No Sex for Singles

This week, Singlutionary has a brilliant post entitled "Sexless Singlutionary Experiment." Casual sex, including one-night stands, friends with benefits (FWBs), and f*** buddies (aka, "just benefits, hold the friendship please"), has been a hot topic in the singles blogosphere in recent months. Maybe it's the steamy weather with its requisite bikini beach days and titillating romcom movies, or maybe it's just the greater visibility of singles issues in general. Whatever it is, the Web is abuzz with opinions about how sex fits into the single life.

All long-term singles with a sex drive must confront this dilemma. Often, it remains the only stumbling block in an otherwise satisfied single's life. Go to any web site, blog, or message board for singles, and you'll see the ubiquitous complaint: "I love being single--the freedom, the flexibility, the self-determination--but I hate not getting any!" Sooner or later, every single has to make a decision about how he or she will channel sexual energy and whether that outlet will involve another person.

Without spoiling the details of the Singlutionary's gem of a post, which you should have a look at before you read any further, she decided to give intentional celibacy a try. Other than discussing the potential fallout of FWB relationships and hook ups in "Friends With Benefits and the Lowdown on Hook Ups, Part I" and "Part II," Singletude has been silent on this issue. That's because it's so personal and wrapped up in centuries of moral, psychological, and religious layers that can be hard to separate from it. However, I'm highlighting the Singlutionary's blog because she perfectly articulated my thoughts about the conundrum that is sex for the single person and chose an undeniably smart, safe, and sensitive solution for this time in her life.

Please keep in mind that I'm not saying any other choice is dumb, dangerous, and insensitive. But, as a single, whenever you add another person to the mix in your sex life, you have an unknown element that could become explosive at any time, so you have to be vigilant. When sex is an activity just between you and yourself, it's totally risk-free. STDs, jealousy, ruined friendship? Out of the question.

Again, I don't want to make a blanket statement implying that all casual sexual relationships go downhill or do damage, physical or emotional. But many of them do. That may not be politically correct, and it may not be popular, but sometimes the truth is neither. I have to call it as I see it, and time and again, I see these relationships beginning with two happy people and ending with at least one of them sad, regretful, or disillusioned. Casual affection turns into unrequited love, "friends" with benefits fail to deliver on the friendship, opportunities to pursue more meaningful relationships are missed. If even one person gets hurt, how can the relationship be considered "successful"? How can a few minutes of pleasure be worth this risk?

As singles, we're so used to living for ourselves that sometimes we forget sex involves someone else. It's an interpersonal experience, whether or not we want it to be. You can ignore the other person's feelings, pretend they're nothing more than a body. Hell, you can even ignore your own feelings and pretend you're nothing more than your body. But our minds and our hearts are an inseparable part of who we are, and we carry them into every interpersonal exchange. Of course that doesn't mean the feelings we bring to a sexual encounter will be love or other warm-fuzzy emotions. There will be feelings, though, of one sort or another, quite possibly intense feelings because sex is a physically intense experience, associated with a powerful physiobiological response as well as with powerful episodes in our personal histories and sometimes powerful beliefs and values. So when we imagine that this kind of interpersonal experience can be casual or only about the body or only about ourselves (as opposed to our partners) just because we're single, we don't prepare ourselves for how emotionally messy it can be.

No one wants to hear that these days, and I'm sure I'll get flak about voicing it. Everyone wants to believe that we singles can have our single serving and eat it, too. But I think this emanates from the flawed belief that life can be perfect, that we can search for and find a lifestyle that is all pros and no cons. That's the same trap that matrimaniacal people tumble into when they fantasize about living "happily ever after." They dream that marriage will give their lives an instant makeover, a quick fix after which there will be no conflict, no hardship, no sacrifice, just smooth sailing into the sunset. Sometimes, singles seem to believe that singlehood can have a similar transformative effect, that if we don't couple, we won't have any conflict, hardship, or sacrifice. That's not true. There is no perfect way to live. Both states, single and coupled, have advantages and disadvantages unique to each. Maybe living without partnered sex is just one of those disadvantages of singleness.

And is it really that much of a disadvantage anyway? Why is it that so many of us think we can't live without partnered sex? Is that really because it's so indispensable or because the dictum that we can't live without it has become as unquestioned as the tradition of marriage? One element of the Singlutionary's post that fascinated me was how she acknowledged her envy of all those nameless, faceless people out there getting it on. As she said, "I'm going to quit thinking that everyone out there doing-the-nasty is happier and healthier and having more fun than me."

For a long time, I felt the same way as Singlutionary. When I had to endure a dry spell without sex, I felt like I was suffering and envied couples who, I presumed, were getting laid on the regular. If I was abstinent for long enough, I started feeling insecure about myself, like I was a "loser" because I wasn't having The Sex. Then, as I was in the process of choosing singleness for myself, I also started reexamining my attitude toward sex.

What I realized was shocking. All my life, American culture had been sending me the message that sex was amazing, stupendous, the best experience that humans could aspire to. When I finally started having sex, I expected it to live up to the hype. I was so sure it would that I kept telling myself and other people how much I liked sex. But the fact was...it wasn't all that. Sex was a hit-or-miss experience. Sometimes, with a partner who knew me well, understood what I liked, and was willing to do what I liked...and at certain times of the month...and when I was into it and not tired, uncomfortable, tense, irritated, etc....it was very pleasurable. Other times, it was just blah or downright painful. If I was honest with myself, I had to admit that, more often than not, the sex that really blew my mind was battery operated.

The fact that I have to "admit" that, that it's embarrassing, tells me a lot about how our society pushes intercourse. Why? I don't know for sure, but I'm willing to bet it's tied to the push for coupling and, ultimately, marriage. After all, isn't that one of the supposed benefits of marriage that matrimaniacs advertize all the time? If we get married, we can have better, more consistent sex, or so we're told. We need to reproduce to keep society functioning, so society tells us to reproduce. Even though we can experience as much physical pleasure on our own as with a partner, partnered sex is portrayed as the ultimate experience, like an ice cream sundae compared to a scoop of vanilla. If we're not constantly having sex, thinking about it, or trying to get it, we're pitied, derided, even diagnosed! To be fair, at least part of this is probably a backlash against the repression of previous generations, and it's totally normal to like sex, think about it, and want it. The problem arises when it's considered abnormal to not be that interested in sex.

Once I had separated out the physical aspect of sex, I was able to identify what it was that I really craved--acceptance. Social programming had done it's job, and I'd learned that as a normal, healthy woman, I should want sex and lots of it. So, naturally, I wanted sex just like I'd wanted a Champion sweatshirt and Z. Cavaricci jeans in junior high--so I could have what everyone else had and fit in. There was something competitive about it, too. From women's magazines to talk shows, I started noticing how sex had been commodified. It was like a resource you could accumulate for bragging rights: "I've had more sex than you and for longer and in more positions, too! Neener neener neener!" It seemed like no matter how good your sex life was (with yourself or otherwise), there was always someone out there taunting you with how much better it could be. Under the circumstances, no wonder I'd felt left out! I'd internalized the notion that "winners" have heaps of wild, crazy, earth-shaking sex.

Now that I understood the cultural messages I'd absorbed, I could focus on what really did distinguish partnered sex from single sex. First, there was the beautiful human body, which I had always admired and loved to touch. But was that in itself worth tolerating the trappings of a relationship or undertaking the risks of casual sex? I knew that, for me, the answer was no. Second, there was the personal connection, the closeness, and that's something I do miss about relationships. But it's not something I can get from a casual relationship, and it's not enough to justify a serious, committed relationship.

Perhaps you'll think about it and decide that sex does justify either pursuing a monogamous relationship or accepting the risks inherent in something casual. Just like the decision to get married, though, it should only be made when you can separate what you really want from what mainstream America has taught you to want. You may be surprised to discover how little your happiness really depends on getting off with someone else.


Okay, bring it on! What do you think about the cultural messages we receive about sex? Can you identify some beliefs about sex that you've internalized from society? Why do you think U.S. culture pushes partnered sex so much? Have you had a casual relationship primarily or just for sex? If so, what were the pros and cons as you experienced them? Were the pros worth the cons?


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