an interlude of questions from a woman who knows good sex. (And isn’t afraid to ask!)
Article by Anonymous Art by Eden Miller
Martinis are back, cosmopolitans are out, and a whole new tableau of sexual fads has taken single women on the dating market by storm. Double texting, Hinge roses, and tasteful nudes abound. In a world gone digital, can pleasure still be analog?
He hasn’t asked me a single question.
And I couldn’t help but wonder, is the tease better than the real thing? Were single women so deprived in the dating scene on this campus that absence was hotter than presence, or was it always this way?
Will he actually make me cum this time?
Is what’s “out” the new “in”?
When I feel like I’m in control, am I really in control?
Night-time shapeshifting, fake numbers, fake names. Your limbs bristle with each new form. Under the lights of a dive bar, shielded, you lean in. “Text me.” You laugh. You walk away, call a ride, join the dancefloor, “help a friend.”
When it comes to shoes, cities, and relationships, is it only the foundation that counts? Or do we need more?
Is this exciting or the bare minimum?
When should you x out your ex?
When is the questioning good and when is the questioning shame?
More and more people these days are becoming more comfortable and open about their preferences. The wider preferences get, how do you know you’re good in bed?
What do I need to be?
Window shopping is fun, but we all buy things online. Do first impressions still matter?
Why do I need to be it?
Some people sage their apartments to clean out the demons. Should we be saging our new relationships?
Does partnering with a man always take a piece of me away?
People online do seven-step skincare routines and go on “journeys” to improve their hair, nails, and fitness. Is it possible to form a dating routine?
Make them feel smart and stupid at the same time. Bare your teeth and flick something shiny in front of them — a ring, a finger on a straw. “Flattery will get you nowhere.” You sink in pincers, pull, and look up.
I still can’t tell if he sees me as a person.
This city is chock-full of the old, the new, and constant change. Besides good vintage, what do we take from the old?
Has anything actually changed about this?
When should you wait, and when should you chase?
What do I deserve?
Does good head make or break a relationship?
Will I ever stop performing, no matter how comfortable I get?
In the new millennium people are primped, preened, waxed, well traveled, and can have something instantly delivered to their door at the drop of a hat. Is there any value in the wait anymore?
Is it good that I like that?
What does this mean for the girls, who know their Jimmy Choos and not their men, who know their Barney’s, their Park Avenue uptown-downtown-Middle-America-girly-girls who work but never worked, who are clean but have never cleaned, who hire out their self-making?
Am I good?
Madonna or whore?
Should I be bad?
Anti-aging.
Why does he keep talking about DJing.
“It’s really fine.” Turn the other cheek.You flash your blushing acquiescence, so that it engulfs your face, stretching over its contours and tightly sealed. What a plump and youthful cheek!
What should they read from you?
Does this feel good because it feels good, or because I get rewarded for it?
Should us single girls wear fast fashion when we synthesize every image that we’ve been bombarded with and project it onto our bodies?
How long do I listen to this for?
Hostessing is an art, and your 20s is the time to perfect it. Devouring hors d'oeuvres and guzzling girl dinner and chopping and arranging and filming and filming and framing and selling is your right, and we love to stand in our power so powerfully.
Is this really my choice?
And just like that, could it be that the goofy boyfriend she asked for was really looking for…a mommy?
Wait, what?
When it’s time to treat yourself, what insecurity should you viciously attempt to fix?
Left with the hue of tan that clouds memories from a boy house. A bong on a coffee table, blank walls, and the residue of repetitive conversation. Examine it, but you know you really can’t. Too dull to even romanticize.
And I couldn’t help but wonder, when do we know when something has run its course?