sexinthesticksandstuff

The devil works hard, but men work harder.

Within an hour of my last post, I got the equivalent of a “you up?” text from a past lover…We’ll call him Tom. Tom and I went to high school together and ran in the same friend circles. It wasn’t until we were out of college that we hooked up. We never went on dates, but we had a habit of finding each other at the end of a night out—usually drunk.

If I’m being honest, I don’t even really remember if the sex was enjoyable. Most of my experiences with penetrative sex with men at that stage of my life weren’t particularly enjoyable, so there’s that.

There was no big falling out with Tom. Nothing dramatic happened. Things just fizzled.

When he moved back to the area after a breakup and learned that I was single he started liking my posts on social media and texting me. He’d say things like, “We should get together,” or message me later in the evening without actually making plans.

I never bit. Until recently.

We ran into each other at a gathering, and afterward he texted me asking if I wanted to take our dogs for a walk together. So I agreed. Like many of the dates I go on with men—not that this was a date—I found myself pulling the weight of the conversation. I asked questions. Follow-up questions. I showed interest. I was curious about him.

The reciprocation? Minimal.

I asked what he was looking for. He told me he wasn’t sure and was struggling to articulate himself because he was “tired.” Later, he texted me that he was looking for either something serious or ethical non-monogamy. Okay.

He said he’d text me after the weekend. The weekend came and went. And went. Fast-forward a month, and here we are: a “you up?”-adjacent text last night.

I’d be lying if I said a small part of me wasn’t excited to get it. The dopamine hit is real.

But here’s where I felt the fucking growth. Then I got pissed. I felt disrespected.

Not because I’m under some false impression that Tom and I were destined to have a future together. I’m not. But because I still expect to be treated with dignity and respect.

Ten years ago, I would have responded to that text. I probably would have been at his house tonight in my birthday suit tonight. And honestly? Good for that version of me. She was doing what she knew how to do. But I don’t want to be that girl anymore.

Now, even if Tom and I were to enter into a purely sexual relationship, I would require more consideration, consistency, and communication. That realization felt significant. Because when our standards rise—and we actually hold those standards—we maintain our self-respect.

There were so many times in my life when I didn’t respect myself enough to hold my own boundaries. I would flex them. Move them. Make exceptions. Convince myself that what I wanted or needed wasn’t that important. And every time I did that, I was sending a message—to myself and to the other person—that my boundaries were negotiable. And eventually, it left me resentful. Resentful toward them, but also resentful toward myself. Because I knew I had abandoned myself to accommodate someone else.

I’ve entered into too many relationships where I’ve bent my boundaries, wants, and needs to fit someone else’s. And every time, I lost a little more of myself in the process. I refuse to do that anymore.

So yes, I’m a little lonely.

And yes, I’m horny.

And yes, a tiny part of me would still like the attention.

But I’m choosing to try on this version of myself. Sorry, not sorry, Tom!