Parts 1 and 2.

And so we come to the present day.

About a year ago, a new player entered my life. (No, not player like that, though apparently he can have any woman he wants so who knows. Hee.) Y’all know him as Boytoy and also know that he is one of my dearest friends, and also rather excellent in other ways too, if you know what I mean ahem. Our relationship began with sex and conversation and went through all sorts of stages where we had to recalibrate–sometimes we’d stop the sex, sometimes we’d stop the conversation–but eventually we came back to the solidity of us, that we were friends and that we loved each other very much. Right now we are close friends and nothing more, and the sex has gone away for good.

All through this time we were both seeing other people, by which I mean sleeping with other people, though for him it was always far more involved and complicated because he does seem to attract us broken girls. I’m not going into the number of people I slept with ahem but there were enough. And he and I had a once in a while thing. As the year went by I found myself slipping further into depression and tried very hard to get the intimacy I needed by hooking up with people. Needless to say it didn’t work. At all.

I slowly began to realize that what I wanted was conversation. Dinner. Even if the guy didn’t want to date me, I wanted to be able to spend some time with him, and wanted him to want to spend time with me. And when they left it hurt me more than the fleeting intimacy I got from sleeping with them. And then I was too deeply sunk in holding myself together to pay any attention to anyone else. And also I had run through the bathtub and even looking at OKC makes me just sad, though this is all hindsight realization of now.

So slowly, my bedpost began to get a little respite from the notching, until eventually it was just Boytoy and then he pulled out too (hurr hurr see what I did there?). The last time I tried was shortly after I moved house and my oh my that was a bad idea, not because the sex was bad but because I let it happen hoping for a cocoon of intimacy and that cocoon never came.

In the past three months I have been badgered and pestered and pursued by several young and very young gentlemen who want to get in my pants and spend much time extolling the benefits of my permitting them to do so, and somehow, even though I want nothing more than to be held right now (which hasn’t happened in goodness me I don’t know HOW long), though I want nothing more than the comfort of a warm body in my bed next to me when I wake up in the middle of the night (a terribly bad habit I’ve picked up), I find it impossible to even let someone cuddle me unless the intimacy is already there. So basically  I’m screwed. (Or not, depending on how you look at it hee.)

Which brings me to my current philosophy of sex, which is simply that sex is always better with oxytocin. This is what Yaiby taught me all those years ago, though I never saw it that way. This is what Boytoy brought home to me in the past year. You can have insanely mindblowing sex with no love, no tenderness, no intimacy, no oxytocin, but you can’t have sex that kicks up your wellbeing without it. Holding hands, kissing for no reason, absentmindedly playing with hair and fingers or stroking exposed skin, sleeping together, lying in bed doing nothing together, eating meals together, watching movies together–all this does nothing but take everything up a notch. You might say this is what leads to relationships, and yes, apparently that’s what oxytocin does, but I guess where I differ is that I don’t think it needs to lead there, or even indicates definitively that one person wants it to go there, but it definitely makes everything better.

And now I have come to that phase of my life where I cannot, even if I want to, settle for anything less than oxytocin sex.

Hello celibacy.