I Didn't Have Sex For Two Years And Here Is What I Learned
Twenty-four months, that’s how long it has been since I had sexual intercourse. And what I have learned in that time is simple—nothing. I am not wiser, and no better off. There is absolutely zero value to not having sex. None! Initially, it was just getting over a breakup, but then the months just kept going, and sex was not sexing. It is two years later.
No man has seen me naked. I didn’t realize how much of a private exhibitionist I was until I wasn’t giving a man a show. No man has touched my made to fondle breasts or seen the illusion of ample cheeks created by the front view of too thick thighs. Then again, my ass might have grown, but who would know? Na me wan day see am.
I’ll tell you what sucks. I’m sadly one of those people who connect love and sex. If I’m not in love, I’m not having sex. That dispensation is one of the most unfortunate facts about my existence. I do not know how to seek sexual pleasure with a man just for my pleasure. And I do get so much joy from sex; sweetness, wetness, and satisfaction. Like too good sleep; that’s so sweet you drool and only realize how gone you were as you wipe off.
The closest I’ve come to sexual relations in the two years is when I sleep. I’ve had sexual fantasies. I went out for drinks with a man in Freetown in December. We did not touch except when he reached out for my hand to hold as we crossed the road. After dropping me off, I wanted him to stay, but I went inside since he didn’t ask. That night I dreamt we made sweet love. I imagined him deep inside me, mining my orgasms. In the morning, my panties were moist. I smiled. I did remember to thank him for providing content for my nocturnal emission.
I went to a man’s house to hang out in Accra. I wore my slutty panties* (just in case). I’ve known him for a long time, and we had made out once. The night before I went to his house, I dreamt he bent me over in an uncompromising position in his mother’s house (I had never even been to his mama’s house). That fantasy was also a source of nocturnal emissions. So imagine me all high from my sex dream, getting dressed to go to this man’s house. Who needs panties? (*the sluttiest panties you can wear are none). But I should have worn panties because, sadly, the only thing he ate was food. We didn’t talk about sex. (He has no idea about any of this, by the way). If I were a correct babe, I would have said hey are you interested in having sweet sweet sex with me? Instead, I pulled out my laptop to work on a grant proposal. I don’t know how to do this sex for pleasure if no love is involved. SMH.
And then there was the virtual romance I had with a brilliant Yoruba man about whom I fantasized for almost a year. What a demon! Lek ow e fine na so e get sense (So sexy!). I just wanted to sit on his face. Then after a year, he told me he had been in a relationship the entire time we talked. It was just talking but had he told me he wasn’t free from the start, I wouldn’t have let him star in my sexual fantasies. I ended the romance, but I still think about his face to this day.
So yeah, two years no sex. If you want my advice, don’t do it. Ever! We were meant to have sex at least once every 24 hours unless incapacitated by illness. There is nothing to be gained. You don’t have sex, na you sef you day do! And the thing is, no one even bloody cares.
I still blame my upbringing. Raising girls to believe that the only time they can have sex as adults is when they’re in love is a loss. I have lost two years of my sexual life span. There is no place to reclaim time lost for sex not served. It’s my loss entirely.
Smother yourself, lose your breath in sexual pleasure. Between getting a glass of water and post-sex pee, say a little prayer for me. I, too, Inshallah by God im power shall soon be making the beast with two backs, a prime black ram will tup this soft brown ewe.
Thats all for today! One day I hope to write a novel. This will be the voice of the protagonist. Consider this practice. Thank you for reading.
