I was going through such a sad time that the thrill of meeting a new man, flirting with him, then taking him home to fuck, was my therapy. It probably wasn't the most productive way to deal with loss, but at least I was feeling something. I got off on the excitement more than the risks. I never really thought about the dangers of sex; someone hurting me, STDs or worse. I thought about how I’d be able to physically feel the heat, the sensations, the closeness of another person and just enjoy it for what it was, fucking. Will Ferrell's character in Wedding Crashers had it right, chics at funerals are easy lays.[image-1]
It was easy for me to behave that way until the next time death hit. It was a few years later and this time I was crushed. Once again my grief affected my sexuality. This time I reacted just the opposite. I stopped having sex for 2 years. I wasn’t interested in fucking or even being touched. Then I meet an Adonis and felt I was finally ready to once again combine sex and love. I did and I feel in love. It was wonderful. We lived, loved and laughed together. We got engaged, planned a wedding and then it fell apart. It wasn’t one thing. It was a combination of seven years of two people who stopped communicating and just stopped caring. And just like that it was over.
I grieved when we broke up. It isn't the same type of grief that you feel when someone you love dies, but people still grieve over the loss of a long term relationship. I grieved for my Adonis, the relationship and for our shared future that I had envisioned. And once again I turned to sex for therapy, this time in the form of screening new fuck buddy applicants. I did lots of interviewing and enjoyed each and everyone one of the applicants without having to worry about developing feelings for them.
For those of you I didn’t get too, my apologies. It couldn’t be helped. Once again death hit and the grief I was going through hijacked my sexuality. I’ve gone back to not having an interest in sex, which is really pissing me off. At this point in my life, I wouldn’t expect my sexual desires to be so affected by grief. I halfway expected not to react at all. I suppose I'm glad I still have the ability to feel.
I’ve gone for years of not getting enough sex, to periods of not wanting it at all. I know I enjoy it. I know I like having it. I know I’m really good at it. But my desire for it evaporates. This doesn’t work out well for a sex blogger whose material covers a fuck buddy interviewing process and random fucking. It does explain the long hiatus though. I’ve allowed my grief to once again affect my sexuality, which has poured over into my writing. How can it not. I blog about sex? Maybe now I’ll blog about love.
When I was 21-years-old someone close to me was murdered. As a way of coping with my grief, I turned to sex as a means to feel. This was the first time, though not the last, that mourning impacted my sexuality (the emotional, intellectual, and physical aspect of sexual attraction and expression).
I became completely numb inside. I had no emotions, no ability to feel anything that would permit me to form an emotional bond with someone. This is where I learned that I could separate sex and love. I learned to disconnect emotions and feelings from the physical. To me, sex is a physical reaction to another person; love is an emotional reaction. I can love someone without wanting to have sex with them and I can have sex without loving them. I don’t believe you have to intertwine the two to enjoy either one. However, I do believe I wouldn’t be able to do this if grief hadn’t affected my sexuality.
