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Confession: I'm Too Tired To Have Sex

Sex Stories

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a twenty-something-year-old me full of energy, positivity, and the desire to prove a point the way I rode somebody during sex.


Fast forward to now, still a twenty-something-year-old but so exhausted that I have fallen asleep while trying to masturbate. I mean, I roll my eyes at razors, and who can blame me?

I'm chasing around a three-year-old, juggling a full-time school schedule, and trying to get my work off the ground and running. The idea of having to put energy into anything other than sleeping when I'm in my bed makes me yawn even louder. As the days go by, I find myself incredibly too tired for sex.

There are so many things I have to take into consideration and plan for before doing the do, that it doesn't even seem worth it anymore. Here's why:

I Co-Sleep With My Kid.

So that's one of the biggest challenges for me, my child. I only have two nights a week to get some booty if I really wanted to. However, I'm also poor and have one comforter...so that means if anyone other than my daughter is in my bed, a trip to the laundry mat is needed before baby girl comes home. Which means I have to carry things, and load them, and unload them, and wash them, and dry them, and fold them...I need a nap just thinking about it. Then I really start to think about it, and it's like, all of this for what? Is sex really worth all of this? I don't think so.

My Body Is A Jungle Land.

Shaving is exhausting, it's draining really. Also, once you shave something, you have to shave it forever and it's just a never-ending process. Let's also throw in the fact that my Los Angeles studio guesthouse comes fully equipped with nothing short of a stand-up shower - no tub, no nothing to put a leg up on to assist. Sure, there are guys out there that don't care at all but they are rare. I'd rather just, not shave at all and remain abstinent until I muster up the energy to shave or grow the balls to get waxed.

My Favorite Show Is On.

Who doesn't get home from a long day of work and stress and want to lay or sit down in front of the television to get a dose of their favorite guilty pleasures? Other people's dramas take the stress of my own off of my back for thirty- to sixty-minute increments of programming. This is an awesome way to decompress after a long day, but it does put me in a rather lethargic mood consequently setting me up for not wanting to have sex.

How Long Will He Go?

I kind of wish, right before you consented to sex, there was something that allowed you to view how long it was going to take a guy to orgasm. If that was available, I might consider making some serious changes to my sexual activity levels. Anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes is perfect for me, and doesn't take too much energy, nor leave the sheets too filthy and sweaty. However, it always seems that when I am my most tired, I find myself with someone running a never-ending penis marathon that I cannot wait to end.

Babies.

Sex leads to babies. Even protected sex can lead to babies, I know firsthand. If I'm too tired to shave, I am most certainly too tired to have another one of those running around all of the time.

The Unspoken Recovery Period.

Depending on how good the sex was, it can take one to two business days to fully recover from the act. You might need a full day worth of sleep, some ice packs, and if you were drinking before things popped off, you might even be hungover. No one has this time to lose when they are out in the world trying to be productive and get things done.

The bottom line is that sex is draining. And unfortunately, these days, I just don't find myself with a high enough energy level or interest for it! Maybe one day I will come across the perfect sexual match or even partner. Right now, I'm content with maintaining the right amount of energy to make it through my own hectic schedule and sleeping comfortably alone at the end of every evening.

No need to give up time with my kid, add on to the potential of having another one, razor bumps, and some good old rest for one night of decent company and fake orgasms.

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When I was ten, my Sunday school teacher put on a brief performance in class that included some of the boys standing in front of the classroom while she stood in front of them holding a heart shaped box of chocolate. One by one, she tells each boy to come and bite a piece of candy and then place the remainder back into the box. After the last boy, she gave the box of now mangled chocolate over to the other Sunday school teacher — who happened to be her real husband — who made a comically puzzled face. She told us that the lesson to be gleaned from this was that if you give your heart away to too many people, once you find “the one,” that your heart would be too damaged. The lesson wasn’t explicitly about sex but the implication was clearly present.

That memory came back to me after a flier went viral last week, advertising an abstinence event titled The Close Your Legs Tour with the specific target demo of teen girls came across my Twitter timeline. The event was met with derision online. Writer, artist, and professor Ashon Crawley said: “We have to refuse shame. it is not yours to hold. legs open or not.” Writer and theologian Candice Marie Benbow said on her Twitter: “Any event where 12-17-year-old girls are being told to ‘keep their legs closed’ is a space where purity culture is being reinforced.”

“Purity culture,” as Benbow referenced, is a culture that teaches primarily girls and women that their value is to be found in their ability to stay chaste and “pure”–as in, non-sexual–for both God and their future husbands.

I grew up in an explicitly evangelical house and church, where I was taught virginity was the best gift a girl can hold on to until she got married. I fortunately never wore a purity ring or had a ceremony where I promised my father I wouldn’t have pre-marital sex. I certainly never even thought of having my hymen examined and the certificate handed over to my father on my wedding day as “proof” that I kept my promise. But the culture was always present. A few years after that chocolate-flavored indoctrination, I was introduced to the fabled car anecdote. “Boys don’t like girls who have been test-driven,” as it goes.

And I believed it for a long time. That to be loved and to be desired by men, it was only right for me to deny myself my own basic human desires, in the hopes of one day meeting a man that would fill all of my fantasies — romantically and sexually. Even if it meant denying my queerness, or even if it meant ignoring how being the only Black and fat girl in a predominantly white Christian space often had me watch all the white girls have their first boyfriends while I didn’t. Something they don’t tell you about purity culture – and that it took me years to learn and unlearn myself – is that there are bodies that are deemed inherently sinful and vulgar. That purity is about the desire to see girls and women shrink themselves, make themselves meek for men.

Purity culture isn’t unlike rape culture which tells young girls in so many ways that their worth can only be found through their bodies. Whether it be through promiscuity or chastity, young girls are instructed on what to do with their bodies before they’ve had time to figure themselves out, separate from a patriarchal lens. That their needs are secondary to that of the men and boys in their lives.

It took me a while —after leaving the church and unlearning the toxic ideals around purity culture rooted in anti-Blackness, fatphobia, heteropatriarchy, and queerphobia — to embrace my body, my sexuality, and my queerness as something that was not only not sinful or dirty, but actually in line with the vision God has over my life. Our bodies don't stop being our temples depending on who we do or who we don’t let in, and our worth isn’t dependent on the width of our legs at any given point.

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