This past year I decided to be celibate. Well, it wasn’t that I decided, I just wasn’t getting any. I also didn’t refrain from sex because I thought it would magically transform my life.
You see, so many women tell me that celibacy changes them for the better, that it helps them think clearer and sometimes even brings them that wonderful partner they’ve been looking for. So after a three month dry spell it dawned on me: maybe I needed to go celibate to purify myself and focus on what I need rather than what I want – like sex.
And I learned a lot. Like, that denying myself of carnal, physical desires makes me want to punch people right in the throat.
At about the six month mark, I was snappy, moody, and couldn’t even listen to sexy music. At nine months, I almost killed my GYNO when she said, “Oh, there’s no need to give you a pregnancy test” after I proudly told her the last time I was sexually active. It just reminded me that I had not had sex in nine months, which is enough time to carry a baby – a freaking baby! That’s a long time not to have sex, damnit! It didn’t help that my doc pointed out that the vagina is like a muscle; if you don’t use it, you lose it.
When walking out of the office I imagined my vagina falling out and my sadly picking it up while exclaming, “Well, I guess I lost my vagina today.”
So, no, at the end of my celibacy rainbow I didn’t discover a magic pot of gold, which includes a husband and golden halo. Instead, I found something much greater: a sense of humor and the realization that I don’t need to seek happiness outside of myself.