So you’ve finally found The One (or at least The One For The Foreseeable Future) and you’ve committed to a serious relationship. Now what? In our column, Life After Dating, we’ll discuss the unique joys and challenges of coupledom.
When I was single, I spent a lot of time talking about my sexual exploits with friends: his penis-to-ball ratio, how chipper of a mood he was in the morning after, whether or not I wanted to “hit that again.” It was one of the fun — well, maybe more necessary than fun — parts of being single. When I had flings or dating stints, all that was left when the dude was out of my life were the war stories. There was a soothing pleasure in finding a way to make my friends (and myself) laugh about how he did little more than jackhammer my vagina to death with his huge penis and in the morning, ask me to turn my shower on for him because it was “too hard to figure out.” I was the circus clown making singledom palatable for the crowd. Honestly, when I was single, if I didn’t find humor in my sex life, I would have been a very sad clown.
When I got into a serious relationship eight months ago, all talk of my sex life stopped, even though there was more to discuss than ever before. I was out to dinner with a group of single girl friends recently and one of them straight up asked, “Is the sex good?”
I stuttered and blushed. One of my other friends jumped to my rescue, scolding her for asking the question. “Hey, that’s personal!”
She was right, it was personal. But something about that justification irked me. Why wasn’t it personal when I was single and recounting my night with the guy who thought it would be fun to put two vibrators in my vagina at once with the same group of women? I had no problem talking about that guy. But discussing what my boyfriend and I do in bed feels like a violation of his privacy more than mine. I love him so much that the thought of one of my friends laughing about his sexual proclivities, his body, or our most intimate moments together hurts me.
With casual sex, that feeling of loyalty to your partner is completely absent. I used to find something almost satisfying in poking fun at a man who would never love me and I would never love back by talking about his walnut-sized balls. It was an assertion of my self-worth, a battle cry. It was an acknowledgment that I knew he wasn’t good enough for me. But we were both single human beings with sex drives who were waiting to meet someone who was worth getting in deep with. And in the meantime, we were fucking each other and having a decent time of it.
The downside to all of this, is that sometimes, I do want to talk about my sex life. Our sexual connection is an important part of our relationship, so of course I want to share it with my closest friends. I want to tell them about the satisfying feeling of making love on Sunday night, the excitement of trying kinky stuff I only fantasized about before and the relief of finally having a partner who understands how to give me an orgasm with a 90 percent success rate. (No one’s perfect.)
But alas, my “serious relationship” status makes me feel bound to a code of silence I never needed to honor before. These days, when my single girlfriends and I are a bottle of wine in and the sex stories start flowing, I just listen and laugh. If anyone asks me about my partner’s penis, I simply say, “It’s perfect,” and leave it at that. Because to me, it is.