Cynical and Southern: Number of sexual partners — to tell the truth or not?

I’ve had sex with 8 trillion guys. McGloffy’s  — over 8 trillion served! I’m lying. I’ve only had sex with 10,000. Or 30. Or 800.

Let’s forget about numbers for now. The truth about my sexual past nags at me. A cloying insecurity. The imaginary black cloud above my head that I fear people may or may not be able to see.

As a person who has always gotten tested frequently, I know for a fact that I negotiated the sexual adventures of my past with a clean bill of health. Despite the purity of my medical records, I am choking on the terror that no matter what I do now, I will always be judged on what I have done.

I was an awkward and insecure gay in my twenties. Put a socially maladjusted queer with intimacy issues in front of the Internet and before you know it that dick’s been inside every nook and cranny within five miles driving distance.

Was it fun? Sometimes. Was it rewarding in the long term? Never. Do I have any regrets? Yes. I regret the way I will be treated and viewed by people should I blatantly release my tally to the press.

Fast forward to the present. I am ready to settle down. Casual sex bores me. I love snuggly cuddles and soft kisses. The prospect of giving or getting a blow job behind a dumpster in a warehouse on the dark side of town interests me about as much as vagina.

But what about the guy I’m dating? He has slept with 10 people. Now that the sexual troops have pulled out of my homeland, I am loath to tally up the body count. Will you still love me tomorrow...if you find out how many people I had sex with in my yesterdays?

I would enjoy being Jeremy Gloff a lot more if I could shake the Hester Prynne within. The number of people I’ve had sex with has no bearing on my ability to love, to be loyal, to be a caring partner, or to make the best grilled cheese ever at 10 a.m. Without a time machine I am never able to alter what I once did and who I once did. If I tell you the truth will you count me out? Is the number of people I had sex with an eraser that makes me invisible and untouchable? They say you can’t make a housewife out of a whore? Watch and learn, motherfuckers.

And so I struggle. I have always lived by a policy of cold hard truth. As long as my boyfriend is healthy and clean I am uninterested in his past. I hope he allows me the same luxury. After all, I’d never want him to judge me on the fact that I’ve slept with eight men. Give or take a few.

Scroll to read more News Feature articles


Join Creative Loafing Tampa Bay Newsletters

Subscribe now to get the latest news delivered right to your inbox.