I’ll own up to it. I just cannot hook up with other people. I have of course had hook ups, but they seem to be something long past. I’ve also not gotten reasonably unattractive—my mom says I’m the most handsome man she knows. Regardless, I still manage to get dates, few they may be, so I’m not hooking up do to something other than no chances. I quite simply do not like having random sex with people whom I’m not going to date or see again.
I don’t have anything against the concept; I’m not fundamentally apposed to unattached sex. In fact I think consenting adults should have sex with whomever they please. Undoubtedly, those who slut-shame need to get laid. However, I don’t really want to participate in the phenomenon. Perhaps a story will illustrate my point.
Last summer, I was drinking a partying a lot. Like, my mom asking me if I was an alcoholic kind of drinking. I had fun, but I made a ton of stupid decisions. Case and point: a friend, who was doing aid work in Africa, was being thrown a homecoming party. I went to see if there were going to be any interesting boys—because I’m an intellectual drunk god damn it. There weren’t. But I did fine one person who I inexplicably found pleasing; he was plain, slow and pretty dull. But he had an adorable dopiness that I, futility, thought might of hidden genius. It didn’t. I ran out of conversation material after ten minutes, so I was bored and tequila drunk—never a good combination. This is why I decided to get into his pants.
We were sitting in our friend’s kitchen, and I decided to make my move. I asked the sleaziest question I will ever ask. “Are you single? Do you wanna make out?” Seriously, I’m only a little pleased with myself. This somehow worked and I was getting to second base on the kitchen floor. Ugh, still a little pleased with myself. Anyway, we went back to my place and danced the horitontal-penatrative tango. A couple of days latter I asked him if he wanted to hang out. He replied with something to the effect of, “That isn’t going to happen. That was a one-time thing.” I was shocked—not because he didn’t want to sleep with me again, but because he didn’t want to associate with me anymore. I really didn’t want to sleep with him again, not getting off during sex isn’t my favorite, but I did think we had something in common; we had sex. Friendships have started on much less than that. I thought sleeping with him would at least lead to an odd, little acquaintance.
I don’t like one-night stands, not because of the meaningless sex, but because the people involved usually pretend it never happened. If I do something, I own up to it. There isn’t any point to pretending that that something never happened. Especially something as intimate as sex.