Issue 04: Sex
Frankie Dale | She/Her
TO FUCK OR NOT TO FUCK—THAT IS THE QUESTION
My compulsion to sleep with an ex often finds me subject to ‘carefrontation’ by my friends. They try to convince me my behaviour is toxic and I try to explain how things are different because I have the upper hand this time. He text me first—duh?
As a person, I'm super self destructive and leaving a relationship in a healthy way just isn’t my thing.
The thing is, I love to drag out a break up for as long as possible. And to be honest, sleeping with my exes hasn’t always been a bad experience. Nor is it necessarily toxic behaviour.
I am convinced that despite what society tells us, fucking an ex can sometimes actually be a good experience.
For the past year or so my ex and I have had this sweet arrangement. Every three months, when his commitment-clock expires and his newest relationship inevitably disintegrates, he sends me a remorseful ‘I’m sorry’ essay over Facebook. This essay usually consists of three key parts—a healthy dose of self-pity, a call for our reconciliation as friends, and the use of the word ‘mate’ or ‘chief’ far more than necessary.
In the early days, before I had mustered up any kind of self-worth after our break up, this message gave me a sense of hope. In my absolute state of delusion, I thought I could win him back by wearing knee high boots, string-like underwear, a whisper of Cool Charm spritzed on my nether region and a liberal use of the word daddy. Once we had sex however, this feeling was immediately extinguished. Usually by him informing me that we could no longer see each other because it doesn't feel the same. He said this as he was going down on me once—I suppose he’s not into the aroma of Pink Pearl? One way to kill the mood?
More recently however, while these messages do still lead to fucking, I feel much more clearheaded about the experience. While I enjoy our sexual chemistry, no part of me seeks a relationship with him. Each time we sleep together I feel even more certain that we are so aggressively unsuitable for each other. I am pretty sure he feels the same way. Which is fair, seeing as last time I saw him, I greened out then threw up on him and his bed. He so kindly picked up my naked body and held my hair as I puked into his kitchen sink. To my amazement, he was lovely about it. Haven’t heard from him since.
That’s the thing about sleeping with an ex—there are no boundaries or rules, a lawless town in which asking for a rimjob unshowered isn't out of the question.
This isn’t a realisation I had overnight, this has been a process. Everytime we sleep together, I feel a little more like myself. Something about the experience is healing and even empowering. Fucking him allowed me to see our relationship from a different perspective. The more he ghosts me afterwards, and disappoints my expectations, I am less inclined to care.
Still, I kind of hate the fact that it took me fucking my ex to get over him. It would've been far more gratifying to battle my increasingly worsening vape addiction. Or work out my confusing sexual attraction to my jandal donning, blokey flatmate.
In my opinon, fucking your ex doesn’t just allow you to get over them—it allows you to maybe even remain friends.
Going back even further, I have been sleeping on and off with my first boyfriend for about six years. By some stroke of luck, this relationship is not volatile. Rather, he can witness me picking my nose and is still happy to fuck me after. He has a great relationship with his mother. He even has the same haircut as her and lays out her old maternity pyjamas for me to sleep in when I stay there. This might be a redflag to some but to me it is heaven on earth. I am fed salad with pear, citrus, blue cheese, rocket, and glasses of red wine from his parents. Eventually, we go to his room and play sims, or smang, or sometimes, coexist in silence. Goals. You see, if we didn't occasionally have sleepovers, we wouldn’t be able to remain in this unique relationship where he is one of my best friends who I have a peculiar connection with. We are both able to recognise that being together doesn’t work, but why not have all the rest?
The question does still remain, am I fucking my exes because I do genuinely find it useful and often fun or am I desperately seeking validation and attention from people I know once kinda liked me?
If I’m being completely honest with myself, there are times where I have fallen into the latter category. On one particularly proud occasion, I woke up horrified by my actions from the previous night, entangled with my Michael Cera-esque ex-boyfriend in a friend's sleepout. In my despair, I remember throwing myself into the family pool, shoes and all, in a sort of baptising attempt. I then walked to work completely soaking wet. It only took me getting fired to realise that this self-destructive behaviour was a. Not going to result in our reconciliation, and b. Financially unsustainable.
Sure, there is something comforting about sleeping with someone who actually knows where your clitoris is, but the reality is: it’s never going to be uncomplicated. If you’re going to sleep with your ex, you need to be honest with yourself about why you’re doing it.
If it’s because you have the intention of getting back together, that’s dangerous fucking... It doesn’t matter whether you’re lonely and can’t spend another night masturbating to Barack Obama porn. Yes, it does exist. When they go low, we go high. Maybe you are seeking validation, comfort, and the closure that you never got. These are all perfectly normal reasons, but in order to avoid a high key breakdown you need to have boundaries in place. Remember, this is still the person who once told you that the reason you couldn’t see each other on weekends anymore was because he had to commit more time to his King Krule cover band.
This tactic is definitely the sadist’s method of getting over someone. Those individuals who exert self-restraint
—a quality I’ve never found myself paticularly enamoured by—may call this torture. However, as long as you’re hyper aware and able to check in with yourself, things should run smoothly. What it comes down to is simply asking yourself what you’re getting out of it. It is imperative that you be honest with yourself. While it may take them 3 seconds to send a ‘wyd’ message from the San Fran balcony, it takes a lot of empathy to forgive yourself shaving your entire body and accepting a $40 surge price uber from Newtown to Cuba St.
Whatever you do, do not wait for a text from them!! They are not texting you for a reason. They. Don’t. Want. To. Get. Back. Together. Sometimes sex can be sex!
Take control and text someone worth your time. If you’re sending unsolicited nudes in the hopes they will reply or break down outside their Manners St apartment waiting for your Ola while a group of first years take Snapchat videos of you, this might not be a suitable remedy.
Maybe, I'm not over my exes. In saying that, part of me will always hold some kind of feelings for my ex, good or bad, they will always be there and in a way, i'll always wish them the best—even if they are toxic. All I can say to be true is that the beauty in fucking your ex is that, you can stop. And that in itself, is empowering, so why not try it out?