Sex Is Never An Obligation: Why The Pity F*ck Hurts More Than It Helps

by Zara Barrie

As a sex-positive force of girl nature, I proudly celebrate the wonderfully diverse styles of f*cking scattered across the colorful spectrum of sexuality.

There is the eye f*ck. The love f*ck. The post-breakup f*ck. The hate f*ck. And my personal favorite, the passion f*ck.

But there is one particular type of f*cking I don’t f*ck around with anymore: the pity f*ck.

The pity f*ck is when you f*ck someone because you feel sorry for the person.

Sometimes you pity f*ck people because you know they like you a lot, and you don't feel the same way, but you're irrationally feeling guilty for not having reciprocal feelings, so you f*ck them out of sheer guilt (f*ck the guilt away, I suppose?).

Other times, a pity f*ck comes from not wanting to address an issue in a relationship. It's an attempt to cover up the elephant in the room.

You want to get out of having the "where are we going in the relationship?" conversation, so you attempt to distract your partner with sex.

And then, there are the simple, old-fashioned pity f*cks, otherwise known as "classic pity f*cks" in which a person breaks down to you and boldly opens up and tells you his or her sob story.

In response, you console this person. And consoling leads to kissing. And kissing leads to f*cking. Pity f*cking.

The pity f*ck comes in a vast variety of styles and is derived from a diverse smattering of situations. Regardless of how complicated the roots, the pity f*ck is a f*cked up concept to its core.

It's something that happens so frequently -- yet seldom do we ever dare to discuss it.

After all, pity f*cks are wildly controversial and not exactly something either party wants to advertise partaking in. No one wants to admit he or she pity f*cked or was pity f*cked. We are silenced by our shame.

But lezbehonest, kittens: Sex isn't always so innocent. Behind closed doors, we aren't the prim and proper ladies and gentlemen mother may (or may not) have raised us to be.

More often than not, SEX is messy and complicated, and we find ourselves doing it for the sorely wrong reasons.

Sometimes sex doesn't make us feel empowered, or fabulous or sexy. On the contrary, sometimes it makes us feel awkward, and uncomfortable and insecure.

The more we pretend the pity f*ck isn't a stone-cold reality, the more we will continue to pity f*ck and get pity f*cked. Denial doesn't make anything magically disappear, as much as we sometimes wish it did.

So let's do it. Let's confront the pity f*ck. Let’s break it down.

Because the pity f*ck is never the answer. It doesn't solve problems -- it creates them. Despite our "sweet" intentions, the pity f*ck hurts more than it helps.

Sex is never an obligation.

You should only have sexual encounters with people you're madly attracted to.

You should be having sex because you're craving closeness and intimacy with people you're teeming with desire for. It should be because you're so wildly turned on by their touch that you’re overcome with a relentless sweep of desire to f*ck the sh*t out of them.

It's disrespectful to yourself and to your integrity to f*ck someone simply because you feel obliged to. I don't care if this person paid for dinner at a high-brow restaurant and scored tickets to see your favorite band at a killer venue.

I don't care if this person expressed to you that he or she has intense feelings for you and would do anything just to be "close" to you.

And I most definitely don't f*cking care if this person is whinging about his or her brutally "broken heart," hinting that he or she is in need of some sexual healing.

It's not your job to sexually heal, ladies and gents.

In fact, I'm so passionate about this mantra that I'm tempted to get it tattooed across my chest: SEX IS NEVER AN OBLIGATION.

When you're having obligation sex, both parties can -- and will -- feel it. There is a detachment, an inherent removed-ness that is palpable in the pity f*ck.

Sex works when it's engaged and connected. When the person you're having sex with is clearly checked-out, you notice. It's obvious.

And it doesn't feel good. It's a blow to the ego. It's a kick in the gut of your self-esteem.

If you can't sense being pity f*cked during the act, you will definitely be able to tell afterward.

For the pity f*ck has a freezing cold aftermath. You're rarely held or cuddled after you've been pity f*cked. It hits you like a ton of hot bricks -- sh*t, you've been pity f*cked.

If being pitied is a miserable feeling, being pity f*cked is a direly horrendous, stupendously awful f*cking FEELING.

So NO, you're not doing anybody any favors by pity f*cking him or her.

Pity f*cking cultivates low self-esteem in both parties.

When you make the conscious choice to have sex with someone, not because you're irrepressibly hot with insatiable longings of lust for him or her, but because you simply feel sorry for this person -- it's a betrayal against the most important person in your entire life: yourself.

You're using your sexuality as some sort of twisted consolation prize, and your sexuality is far too sacred to be used for anything except your own enjoyment.

After you pity f*ck someone, you can't help but feel emotionally wounded. The pity f*ck makes you question yourself.

You feel like if only you had higher self-esteem, you wouldn't feel like you had to f*ck someone just to make him or her feel better. You would know your words and emotional support were enough.

That's the darkness of the pity f*ck: You pity f*ck when you think you're not enough. So you feel the need to add your sexuality to the equation.

On the contrary, when you resist the pity f*ck, and attain the wherewithal to know that your investment of time actually IS enough, you feel strong. Like yeah, you're a woman in control of your damn life who will never be pressured to have sex with anyone.

And, on the other side, when you're the victim of the pity f*ck, it makes you feel like a piece of sh*t neglected on the hot pavement of an abandoned street alley on the wrong side of town.

You can't help but take it personally. Because it is personal. Sex always is.

It never feels good to know someone literally f*cked you because this person felt like he or she had to, instead of wanted to. It sets your self-worth barometer dangerously low.

But if you have pity f*cked or have been pity f*cked, it's very important to avoid shame-spiraling. We are all gorgeously imperfect creatures doing the very best we can to navigate the cruel, cold world. We all make mistakes. It's inevitable.

A life without hiccups is a bleak one. Use the pity f*ck as a learning experience. Remember: You learn twice as much when you screw up anyway.

So no sexual shame-spiraling is allowed on my clock. Keep that beautiful strong, head of yours held high as you confidently move forward into a better future.

Because the sex itself will always be terrible.

In order for sex to be mind-blowing and amazing, it must exist between two equally attracted parties. When you're having sex with someone because you're hell-bent with desire for this person, he or she will want you just as bad -- it's f*cking magic.

It's lustful bliss. It's brilliantly therapeutic. It's earth-shattering.

You never feel dirty, or regretful or ashamed afterward. You feel as if you're floating in a piercingly blue summer sky, lounging in a luxurious cloud of sexual euphoria.

When one party is into the sex and the other one isn't, it's always going to be nothing short of a terrible experience. A f*cking disaster. It's the kind of sex that puts you off sex entirely for a while.

If you're the one doing the pity f*cking, you're going to be phoning it in. It's going to be strictly a performance.

Either you will resort to overacting and be over-the-top enthusiastic and obnoxiously loud to make up for your lack of authentic desire OR you will be too obviously removed and lifeless.

People can smell bullsh*t. They know when you're putting on a show. I don't care how good of an actress you think you are.

Sex thrives with genuine passion. Maybe the passion is derived from a tempestuous argument. Maybe it's derived from incredible heaps of pent-up love.

Maybe it's from the buildup of tension. Maybe it's from an incredibly intellectually stimulating conversation...

Whatever it is, passion has to be present for the sex to be amazing. The hair-pulling, mouth-watering, relentlessly longing, can't-get-enough, want-to-crawl-inside-the-other-person kind of sex -- that's the sex we all deserve to be having.

The pity f*ck is never good sex. And life is too f*cking short and too f*cking beautiful to waste your precious time having bad sex.