Do You Like Sex?Great, So Do Women

Sex is normal, it’s also fun, maybe we should stop shaming Women for having it

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In college, I was madly in love with a girl named Rebecca, unlike most of the women I pursued, she was equally as interested in me as I was in her. She grew up in the neighborhood right next to mine (Flatbush), shared my irrational love for the Animorph book series, and seemed intrigued by the idea of maybe having sex with me. In short, it was a match made in heaven!

Alas, there was one problem. Rebecca had a reputation on campus for having what the kids back then called a “high body count” for those who didn’t grow up in Brooklyn during the 90’s and early 2000’s, it just meant she had a lot of sexual partners. As a result, people on campus assumed she was “easy.” Once it was clear that things between us were getting serious, we talked about the elephant in the room. As expected, most of what I had heard were lies. Did she have some fun? Absolutely, but most of what I had heard turned out to be lies.

Honestly, I didn’t care either way because she was single attractive, and an adult. Whatever she did was her business, I was just hoping to clap her cheeks into oblivion enjoy her company as well. Additionally, if I had to detail the number of poor decisions I made because of space, opportunity, and, Bacardi Limon, she might have had some second thoughts about our budding relationship. Thankfully, her only concern was that I had an up-to-date STD test, and was interested in being in an exclusive relationship.

While Rebecca and I were slowly falling for each other, people started to notice how much time were were spending together, and word was getting out that we were the new “campus couple.” Somehow, despite having never stepped foot on campus, my childhood friend Tristian caught wind of my and Rebecca's blossoming love affair. Worried sick that I would make the "biggest mistake of my life," he left the comforts of East New York, Brooklyn and trekked it all the way to Long Island to stop me. He pulled up to my dorm room, called my dad, put him on speaker, and reported what was happening. With no prior warning, I was forced to sit through what can only be described as an ill advised intervention.

They pleaded with me not to mess with the “community food” a nick name they used to reference Rebecca. When I protetsted, my father rebutted that I had a “Tendency to save the hoes, and it worried him.” Tristian claimed she was his neighbor and he could confirm that she had been “sleeping with the whole hood.” He was convinced that she was entertaining me because I was the “only herb willing to cuff her up.” My father had a different point of view. He thought it was fine if we had sex, but the only women worthy of a commitment were those who had never had a penis in or around their person.

According to him, dating a woman with more than two sexual partners was like dropping a sandwich on the bathroom floor at Newark Penn Station, picking it up, and then marrying it. This was coming from a man who had easily slept with over 100 women during his prime hoe years. Our talk lasted 30 minutes, I nodded, put on my, “wow, you’re schooling me” face, and played along until they ran out of problematic statements and logically flawed arguments to throw my way.

The minute it was over, I sprinted to Rebecca’s dorm, because even at the tender age of 19, I understood that the only thing thicker than the blood of family and the bond of friendship was a fat ass, and in Rebecca’s case that thang was thicker than racial tensions in America. Our relationship lasted for a couple of months and then flamed out like most college romances. She eventually transferred to a new college, but we remained friends.

A few years after graduation, we reconnected and while catching up I told her about the “intervention.” She laughed and revealed to me that Tristian had been chasing her for years, and recently proposed to her. I found this revelation hilarious but not surprising. I have met far too many brothers who will publicly drag a woman's name through the mud while throwing heart-eye emojis in her private messages. I was smart enough not to listen to my friend’s musty gender politics, but every day someone with ashy elbows and a poster of a shirtless Andrew Tate on their wall will judge a woman because she enjoys sex. Did I end up marrying Rebecca? No, we broke up at the end of the semester, her sex life had nothing to do it hit. While we enjoyed each other’s company, our future faced a roadblock that we couldn’t overcome.She wanted to get married, I wanted to drink brown liquor and see if anyone else would have sex with me. Neither one of us was willing to change, so we went our seperate ways.

Let's talk about Tristian and my dad, they were entirely out of line, but a few things really stuck out to me:

1. Tristian and my dad were deeply troubled by my partner's sexual encounters but found nothing wrong with theirs, or even mine.

2. My father has multiple children all with different women, he more than anyone else had no right to judge anyone.

3. Tristian was secretly into Rebecca, he wasn’t trying to help me, he just wanted her for himself.

Finally, the ugly truth, men and boys are encouraged to have as much sex with as many women as possible. No one bats an eye if a man decides to distribute community dick. But the minute a woman decides that she might want to have sex, it’s a problem But why is that? What’s wrong with a woman having a healthy sex life, why is it a bad thing if she has had multiple partners? If it’s good enough for a man, shouldn't it be good enough for women too?

Let's take it a step further, why are we always judging people for the number of partners they have had? The number, no matter how high or low shouldn't be a deciding factor in your relationship. Someone with 100 sexual partners could be your soulmate, and aperson with only 2 could be the worst experience of your life, who they have slept with gives almost no insight into who they are, or will be while with you.

With that in mind, stop missing out on great relationships, sexual partners, and experiences because of some antiquated idea about women’s bodies. Worry about yourself, and let the Queens be great.