add it up, add it up, add it up

tonight after practicing, something that will surely make me go blind, i got thinking. this is a bad thing. after practice one should just roll over and go to sleep. one should not think. thinking just gets everyone into trouble. but tonight the thinking invaded before the sleep could come.

i was thinking about the number of sexual partners i’ve had. i’ve been having a conversation (via e-mail) with a friend of mine about the Great Dumping of 2005. i had told him a little bit about what had happened and the reasons the ex-groomzilla gave for the dumping. he said some pretty cruel things to sister #4 about sex and how she should read cosmo because she’s bad in bed. i told him how instead of going spontaneously deaf with talk of my baby sister’s sex life (or lack thereof), i made a joke. “well,” i told her. “if that shit’s hereditary, you don’t have anything to worry about. because i’m amazing in bed.”

it got the laugh i was after.

one of the things that lead to the Great Dumping of 2005 was a talk about sexual partners. specifically the numbers game. allegedly, ex-groomzilla lied about the number of partners. sister #4 pushed him for the truth. i guess he gave a new, revised number but wouldn’t give specifics. she was infuriated and hurt by his lie and his unwillingness to give more information. things kind of snowballed from there, culminating in his deciding that he didn’t want to marry her.

in our e-mail discussion my friend asked me my magic number. i forgot to answer. why? because i really can’t remember. i’ve told him before. we’ve had very frank and honest discussions about sex in the past. but i honestly cannot remember the number and counting them up always depresses me. not because the number is too high or too low, but because i inevitably always forget one and the fact that i always forget one (or two) just makes me feel bad. i went through a slutty phase in my mid-20s when i decided i was going to be the fuck and run girl. when you’re the fuck and run girl, sometimes you run away so fast that you forget that fucking occurred before the running.

i’ve decided, after all this Great Dumping Hooha, that i’m not going to play the numbers game with anyone i want to be in a serious relationship with. there is no winner in the numbers game, ever.

everyone i know doesn’t like to play that game, and yet so many people play it. why? is there anyone who is perfectly happy with their number? i can’t decide what the magic number should be. would you be creeped out if your lover’s number was too high? too low?

should the number be in direct proportion to your age? is it acceptable for a 33-year-old woman to have 16 lovers? how about a 23 year old? what if you didn’t lose your virginity until you were 21, should your number be higher or lower than someone who lost it at 17?

see, this is getting too much like math and math, it is not fun*. sex, however, is – as long as the only thing your adding up** is orgasms.

*incidentally, this reminds me of a conversation i was having with sisters #2 and #4 saturday night. for some reason we were talking about sex education and american’s views on sex (because this is a perfectly logical topic to discuss at 1:30 in the morning). sister #2 was talking about how sex education seems to be all about terrifying teens out of having sex.
“it’s all AIDS, STDs, you’re gonna get pregnant,” she said. “and of course the kids figure out that it feels good. sex is fun. sex is best when it’s one on one.”
“thank you george michael,” the stink said, his back to us as he was reading something online.
of course i think that ended the conversation.

**also speaking of adding it up, sister #4 has decided that her theme song for the Great Dumping of 2005 is the violent femme’s “add it up.” which to me is somewhat ironic.

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  1. thatguy 16.Aug.05 at 11:59 am

    If there are any other men out there like me (like the kind of man I used to be, I should say) then their (men, I mean) numbers are irrelevant in most regards.

    There was only one motive and that was purely selfish and self-centered. Even when thinking of my partner and their experience, it was for selfish purposes. Bottom line, gratification. And, my partners satisfaction only increased my own gratification because it meant that I had some control over them. The more control the better. No exceptions.

    For me, there was never a reflection of love. There was only my needs and/or wants. My partner (in all cases) was only a vehicle in which I used to arrive at my destination, nothing more.

    Greater numbers could equate (in direct proportion) to the asshole factor. However, I used a single partner over a longer period of time, which probably makes my number smaller. It still means I was a total selfish jerk.

    Not all men think this way, but many many many do.

  2. PeeWee 16.Aug.05 at 12:48 pm

    I am happy with my number. I always like to play the numbers game, but it doesn’t change my opinion about a person. I generally like the ones with more experience.

  3. Damon 16.Aug.05 at 1:56 pm

    It is a fun little statistic, but I don’t think the number has ever been used by myself in any kind of decision-making process over if I wanted to be in a relationship with a person or not.

  4. minnie 16.Aug.05 at 4:59 pm

    i have no clue what my number is. i never asked my husband and i dont think he ever asked me either. it seems sort of irelevant.
    more relevant would be: “were your break ups horribley full of fights and misery? are you still friends with ex’s? or, did you go through that fuck and run stage so many people go through?”
    the clinical number is so unimportant!

  5. Megan 16.Aug.05 at 9:48 pm

    I know my number and I have names because I keep a list a’la Janeane Garofalo in Reality Bites.

    I may or may not have listed them in my B. Log as well.


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