The other day, my friend and I were driving to Hudson (Wisco) on a Sunday afternoon to buy some wine. Yes, that calculation all together means we physically left the state we were in (Minnesota) and cruised controlled our way to Wisconsin so we could legally buy booze. On a Sunday. In January.
Girls gotta do what a girls’ gotta do ok? Even if that means taking a flashback ride to the high school days – when you would beg someone older to drive the healthy hour into a state where no one else had anything better to do than drink on God’s day o’ rest. Cheers.
Basically, while she sped east and I sat and ate my Uncrustable for breakfast in the passenger seat, we had a chance to get down to talking. And of course, that conversation was about boyz. I immediately assumed it was kosher we were being desperate about booze and discussing the one thing we couldn’t ever seem to figure out. My roommate and I can relate, we’ve both been single for a while, we both like to go out and have fun. We both have ungodly crushes on very manly men in sports, and we both like to dish about it. Naturally, our conversation led to something a little sacred in the dating world (ESPECIALLY during college). Sexay time.
It has been (let’s just say a while) since we’d been “intimate” (for lack of floozy words) with anyone. So we began comparing time frames.
“It’s been a year.”
“It’s been nearly two years.”
And then we looked at each other with the type of fear people save in the back files of their emotions and feelings for jail, court, car crashes, in-laws, and moldy bread combined. It made a little sense; I had graduated from college a year ago and she, two years. The time frame of our intimate encounters with men coincided brilliantly with our behavioral habits in school. Is this coincidence? Or does this mean something more? While I was thinking this, my roommate laid it out into the thin, winter car air,
“Do we stop being so promiscuous in a small portion of our twenties?”
At first, this threw me for a total loopty loop (because hell, that seems a little deep for a Sunday). But then my mind skipped a beat. WHAT? We stop getting busy during the peak of our beautiful lives? We look great, our boobs are purky-purkerton, our skin is taught and soft, we have a thriving drive to reenact scenes in Ashton Kutcher romantic comedies. Sexually…twenty somethings are there. College kids are there. They are well aware of what they want and they will go out and get it. Look at the McDonald’s drive thru on a Saturday night. But…are they really…there? Is there a small portion of confidence that isn’t in the stats of a college gal? Is there a blockade that brims through their lives during a certain age that makes them bulk from the possibility of misfortune?
What I’m saying is, I do think there is a small portion of one’s twenties, where sexy time with men isn’t as appealing as it had been in say…college right out of high school. We become more self-aware, we are presented with consequences, we forsee our future, our ‘wants’ blend with our ‘needs’ more efficiently. And sex is not the means we want to take to get there.
This all may seem far-fetched. I know a ripe batch of twenty somethings having a lot of sexy encounters with men (especially the ones in relationships). But certain things constitute the loss of action. Ask any single twenty something besides Chelsea Handler or Tucker Max – “how often are you doing the dirty?” I bet a ton of them will say, “not that often, compared to a time after high school when I wanted to explore the mountains of havoc in bed.” Trust me, I’ve seen this among many.
But why? Why aren’t people doing it at a fresh, young age? I won’t begin to compare twenty somethings to an un-ripe fruit, but I really want to. Twenty somethings are in the process of softening up. Unlike thirty somethings (and all the hot chicks in Sex and the City) twenty somethings have so many consequences and they are not confident enough to sacrifice their undefined selves to make them. Lots of things happen during this time – we switch around jobs, boyfriends, diets…having constant bed favors throws us off. We can’t get pregnant at twenty-three, we need to find a steady job first. We can’t get married at twenty-three, we need to find ourselves first. Twenty somethings don’t withhold the capacity of confidence needed to sleep around – without feeling crushed or used and confused. I’m not saying thirty somethings are sluts and dry hump everything that moves (including trees). But thirty somethings have different consequences. Getting pregnant wouldn’t be a complete doozie, nonetheless getting married. They’ve effectively defined themselves – making confidence and sleeping with people, less of an issue. They are a soft, prepared fruit. [Sorry...]
So…let’s hear what YOU think. Is there a small portion of an individuals in college or twenty somethings where they stop doing the dirty? Now, seriously, I’m ruling out all ya’ll who are in a healthy and stable relationship. So, let’s be honest this lovely Thursday. If you agree with me, what’s the reason for stopping the sexy time? If you think I’m totally off kilter, what’s your reasoning there? As a single girl out of that realm of hope between the sheets, I’m dying to know.