The Twofer Rule

The Over-thinker’s Answer to the One Night Stand

Originally posted on my personal blog “On Being a Lady” on 7/12/2015. This has been lightly edited to fit my current linguistic tastes but is otherwise in it’s original form.

I am in favor of casual sex. I am also in favor of good sex. You see my dilemma.

For some of us, it is very difficult to have satisfying sex with someone new, especially when there is alcohol, social anxiety, and mental fatigue in play. It is easy enough to eliminate one of these things at a time, but to eliminate one usually means increasing the effects of another.

I submit that it is exhausting to be around someone who you want to sleep with when you think you might actually be able to do so. If you do not find this to be true you may leave now and go polish your trophies for stellar emotional adjustment.

My solution to this problem is to always try to have sex with someone on at least two separate occasions. I call this the Twofer Rule and it has served me well. Unless someone’s company is so unbearable that the thought of further contact inspires visceral discomfort, or the physical chemistry was so poor that the chances against it being better the second time seem insurmountable, I do my best to adhere to this rule as often as possible. Even if the sex is never particularly great I at least feel like I have been proactive in my own enjoyment of life’s greatest free recreation.

If the sex was good the first time, then awesome! More good sex. If it was kind of mediocre to not-so-great, then the second time serves as an opportunity to improve. If it does NOT improve then at least I know I tried, and I also get a better sense of that person, so my memories of them are more concrete which helps me tell the story of our lackluster sex in more thrilling detail later on. Everybody- especially my friends and readers- wins.

It may seem like I am over-complicating things. My male friends especially contest that as a woman it is easy for me to get laid, and therefore I’m better off having sex with as many different people as possible. “It’s a numbers game, really” one once quipped while furiously and indiscriminately swiping right on Tinder, “and as a girl you could be banging someone new every night. I’m guessing at least like 1 in 4 knows what he’s doing”. My vagina cringed at the suggestion.

Despite my cavalier and enthusiastic attitude towards sex I don’t actually have it as frequently as one might assume based on…everything about me. This is because I am what some people would call “socially awkward and vaguely unapproachable” and others might refer to as “breaking my balls for no goddamn reason” and what I like to refer to as “incapable of getting out of my own way even to serve my own agenda”. In other words I cannot, will not, do not flirt effectively no matter how interested I am in someone or how badly I’d like to pony up. All of the sex I have ever had after anything less than a year of social warming time has occurred only by the graces of fate, the desperation and/or arrogance of my partners, or sheer resilience on my part.

I have found that no matter how little I smile and nod, how noticeably I avoid giving praise to his hand-carved wooden glasses, or how frequently I am clearly NOT paying attention to his story about staying in a hostel in Amsterdam when he was 23(all men in Brooklyn have this story) things are bound to progress if I just stick around until 4 AM. This tactic usually works the first time but does not exactly leave my date feeling particularly “charmed”.

This doesn’t bother me because I know that there are people out there who find my lack of charm charming, and who enjoy my ruminations on cleaning the dried skin from a horse’s penis (not impressed, City Boy? Yeah OK tell me more about your bike and all of its various parts. That’s much more interesting than a huge animal with rocks on its feet that we’ve convinced to carry us on its back without killing us). I bring this up only to highlight that I do not take my sexual experiences for granted, and I cherish the ones that go even remotely well.

Most of the better sex I have had has been with people who I already know are not going to work out in the long run, or even in the short run. I am grateful for this because good sex is like a rich bed of manure in which even the tiniest seeds of emotional attachment will flourish and bloom before ultimately being ripped out by the root and tossed in the garbage. I prefer it when there is no seed at all- not even a FRAGMENT of a seed. There is nothing more exciting to me these days than good sex with a man with whom I have nothing in common. Better yet, a BORING man with whom I have nothing in common and who doesn’t understand my jokes. This way, the experience is not tainted by the lurking threat of disappointment. My buttocks are clenching in delight just thinking of it.

So how does this play out?

Most men I have slept with have had received a text saying something along the lines of ““Hey it might be cool if we banged right now. No? Ok whatever man. Just let me know if you find yourself with a free evening and a hard dick”. It isn’t elegant but it tends to work sooner or later. If I get any response at all to this at all (unless it’s “NO”) I am confident that I can get to the second schtupping sometime soon even if it means staying on my toes, as my suitors rarely give me much more than a few hours notice if they do in fact decide to take me up on the offer.

I once received a delayed response from a previous conquest while on a first date with someone else and somehow found my way from the Lower East Side in Manhattan to his apartment in Greenpoint at 3 in the morning despite the fact that my phone died before I could confirm the details. I showed up sweaty and wide-eyed and ready for action. His exact words upon opening the door were “Oh my god. What are you doing?”.

Granted he ended up being drunk as a lord and incapable of performing until after a nap and a sandwich, but I was still glad that I was able to stick a bow on the whole experience and call it a win. A bow was, incidentally, the shape of the bite mark he left on my bicep. When I left his apartment, I turned in the doorframe and said to the half asleep and naked body in the bed in front of me “Thanks for having me!”.

Don’t worry it didn’t break the skin.

The arguable downside to this approach is the potential loss of pride and the degradation of my self-esteem. If I don’t get what I am looking for it is easy to slip into the assumption that I don’t deserve it at all, and that my own poor life choices have relinquished me to an existence of bad sex and loneliness. It is important to remember though (and I tell myself this frequently) that sex is just a nice thing that you get to do with another person, and if you’re going to do it you might as well be in control of your own enjoyment. I have found there is nothing to gain from letting the other person tell you when it’s appropriate to want them. So long as I am honest and safe, and ultimately not unkind to those with whom I choose to share the experience, I really don’t see how it could be a bad thing.