When getting laid gets sabotaged
Love life and adventures of a single 40-something year old female.
I was supposed to get laid tonight, but the universe had other plans. My cycle has been off recently (moving, perimenopause, stress), and I didn’t think it would return right back to normal again.
I planned a hot night with my booty call when, whaddya know, two days before we’re gonna meet, my cycle arrives, a perfect 28-day turn around, just like it’s always been—except for last month.
So here I am, lying in bed with cramps, scrolling social media, trying not to think about the sex I would’ve been having right now. Here I am, pretending not to care, hoping I’ll get a chance next week instead.
Rather than mulling it over in my head, making me crazy, I’m now putting my thoughts out on paper for the world to see. To talk about this little thing called life + sex + cycles that we women never talk about.
Here’s the truth: it’s much harder than you think to plan sex when you’re a single woman. Turns out you never really know if your period will come early. Or maybe late, or maybe not at all (in which case, let’s hope you were expecting that).
The most annoying thing is planning a trip with a guy or going to a big event where you expect to have all the sex, and bam—there’s blood.
I honestly should have calculated this better. My tracker app changed because of my longer cycle last month, so thinking I had a 34-day cycle, it averaged out to 30. And I scheduled my sex night for day 28—literally the day I typically get my period.
Bad idea.
It should’ve been no surprise when it showed up right on time, as it always has. And of course, here come the mixed feelings:
“Good thing I still have it, that means I can still have children.” “Still healthy.” “Fuck. Now I need to tell this guy.” “Maybe I actually don’t have it; maybe it’s just a fake period for the day.” “I need to be thankful for my body.”
And on and on it goes.
Obviously, I needed to tell the guy. So, instead, I made up a story about a fight in my apartment with a roommate and her boyfriend and a bunch of other stuff that was completely untrue—all because I didn’t have the heart to tell him I miscalculated and now I couldn’t have sex. But what kind of excuse is that?
Girls usually know when their period comes. So what was I supposed to say? “I scheduled it wrong because last month my period was longer, so I assumed this month it would be the same. I miscalculated the dates and shouldn’t have invited you over tonight.”
Yeah, the fight with the roommate and the dramatic boyfriend seemed like a much better story.
So here I am, alone in bed, wondering if other women schedule their sex and then get really mad when it doesn’t work out. I’m sure I’m not the only one, right?
Honestly, I feel like a massive loser. Why is this bringing me down so much? It’s just sex, right? It can definitely happen again.
But that’s the thing. I guess I’m in scarcity mode. It feels like it won’t happen again, like I ruined my one chance. There's nothing I can do, and it won’t happen again.
What’s crazy is, I know all of this isn’t true, but I’m still obsessing over it.
When you’re a fit woman with a lot of endorphins running through your body, you have great stamina. You want sex all the time. And when you are extremely picky and have to import your booty calls or they come around every so often, missing out on one feels like a big deal.
So yes, obviously the chance will come again, but I just hate missed chances. Everything was lined up perfectly, and now it’s ruined. Wait, did I tell you I was thankful for my healthy body? Don’t forget that part.
So, women, if you’re out there, pissed about having to reschedule your sex night with a hot booty call, know that I’m with you. I’m here, alone in my bed, close to the best shape I’ve ever been in my life, the strongest I’ve ever been, nearly the best body I’ve ever had, and I’m alone in my bed thinking: How the fuck did I get here?
So now I’m just going to enjoy this weekend of no sex, take myself out to some lovely cafés, go to my favorite restaurants, get some work done, hit the gym, do some pole dancing—anything to distract myself.
To be honest, it’s probably not going to make me feel better, but at least it’ll be better for my mental health in the long run. I won’t be locked in my house, lying in bed eating god knows what, binging on Netflix shows till 3 AM.
I’m going to enjoy my week of solitude, and make the best of it.
Then, I’m going to make it up to myself next week and grab that guy again.
I want to hear from you…
Have you ever planned a night of hot sex and it all went to shit?
Do you find yourself looking forward to these times a little too much?
If the planned encounter doesn’t happen, do you feel devastated like it will never happen again?
Does you inner monologue tell you you’re being ridiculously unreasonable, but you still give yourself a chance to be upset (this is totally ok btw)?
What’s the craziest lie you’ve told when you had to back out of sex at the last minute?