Sex diary: her search for sex

Thursday is the kind of day when, if there were any sex, I'd start planning it for the weekend. But there is no sex.

Thanks to the delivery service for losing my package with a vibrator in it. Really bad timing, guys.

Speaking of which. What is sex? Is there really none? Do the erotic videos I was exchanging just a week ago with the-boy-it-didn't-work-out-with count as sex?

What about masturbation?

What about masturbation with penetration?

And if it's petting, is that sex or not sex?

And if I imagine sex and get aroused by it without a partner, is that sex? Or still not sex?

At journalism school we had a lecturer who said something like this: "Girls, if a young man has paid for your cup of coffee, then in a general sense you've already had sex." I think that's why it's now so hard for me to accept coffee-on-him. But it's not hard at all to record a minute-and-a-half video of myself masturbating in fishnet tights and sneakers.

I also remember a friend I shared, well, my most intimate secret with: the time I was in a relationship for the first time in my life.

We were in Naples (blessed times) and going down into the metro. In Italy it was so easy to talk in our own language about anything in the world, because absolutely no one understands you, and I blurted out to her that I was in a relationship and we were having sex. "What kind of sex is that?" my friend asked.

I remember it hurt terribly back then. Not because she wasn't happy for me, the way a classic friend from a classic girls' TV show would have been. But because instead she instantly judged me, and my relationship, and my, damn it, sex.

Maybe that's why I now don't know what counts as sex and what doesn't. But thanks to it there's also a kind of inner resistance: I don't agree that sex is only a penis penetrating a vagina. Sex is something much broader. And it seems almost impossible to draw a frame around it.

Friday is the day when the deadlines are on fire, and so is my ass. It's also the day when I could have had a date (which is nice in itself), but for some reason it gets cancelled. Sometimes that's brutally upsetting. A nice, promising spark flares up between you and someone you're chatting with on one of the Tinder alternatives. And then, at the meeting or before it, some bullshit happens.

In sex, it's good when two people with shared interests meet, and bad when your partner is all about themselves and only their own pleasure. I instantly stop being interested. There's no sex in sex if all your partner cares about is coming.

And the delivery service has finally fucking lost my toy. It's sad that tomorrow is already Saturday, and there's neither a date nor a toy... It's also sad that everyone seems obsessed with sex, and if you don't have it, it's not even a problem. No. It's a PROBLEM. And I spread that too when I say: how come you haven't dated anyone in 20+ years of life? Let's download Tinder for you, just go on one date, what if someone catches your eye? Although is there really anything bad about not having sex in some academic sense of a penile-vaginal contract?

I haven't had a partner for more than a year now, not counting dating-app matches that rarely end in anything other than nice conversations and sexting with photos and videos.

My last relationship started exactly like that: with flirting in a random chat and swapping intimate photos. And it was definitely about sex, about mutual interest, about a spark that didn't give a fuck how much the tickets between our cities cost. The relationship didn't last long, but in those months I felt so much like I was with the-one-I-want-to-be-with that I remember them with huge tenderness and love. But if you take all the sex from that relationship and compare it with all the masturbation before bed... Masturbation gives way more. Minus stress, minus unnecessary effort, plus deep, healthy sleep.

Okay, yes, masturbation is a less interesting, inspiring and emotional kind of sex, but it's still a very useful and pleasant one. Sex with myself, no trial and error, no disappointments, safe and truly blissful sex. But not enough.

In two weeks I'm going on vacation. What if I turn it into a dating vacation? Turns out some friends of friends don't mind meeting up with me. On the plus side, it's not as sketchy as random dudes from dating apps. On the minus side, I'm losing faith in the Tinder alternatives more and more. Not that there were a lot of fucking amazing matches, but they DID HAPPEN.

More about sex: the best sex happened with people I knew well enough. When a person lacks context, they somehow seem less attractive and less... Sexy? No, that's not it. It's as if there are fewer reasons to get closer. Shared or not-so-shared interests, things to talk about: that's an endless supply of material for flirting. Do you love hitting on people as much as I do?

My flirtiest relationship was with someone from the city of my childhood. The more complicated the situation in the world became, the more we used it in our jokes, the more we sexualized everything we could and couldn't. It really helped us stay afloat and support each other. To me there's still far more warmth in that than in either of the two promise rings.

If you love, then only like this.

A long time ago my mom told me about my dad: "I love the him from back then (at the start of our relationship) more than now. He's completely different now." And for some reason that scared me so much. Not because Dad used to be different and now he's like this. But because people can move forward together, change, and then realize that, well, the earlier version was actually better. I don't want that.

And here's the thought it gave me: can you have sex with an asshole? Let me explain. For me, sex is a certain degree of intimacy with someone I know. I really envy people who can have sex just because they've got an itch. I've got the itch, but I just can't. Sad.

So let's say that while you're getting to know each other, you suddenly discover that by some of your criteria this person is an asshole. What then? And maybe with you he's not an asshole at all. With you specifically he's very caring and shows the very best of himself. But he talks about other people, or treats others in front of you, like... someone who, as far as you can tell, is an asshole.

If the other person switches into "asshole" mode, I switch out of "sex" mode. In short, I'm out.

In short, there is sex in a life without sex. In my particular case it's a guy from the office, and we sometimes bump into each other by the elevator.

I don't know why he is sex. He's not really my ideal of beauty at all, but he's SEX. His short hair, his endless suits, his glasses, the way he zones out staring at the wall and the way he simply looks you straight in the eyes. The hardest part is not looking away when he looks right at you.

So basically, whenever I see him, I always have two urges at once: to laugh really, really loudly and to make out with him.

And these urges are so strong that if I don't look away, I start smiling while looking at his face. And when I walk past, I start laughing.

I just really want him. Somehow completely irrationally and very melodramatically. Like, we're in the elevator together, the doors close, a passionate kiss, a spark, a storm, madness.

Also, nothing's going to happen with him, because I can't do flirting when every attempt gets ")))" in reply, and in real life he avoids me as much as possible. But that doesn't make him any less sex. Mondays are hard. I'll go to the elevator, maybe he's heading somewhere too.

I can't find the time to match with anyone. Switching to sleep mode, zero activity. For some reason men have a fuckton of requirements for women, like: obedient, faithful, virginal, sexy, no relationships, no kids, no relatives, no ambitions, no opinions of her own. Is there any sex at all in these descriptions, apart from the "SEX" in "SEXy"? I'll leave that question open.

I've noticed how much it grates on me when someone talks about polyamory. For me, polyamory is something I've tried and really like (in theory), but in practice it plunges me into such an abyss of anxiety (too many people I care about) that I want to take myself out of all these conversations.

If a person matters to me, and another person matters to that person, will that third person start to matter to me? After all, how good or bad things are for the person who matters to me will depend on them, right? It's complicated. And so far it's not about sex at all, but about some tangle of complicated feelings and thoughts that you sometimes manage to dive into to understand, but you only get more tangled up and scream: "Help!" Spoiler: no one's coming to help. Your pleasure is in your own hands.

I think about how often thoughts about sex flash through my head every single day. Quick and fleeting, I don't even have time to register them. Sometimes deciding whether to meet someone takes mere fractions of a second. Seconds in which the brain (less often, the vagina) makes the only right decision: "yes" or "no."

This morning I walked past him (he's still sex) and didn't smile at him (I always smile at him, and that's a little bit sex too). In response his eyebrows crept up, and he even watched me walk away. But he didn't ask anything. "No."

An ad slipped me yet another dating app, but I swiped it away without looking: boring, uninteresting, I don't want to start from scratch. "No."

A friend of friends, an acquaintance of acquaintances. "Yes."

A person who is open to contact and can actually use their words. "Yes."

A person I can discuss with whether he's up for fucking me if, by his standards, I'm an "asshole." "Hell yes!"