I love one-night stands. I love the moments building up to it: the chase, the teasing, the games of eye contact, the electricity, the thrill of flirtation.
I love the moments of decision when you reach that fork in the road, where either the night ends. You go home, rub one out to dispel the sexual energy, roll over to sleep.
Or, upon reaching that metaphorical fork in the road, you decide you don’t wanna settle. You wanna bone. You wanna risk it.
Heart pounding in your chest, breathing quick and shallow, you risk leaning in for that first kiss, or asking if they want to fuck tonight, or taking their arm in your trembling hand to guide them to your bed.
Sparks fly from the discharging sexual tension, lighting a fire late into the night, and often into the next day, sometimes days. For me, the deepest thrill of one-night stands and similar, ephemeral hook-ups begins after the chase, after the flirtation, in the fire itself.
I love the feeling of sexual flow and ease. I’m a primitive sex goddess, a tigress, a witch versed in the arts of sex-magick. I love seeing the desire of my sex partners, eager tongues, hard cocks. Being an object of desire for men who serve as symbols of power makes my body, my desires, and my pleasures powerful by extension.
I love being seen as wild, untameable, unconquerable,
One-night stands and similar, ephemeral hook-ups are my fountain of sexual energy and confidence. The complexity of human relationships uncomplicated for a short time by primal, unquenchable desire.
Legs tangled but hearts yet untangled.
The other serves as a perfect canvas for your projections. They can be whoever you want them to be, and you can be the same for them, and for yourself.
Reality, with its expectations, obligations, and uncertainties, suspended.
In the glow of this fire that you’ve both created.
I like to think that I’ve gotten pretty good at having one-night stands.
It took me a long time to learn how to handle the fire. How to bury its embers in the morning so that its passion is stifled and doesn’t lead to drama or emotional obligation. How to come back to the buried embers after some time and see if they’re still hot enough to re-kindle.
It’s often impossible to repeat the passion without expectation and obligation settling in. But, if you’re careful, these expectations can be discussed and worked through to arrive at a relationship with more emotional intimacy.
Well, honestly that’s only happened for me like 3 times in . . . ? I lost count at 30.
In these far more than 30 experiences I have gained enough insight on myself to know that I idolized one-night stands so much because I loath obligation. In “real” relationships™ (ya know, these supposedly mature, monogamous commitments of unnegotiated co-dependency, lifetime sexual exclusivity, shared finances, and joint households that herald success as a woman), I feel obligated to provide sex regularly for my male partners.
Since all of my monogamous, amatonormative relationships have been with male partners, this means that there’s usually been a mismatch in these relationships between how my female sex drive and their male ones tend to work.
I need variety, spontaneity, risk, and feelings of ease to put me into a headspace of sexual flow that cranks my gears and wets my pussy.
Men tend to have so few sources of physical and emotional closeness in our macho, patriarchal society that regular sex and physical intimacy becomes one of the prescribed unnegotiated obligations for women in “real” relationships.™
I just don’t do the obligatory sex of “real” relationships™ anymore.
And I don’t really do one-night stands anymore either. These past few years I’ve grown used to having relationships where the level of emotional and sexual intimacy are more closely matched. Where I am me, and they are them. And we can’t just be whoever we want to pretend to be.
These days one-night stands leave me wondering a lot about how the other person felt. And worrying that they might not be okay. Wondering if they are struggling with ingrained sex shame and what does it mean to have so much sexual intimacy but so little emotional intimacy at the same time?
I want to explain myself, reassure them that I can safely hold the vulnerabilities we have shared, without passing judgement or piling on expectation. That I can love them for who they are and what we shared.
. . . But the reality is that I don’t actually know who these sex partners are. I love an experience that we shared, a projection that I cast, an objectification that I felt.
Re-reading the opening paragraphs of this piece as I write it, I feel rapey. It’s one of those situations where only the fact of my being a cis-woman makes it socially acceptable for me to be, in 2019, waxing lyrically about taking someone’s arm “to guide them to your bed”.
Even overlooking the drinking, pot, or drugs that have often emboldened my one-night stands, there is an issue of social pressure that sullies the ability to freely give consent here.
The fact that I am a woman and most of my hook-ups have been men doesn’t make it less rapey. The manufactured scarcity of physical intimacy in our culture joins together with toxic masculine culture to make some (many?) hetero men feel that they must capitalize on any available sexploit that presents itself.
Now that I understand this pressure to fuck that many men feel, I wonder how many of my one-night stands — my wellsprings of sexual confidence — are truly consensual.
And how much societal obligation has crept into even this, the most sacred of my sexual spaces.
This edge-play at the periphery of consensual non-consent, is how I came to sexual maturity. It’s one of my most treasured kinks.
I’m a new relationship energy junky and one-night stands are my heroine.
The question is: what to do about it in now, going forward?