same night I will be starfishing alone in my bed.
My period of celibacy wasn’t even really about sex. It was about men in general and, more than that, about me.
For the first time since I was probably 13, my mind wasn’t fixated on whoever my particular love interest was. My first thought in the morning and last at night wasn’t about a particular man. That is so refreshing! I didn’t care that the only texts I was waking up to were nagging ones from my flatmate, my mum reminding me of some trivial thing and my mobile service provider updating me on a new deal. I was free and, I loved it.
I was happier for it.
I was my priority. I wasn’t settling for some middle aged man, or a lovely chap who hadn’t been so lucky when looks were being dished out. I don’t need a man to make me happy. For
months years I told myself that this was the case without truly believing it. But now I do. I’m sick of making myself a second class citizen. So what if I want the starring role in my own goddamn play?!
“We only accept the love that we think we deserve.”
Think about it. It’s true. Except not for me, because I didn’t accept any love because I deserved better. I deserved better than the boys who messed me around or the boys who were only interested in getting into my knickers. For as long as I couldn’t/didn’t find someone that deserved me, I didn’t accept their love. It was as simple as that.
I love sex as much as the next person, don’t get me wrong. But not getting any, gave me a clearer outlook on life. Don’t be afraid of this, embrace celibacy. Afterall, the best things in life are worth waiting for…