Yahoo Lifestyle "The Sex That Changed My Life"
“I felt newly empowered by my no-strings fling” Dabbling with sex apps opened a whole new world for Katie Glass
If my mother heard this story, she’d kill me. But luckily, I haven’t discussed my sex life with my mother since I lost my virginity and she made me climb a hill and sit in a spiritual space with her, clutching a dreamcatcher, so we could commemorate “The Moment”.
To my hippie mother, sex was a spiritual thing. But perhaps I should tell her about this. Because this is a heroic sex story about a one-night stand I remember fondly – not because the sex was explosive or he was gorgeous (although he was), but because it’s about me becoming a woman who actually likes herself. And Mum, you always wanted that.
It wasn’t Tinder, but it was an app like it – a version of Grindr for straight people. There’s something about the blatant sex-only approach these apps engender that, as women, we’re not quite comfortable with. But one quiet night, I found myself downloading just such an app, and then lying in my bed idly flicking though pictures of boys, picking out my favourite like I was shopping for a party dress on ASOS.
Of course, I’d had one-night stands before. I’d stumbled home from clubs with boys, and fallen into bed with friends. I’d had “ex-sex”. I’d woken up on a Sunday morning with my flatmate, thinking, “Oh fuck, we’ve still got six months on our lease.” But I had never tapped on a random hot man’s picture and, completely sober, typed, “Hi, how’s it going?” with the single intention of sleeping with him that night.
He was about 24 – several years younger than me – which made me feel more confident about taking control of the situation and (naively, perhaps) safe about inviting him over to my place. He arrived within an hour, bottle of wine in hand. He was tall with big brown eyes. A great body. Cute face. Sound superficial? It is, girls! To hell with it. That’s the joy of a one-night stand. Fancying someone is the only prerequisite.
It was summer, so we sat on my balcony. We started kissing almost immediately. Do you want the details? The sofa. The kitchen. Then, finally, the bed until the light was coming up outside and we passed out. Decisively having a one-night stand was a revelation. It gave me the freedom to let myself be, and a surprising new sexual and body confdence came with it. As well as that inextricably erotic thrill of knowing you’ll never have to face this person again; there was no embarrassment, no yearning or rejection. Just (rather late) teenage kicks.
I’d expected to feel awkward, or guilty afterwards, but, dear reader, I felt none of the above. The whole experience was exhilarating and, if it doesn’t sound ridiculous, I felt proud of myself. Proud I had trusted my instincts; proud to have done what I wanted, instead of letting other people dictate how I ought to live.
Initially, I was annoyed it had taken me until the grand old age of 27 to do this. My male friends do this all the time. But that night, in my head something clicked. I think it was a realisation that having a one-night stand – for all its reckless spontaneity – was far more sensible than being so insecure that you spend three years with someone you’re not sure you even like. And before this night, that’s the girl I had been. I don’t regret a thing.
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