Last September, I celebrated my 25th birthday. As you can imagine, I was less than thrilled to put a quarter of a century's worth of good times behind me. Twenty-five felt like the end of days.
Little did I know my "end of days" wasn't really the end of much. My birthday actually signaled the beginning of an entirely new chapter -- a chapter I like to call "Horny Hell."
See, one fine morning at the start of my newfound 25-year-old life, I happened to be smack-dab in the middle of my usual commute -- taking a 20-minute ride to work in a packed subway car -- when all of a sudden, I felt this overwhelming desire to have sex. Like, insurmountable.
Horniness lit me up like a power surge; it felt like a chill all the way through my body, working its way from my shoulders and straight down to my toes. No, it wasn't because I detected a hot guy in my line of sight who set off my lady-part alarms. The desire straight-up came out of nowhere. I shook it off and began to swivel around like a maniac just to make sure no one noticed my fleeting moment of insanity.
When it happened a second time, I was just as caught off-guard. This time, I was at a Duane Reade, waiting in line to buy my Reese's Peanut Butter Cups when it hit. Lucky for me, I was on my way home from work -- not going to work -- and within five minutes of reaching my apartment, I threw my sh*t on the floor, crawled into bed, masturbated and passed out into a blissful, uninterrupted sleep.
These one-off desires to pounce on someone and rip him apart seemed completely unwarranted. I mean, I'd always been a sexual being, but this was overkill. Up until the Duane Reade debacle, I can't say I've ever felt so horny at a drugstore that I had to race home and take care of ma'self.
I had my fair share of questions: Am I a nympho? Are my hormones all out of whack? Hell, I've even begun to suffer from hints of baby fever (don't worry, it goes as quickly as it comes). What is going on?!?! I am so sexually frustrated that I don't know what to do with myself. Seriously, I'm starting to feel like a dude.
I dug deep into the Internet to see if there are other painfully horny, single twenty-something chicks out there. There are Reddit forums for girls who think about sex a lot, which made me feel kind of better. But why was I getting so randomly horny at various points of the day?
Apparently, “libido is tied to shifts in hormones and energy throughout your day.” Hmmm. Well, it's a pretty well-known fact that pre-menopausal women are much hornier than post-menopausal women. And we can't forget that the more great sex we have, the more we want.
Fortunately (or should I say unfortunately?), I've had quite a bit of good sex throughout my twenties -- so what's a girl to do? Because uncovering the science behind horniness doesn't exactly solve my problem. I'm single AF, so how exactly am I supposed to satiate my high libido?
Sex has always been necessary for maintaining my livelihood and good mental health. In fact, when I go too long without it, I can actually feel myself sinking further and further into a slump. I don't only crave intimacy; I need it. Not to mention that I get stressed easily, and having sex really helps me stay sane.
Sitting in my therapist's office the other night, I asked her to give me some tips on how to manage my anxiety. “Exercise, meditation, having a good friend circle." Check. Check. Check. I do all of those things and I'm still overflowing with energy.
And then she nonchalantly listed "sex," like it was nothing. She made it sound so easy. So …accessible.
OK, it is accessible. Technically, if I really wanted to, I could score my next bang tonight. But I don't just want any bang. I want a good bang. And I want that good bang to turn a perpetual bang. Bang, bang, bang should be the sound carrying me through my twenties, not f*cking crickets. I'm not just any ol' horndog. I guess you can say I'm a picky horndog.
So I find myself at a sexual crossroads. I've done the whole one-night stand thing. I've even found myself caught in the throes of two f*ck buddy situations. I even caught feelings for my second one; I kept him around for too long, and the punk unexpectedly grew on me, the way brussels sprouts do as you get older. So f*ck buddies are out.
The new Sheena is all about having her sexual desires met while still maintaining self-respect and sticking to her morals. That means no more being dragged along in the mud by some emotionally unavailable douche. It means being in a healthy, committed relationship with a guy who can deliver both spiritually and sexually, because that's what staying true to the essence of Sheena means.
I've figured out what I want and need. But I haven't met the guy that I both want AND need. I've only met guys who I want, and guys who I need; the guys who are bad for me, and the guys who are good for me. But what do I do with myself until I meet ~"the one"~? What if I don't meet him until I'm ... 30?! UGHHH. I'm going in CIRCLES here, people.
I'll be damned if I spend the rest of my twenties a wild, horny beast. I don't know when I'll meet the guy of my dreams, but in the meantime, I'll be playing around with my vibe and my right hand. I dunno. I guess it's better than nothing. No one told me being 25 would be THIS hard.