SEX! I think I left my vagina in Los Angeles. At the very least, my “horny hormones” stopped functioning the instant I found out my EX had cheated on me and decided to keep it his little secret until my BFF caught wind of his dalliances and spilled the beans.
I guess I could’ve chosen the slut route; somehow convincing myself that one-night stands and meaningless sex would feel empowering and that emotional connection and intimacy weren’t pre-requisites for getting off or feeling fulfilled. I could’ve been the champion for my entire gender proving to men that we, too, can succeed in their own game.
Or, I could’ve gone the re-bound route and run into the arms of any dude whose modus operandi is to play knight-in-shining-armor to women in distress. You know, find a man willing and foolish enough to carry the weight of my emotional baggage so I didn’t have to deal with it or the dirty laundry inside. Rebound-ees generally fall into the “sucker” category so I could’ve had someone wrapped around my finger, stroking my ego and anything else that needed some tender lovin’. He could’ve wiped away the tears of grief I shed for the loss of my marriage, my identity, my sense of security and dreams for the future. He could’ve spooned away my spite and cuddled my lack of confidence. At the very least, he could’ve been a distraction from my reality. I could’ve gone through the motions of moving on without really moving on.
Instead I became involuntarily asexual. (Mom would’ve been so proud of my apparent morality.) Normally the idea of a sexless, passionless and intimacy-free life would elicit nightmarish flashbacks to my frigidity as a Jehovah’s Witness. Oof, that contrived morality as a “J-dub” was painful-- mentally, emotionally and even physically. It was, like, the female equivalent of blue balls. And the fact that I had lost my virginity at age 16 but tried to re-claim it for Godly purposes made it that much more sufferable. I knew what was missing and exactly what I needed to satisfy that God-given THROB. But this -- this was different. This had nothing to do with Godliness, morality or restraining sexual urges. There were no urges. There was no throbbing. Nope. Nada. Nothing. But numb felt comfy-cozy. I was safe. It was far easier than surrendering to trust again. Not just trusting another man; but trusting myself to make better decisions when it comes to love.