Let’s Talk About Sex

Dear Swing Enthusiast,

I think it’s time I come clean.

If you reread all of my posts to date again and again out of sheer swing enthusiasm (not that I do that), you might come to certain conclusions about the type of girl I am. My mother recently put it best when she said I clearly came off as “wicked horny” throughout The Swing Diaries.

Yes, my mother says that type of thing, much to my chagrin.

I know what you’re thinking. Why on earth did I tell me mother about my secret sexy swing blog? All I can say is that she’s not like other mothers. She’s a realist and enjoys reading about my romantic misadventures. Regardless, I was a little aghast at her comment- mostly because it came from Mom, but also because I didn’t realize that was the prevailing message I was leaving with some readers. Sure, I experience lust as much as the next swinger, but it certainly wasn’t the driving force in my swing life and otherwise.

Ok, maybe it is…

But not the way you think! On one of our first hot chocolate chats, Apple Guy and I started talking about sex. Because apparently I can’t wait to move the topic of conversation into the bedroom! (I’m starting to see my mother’s point.) I told Apple Guy then, and I maintain now, that I am all talk. I put it this way exactly: “Dirty mind. Clean body.”

It’s a frustrating existence lately for the girl with her mind in the bedroom and her bod in the books. How many bisexuals do you know that technically qualify as virgins?

There. I said it. The “V” word. I used to embrace the “V” word. It meant I was waiting for someone special. Meanwhile, my mother, among many of my other friends, is getting nervous that I’ll be locked at the ankles until I’m 30, and has now taken to blatantly suggesting I go out and “get laid,” while I adamantly insist that the first time has got to be for love. Isn’t it usually the daughter who just wants to have fun while the mother implores her to wait for someone special? Our relationship is an unconventional one at best.

The thing is, I want to have sex. I do. I admit it. Guilty! Very, very guilty. Who am I kidding? Even my mother can tell! And I’m no stranger to the female orgasm, let me just you. It really all boils down to the fact that I just haven’t found the right guy. Let me explain…

My first boyfriend was amazing. It was my first semester of college in my freshman year. He was funny, talented, attentive, and a senior! I was very young, and he and I both knew I wasn’t ready. So, it didn’t happen before I trampled on his heart and ended the relationship by transferring to a different school across state.

My second boyfriend was a sweetheart. It was my sophomore and junior years of college. He, too, was a senior and then a post-grad. He was shy, dorky, super-attentive, and sensitive. Very, very sensitive. Let’s just say the prospect of intercourse could overwhelm him more often then not and we never ended up crossing the official finish line through no fault of my own. We were together for a year and half and did not seal the deal…

Hey, I did my part!

Then, as my mother might say (sorry, Mom, but you would), I “got hit by the lesbian bus.” Oh boy, did I! Much to my surprise and delight, I fell in love with a girl just before graduation and, by lesbian standards and even my own, am by no means a v*****. However, by straight standards, all that stuff’s just foreplay!

So, I find myself in a bind. I didn’t realize quite the bind I was in until shortly after my breakup when my good friend Dalia said:

Oh my god! If you're with a guy next, what are you gonna tell him?

Me: Umm… what do you mean? Most guys think girl on girl action is hot, and if it bothers him then he’s an assho—

Dalia: No. Uh, hello! You’re a virgin!

Me: So? It’s not like I’m saving myself for marriage or anything. Isn’t purity somewhat desirable anymore?

Dalia: Not at 25 it’s not. Sara, you cannot tell some guy you’ve never had sex. He’ll run, Sara. He will run!

I let Dalia detail her plan for me to find the first man I met in a bar, despite the fact that I don’t really drink (yeah, I’ve got this abstinence thing down), only to “get it over with” with said mystery man. I told Dalia I thought her plan was ridiculous, and that honesty was obviously the best policy. Let them run! I’m not a prude, nor am I strumpet. I have always followed my heart, and have nothing to hide as a result. But the seeds of doubt had been planted in my mind…

Naturally, I bought a sex book. Two actually. I suddenly thought that maybe I was ill-equipped to meet the demands of the modern man. I panicked and bought How to Be a Great Lover and You Want Me to Do What? on Amazon. When I received the books in the mail at work of all places, Peggy and the girls were captivated. Truth be told, I hardly touched the books, especial the particularly graphic one. Meanwhile, my books got past from cubicle to cubicle wrapped in a big, boring spreadsheet, instead of the traditional brown wrapper popular circa 1950. Apparently, I’m not the only lady who’s thinking impure thoughts. To top it off, my mother absconded with both books in my precious sex library when she came to help me move recently, sighting that she could put them to use long before I hoped to.

Everyone’s a critic.

So, here I am faced with a sea full of swingers. You remember swing, right? It’s the official topic of this blog in case you forgot. Among my prospects at the dance studio, you’ve got the bashful, sweetly bearded Grisly Adam, the so-boring-I-keep-forgetting-to-tell-you-about-him Norman Nurman, the hypnotically seductive Commie, the blog-favorite Apple Guy, and the old, rusty hard-on that is The Chief. To tell you the truth, if I ever for one second considered The Chief as a viable option for me, it was because the idea of a mature, experienced, hopefully skilled man wasn’t exactly unattractive given my suddenly alarming situation. Try as I might to ignore Dalia’s voice inside my head, I couldn’t kick the idea that male attention was something that now had to be worried about.

I can’t help thinking that subconsciously this is why I started the blog- to sort out, record, and convey this particular journey. It may sound corny, but I, in fact, think that my experience- or lack thereof- is wonderfully human. From what I hear, I should count myself lucky that I have no regrets. I am not afraid to risk my heart and body, but not without just cause. Despite appearances in this blog entry, my mother taught me never to settle or succumb to peer pressure. A quarter of a century into life, I’m still sticking to that advice.

Sorry, Mom.

Sincerely,

-Sara