The List

A few months ago @crookednuts asked a question on Twitter. It was a good question and I have thought about it a lot since.

My immediate response was really gratifying: I’ve had a lot of really excellent sex, especially when you consider that I’ve not actually had a vast amount over the course of my life (‘not even’, as I said to my righteously and smugly promiscuous American friend, ‘in comparison to people who aren’t you’). There’ve been long periods of famine but there have also been disgraceful, gluttonous feasts, and on this basis I wouldn’t be upset if I’ve already had the best sex I’ll ever have: the best sex I’ve had has been fucking awesome.

And the fabulous is that it’s been awesome in so many different ways. I’ve had sex that was joyously filthy: being fucked in the ass in front of a mirror on a first date, over a haybale in a Somerset field, and on rubber sheeted beds in sex clubs. I’ve sucked dick in suburban front rooms in front of friends and strangers, in the front seat of a people mover, and in a sauna in Berlin while covered in melted chocolate. I treasure memories of the midweek afternoon I spent bunking off work to get fucked by a beautiful woman with a strap- on and the Sunday mornings when I was repeatedly held down and forced to cum until I cried.

I’ve been treated with love, respect and affection, and I’ve been treated like an anonymous set of tits and holes, often (preferably) by the same people and interchangeably. One time, a very long time ago, I even had the kind of sex which is very slow and sensual and there’s lots of eye contact and Aretha Franklin is on in the background singing ‘You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman’. While that kind of sex (lovemaking?) is nowhere near the top of my bucket list nowadays, at the time it was extremely lovely and my MO around these things is Never Say Never.

There’s also the sex which wasn’t perhaps technically great but which represented me leaning hard into shameless promiscuity, those brief excursions into living My Best Slut Life. The night where I sucked off a friend and was fucking a stranger within the hour, or the guy who jerked off over my thigh, his cum staining the stockings I then wore to the London Alternative Market the next day. Some of these experiences left something to be desired in some ways; not the bit where I sucked off my friend- he and I have only ever had buckets of fun- but the brief, casual encounters. Super- casual sex is like that sometimes: devoid of any real connection, the most notable thing about it sometimes is the intoxicating exhilaration of having…done… that. I’m a recovering Catholic who lived a long time with a healthy helping of the accompanying sexual guilt: I like doing shit that challenges that guilt, and while that generally makes me wet it’s not always going to result in a rolling, screaming Orgasm fest. Sometimes it’s just me, a slut, doing slut stuff; experimenting, seeing what happens if I try things out and press buttons, without any particular goal or intention except to muck around with someone new. And that’s okay.

But then. I started thinking about all the sex I haven’t had yet, about the reasons why, after some initial experiments that left me bruised emotionally and doubting I could ever even think about looking at being in polyamorous relationship, I’ve started identifying as ethically non- monogamous again. One of the reasons- and there are many- is that not to put too fine a point on it, I just haven’t had enough sex. There are many, many things left that I haven’t tried, and I don’t want to limit myself (yes, obviously I am being more effectively limited by a virus at the moment then I ever would be by monogamy but I’m talking theoretically). I am a greedy, voracious, mucky little trollop with a Fucket list as long as your arm. There are things I’ve wanted to try with previous partners and never got round to (MMF threesome), things that I’ve done once or a few times and want to do about a million times more (any other configuration of threesome, sex with people who aren’t men), things that I’ve told ex- partners I’d like to try and they were like, ‘nah, not happening’ (fisting! He said it was ‘an almighty faff’ and he couldn’t be arsed. But what of my dreams, Sir? WHAT OF MY DREAMS?).

There are a couple of moments that I’d like to revisit, unplanned moments that came close to being fantasies come true, except they were just wrong at the time- moments when things nearly happened spontaneously that actually needed to be talked out in advance and Pre Mortem- ed. I still think about these moments repeatedly though, rewind and replay them with those gaps filled in. One of them I might have to write about soon; it’s on the top of the fucking list.

That list goes on, and that’s just sex, I haven’t even talked about kink and BDSM. It’s two and a half years since the last time I received a concerted beating from someone who shared my love of impact play, and it sometimes feels like I’ve had to switch off the part of my brain that craves it because otherwise the wanting would get painfully loud. That’s fine- maybe we’re all having to switch off parts of our brain a little bit in order to get through the day right now. But while it could be really painful in some ways to look too closely at my fucket list when the doing of any of it seems so distant, in some ways thinking (and talking) about this stuff is another thing I do to get through the day. I have to believe that I’ll be able to start ticking things off the list again at some point in the not too distant future. I miss my family, I miss cafes, I miss the gym, I miss being able to visit my friends, I miss travelling; I miss all these things desperately. But sometimes it feels like the prospect of one day being able to get back to My Best Slut Life, being able to get back to something approximating the ridiculous carefreedom of my latterday Sexual Adventuring, is on some level the thing that is keeping me going. I do think there’s even better sex out there, waiting to be had, and I love thinking about that.

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