In other words, I only develop sexual attraction to people after I've gotten to know them. Ten months after my last breakup, I realized that I hadn't been on a single date in nearly a year. I appreciated my time alone. Like a lot of recently single people, I was doing some soul-searching. In my case, that meant booking last-minute trips to New Orleans with my friends to get drunk.
No, what I really needed was a classic, no-strings-attached, casual hookup to feel like I was still in the game. I turned to dating apps. I swipe on a regular basis and talk to new people on the apps all the time, but I've never had the guts to go home with any of them in the past. I'm well aware that it's absolutely normal and healthy to have a no-strings-attached hookup — that wasn't my problem. But what if I wound up hurting my match's feelings?
Worse, what if they were cool with it? If they were, I didn't know if I could go through with it. Would I be into it? Despite his genuine interest in classic cinema, we both knew what was up. After the movie ended, my date clumsily disrobed, then protested when I insisted he wear a condom.
He said they "didn't work" for him. We compromised read: he put on a condom and things were back on track. Well, sort of. Much like the jittery start to this whole ordeal, the sex itself felt shaky and unsure. Actually, his Ikea furniture was a pretty significant metaphor for our encounter. Well, the sex was very much just like that. The aftermath was worse. As we lay there in complete silence, I became hyperaware of every single sound coming from the room, like the nervous grumbling of our stomachs and the incessant hum of the air conditioner.
But inside, I wasn't humming. I felt nothing. Not relief, not guilt, not satisfaction, not even a sense of accomplishment for having actually gone through with my first one-night stand. Because my date and I were practically strangers, I struggled to feel any intimate connection with him.
