I love sex. I love rough sex, sleepy sex, morning sex, shower sex – I love it all. However, in the midst of the hair-pulling, neck-biting, loud-moaning good times, there is always something nagging in the back of my mind: your number’s getting pretty high there, eh? Better watch out.
Even in this day in age, women are still condemned for having sex outside of a monogamous relationship, whether implicitly or explicitly. And god forbid you live in a third world country like India. It’s hidden in the tone I hear from my male best friend in his seemingly innocent comment, “you slept with him?”. (Though this is they guy who has had a track record of dating a generation line of my friends.) It’s in the dirty look I get from the checkout lady at the Health and Glow or pharmacy counter scanning the barcode on the box of Durex or Kama Sutras, Johnson & Johnson Baby Oil and some Lube among my groceries. It’s in my doctor’s apprehension to ask about my sexual activity. And because of all of these little moments adding up, the master narrative of it not being acceptable for women to love sex, and love it with multiple people, has wormed its way into my head.
I do consider myself a feminist, and when I catch myself thinking about the gravity of my “number”, it upsets me. It makes me incredibly angry that even though I am not ashamed of my number, others make me feel like I should be. Because I am a woman, I am not allowed to enjoy sex unless I am in a relationship, and that is just not fair. I dont want to be in a relationship or have a boyfriend for namesake, or be with a man who doesn’t let me be. I want a man temporarily who will go inside me and get outside once he’s done. Once I’m done. I love being done. Well done.
But really, what’s not to enjoy? Why should I feel bad about feeling good? Why should I not “play the field” and sample all the world has to offer me? I love sex. And everyone better get used to it.