All right, I’m about to get uncomfortably real with you guys, but right now it’s the only way I know how to be. When I was between the ages of 9 and 13, my grandmother Rebecca’s husband, Victor, made a habit of putting his hands where they didn’t belong. Now, when I was 9, I had no idea that this wasn’t something that was supposed to happen, that it wasn’t, as I believed, all right. By the time I was older, and understood how not all right it was, I felt as if it was too late to say something. I’d already let it happen for so long, it would have been weird to say anything to anyone, and I wasn’t even certain that they’d believe me because of the fact that I hadn’t said anything up to that point. I capped out with my self-imposed silence when I was 13, told my parents, got the hell out of there, and I haven’t spoken to Rebecca or Victor since.

Why am I telling you this? Because of the fact that it’s interfering with my sex life, and I’m not down with that. The problem is that there’s a piece in the back of my mind that can’t connect sex with relationships. I’ve engaged in a long string of one-night-stands, most of which with men whose names I admittedly can’t remember, and while I like sex, not once have I ever gotten the big O from doing it, and I suspect this is because I shut down during sex, because it meaning less than nothing is the only thing I can handle. If it actually meant something, I’d have to come to terms with all the shiznit that went down with Victor as something significant. This way, that wasn’t an issue. I’ve become gifted at evading emotional attachment, but now I’m uncomfortably close to being in a committed relationship, which is freaking me the fuck out – particularly because I really, really want to jump this man’s bones. He’s nerdy hot, with abs I could grate cheese on if I tried hard enough. Dictionary definition delicious. He also happens to be an amazing person, which I don’t have to tell y’all is a rare combination, and I genuinely enjoy spending time with him. My problem is that I can’t reconcile hot sex with feelings. In my head, they don’t go together, and when I sleep with someone, I revert back into ho mode and succinctly avoid that human for the sake of avoiding complications. I don’t want to do that here. But what do I do?

I’m starting to realize how hard it is to take my own advice, because I know that if any of my friends were in this situation and asked me what to do, I’d tell them that if they wanted to make it happen, they just had to make it happen. I want it to happen, I’m just not sure how to make it happen. I’d better figure this out quickly, because I miss sex. I’m also inclined to think that my pocket-sized Chris Evans is insanely good in bed, and I’ve got a couple well-placed bruises that support this conclusion. Oh, and just a heads up to my non-existent readers, I have very little shame for very few things, so there’s a 100% chance that kinds will be discussed at some point in the near future, so if you’re uncomfortable with anything other than vanilla, now would be a good time to retreat.