If I were a man, I would never have to worry about my number of sex partners. Instead, I’d get high-fived by friends. They’d be like, “Fuck yeah!” and, “Right on!” But I’m not a man, and if my friends and family knew my real number, I’d be judged harshly and treated like a leper. I would be eating with plastic utensils at family dinners and parties. My mom would question where she went wrong and why I had such a “hot box.” I should be questioning why she calls it a “hot box.” Uhum, double standard.
This is why women usually downplay their number while men exaggerate theirs. Uhum, the double standard. Still, I won’t reveal my number. All I’ll say is I would have no trouble turning tricks in a brothel if we lived in a different era. Do I consider myself a slut? Absolutely not. I’m just a modern-day independent woman making it in a man’s world. I work hard and I play hard. Have I ever lied about my number? Just one time this past summer.
I met an amazing guy and told him things I never told any man before. I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve, but I was falling hard and fast. I didn’t want to do or say anything to scare him away. So, when things got hot and heavy the first time he spent the night at my house, I said, “We need to wait to have sex. I’m not that kind of girl, I haven’t been with many guys.” But I refused to commit to a number. I have one baby daddy and one ex husband, I thought, so I can tell him he’s number three. Yes, yes, he can be number three. Wait, if he’s just the third, am I a weirdo? I’m in my 30’s! Okay, he can be number four.”
It’s like I was possessed by the Devil. He made me do it!
Fast forward a few weeks and it was finally The Big Night. As we started getting it on, I told him how great he was and that he must be super experienced to be able to do it like that. “I can’t wait for you to teach me some things,” I continued to lie. Cause the sex, it was bad. When he came his sperm splattered everywhere like a hose. It’s like he was putting out a fire. I could have been blinded! His shrieks were deafening. I laughed but he was too busy enjoying his orgasm. Oh my God, I have so much to teach him, I thought. But I couldn’t because I was an “inexperienced good girl.”
I continued the charade each time we had sex. I told know I had never felt anything so amazing. “It’s the most Earth shattering sex I have ever had!” “Oh, you big man, teach me more!” I built up his ego so much that he got cocky – and ghosted.
Am I proud that I lied about my number? Absolutely not. I must admit I liked being the innocent girl. Still, I will never do that again. If the next guy asks, I will be honest because my partner has a right to know how many people I’ve been with prior to sleeping with me. Not to shame me or judge me, but to establish open communication and be candid about our sexual health. That includes getting tested together on a regular basis. For me, sexual health is the only reason why anyone should ask me, “How many men have you slept with?” Unless they want to high fave me, there’s just not need.