When I tell people I write a Sex and Relationships column, which I ever so stylishly drop into conversation when needed, their first reaction is to look me up and down. Upon analysis, they exclaim (likely based off the silky texture of my hair or the fertile proportionality of my body) that I must have wild stories to write about. The truth is, I have had some unconventional interactions with men, but to call my sex life wild is an accolade I hardly deserve. Beside’s there’s only so much you can get from your sex life when you’re cursed.
I have been cursed for over a year and at this point I’ve tried all the possible remedies north of Argentina: voodoo magic, Cosmopolitan, Yahoo Answers, religion, anal, even one very painful Brazilian. But so far, the curse-calculator still reads (in capitals and italics) CURSED.
What is my curse you may wonder? Well, I can’t hook up with someone more than once. I don’t know what it is. Sometimes it’s him, sometimes it’s me, and sometimes it’s just the universe that prevents round two. The curious thing about my curse is I do not live in a string of one night stands. Usually, I’ve been talking to or have gone out with the guy before I get with him. We even talk after and insist we have to hang out again. But no matter what, we only hook up one time. And it’s not that I’m bad in bed. I’ve considered that possibility but concluded that it’s impossible. It’s gotten to the point where I’ve almost decided to stop hooking up with people in certainty that there is no future for us. It’s basically Groundhogs Day, but with different people and in different places every time … I just can’t manage to see the sunrise of tomorrow (you get the metaphor).
Some examples of my curse in action:
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He asked if I wanted to sleep with him again, but I just didn’t. It wasn’t because he was Communist, because despite what he may think.
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He texted me to hang out that night for our #2 and then family sickness happened so he had to go away.
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We went out a few times then he kissed me and then I went to Amsterdam and never saw him again.
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I met a guy in the club and by accident gave him the number of my home telephone.
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I slept with this guy and we would always text each other to come over when drunk but I always fell asleep.
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Arguably the shining star of my history, we met at a ski resort, shared a great night, and the next day he asked me if I wanted to ski with him, but I booked a massage at the Fairmont instead and missed him on the mountain — here we see an example of even on a biological level my body preventing me from engaging in sex-foolery with the same person twice.
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Then there were the real one night stands. Guys I got with for no reason, with no intention of seeing them again.
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There was Mr. girlfriend who actually liked me, which was a huge turn off because there’s a chance I’m attracted to assholes but in retrospect he likely would have been a great boyfriend.
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Then there was a guy who liked me and I liked him, but I thought it would be fun if I teased him the whole year instead of getting with him again to build up the sexual tension, but then he ended up dating my bestfriend.
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Then there were others who I just didn’t like that much.
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Then there were a few virgins who I just couldn’t rob because of my high, high morals.
I don’t know when my curse will be broken, or, if it ever will. But maybe the first guy who makes me finish twice will father my children.