Removing my knees

**DISCLAIMER**

I've pushed and pulled with the idea of blogging about sex. I am aware that some of you who read this may not want to know, or may feel uncomfortable reading what I write. That is up to you. Be assured that in writing about this I have taken into account all the many people who could stumble upon it, and have decided that I am prepared to publish it anyway, There is nobody who I would ask specifically not to read it. So, take it or leave it.

**END OF DISCLAIMER**

I don't know what it is that makes me suddenly decide I'm going to turn into a drunken Annabel Chong. If I'm lucky, somewhere between the vodka and the paracetamol, the feeling wears off, and I realise that actually I would rather go home and cuddle my pillow instead.   - A random diary entry, 2011

When I left Australia I made the decision that I wasn't going to have any sex for a while. At first it seemed ridiculous. I didn't share my ambition with anybody, because I felt sure that I would be met with laughter. When I did share, I was. Most people I have told have responded with rolling eyes and something along the lines of "yeah right" or "we'll see".

Most people asked me why, in the most hilarious tone. It was as if I had just told them I want to have my knees removed. I almost enjoy telling people now, just to watch them flabbergast over it. I don't have a straightforward and articulate response really. Except that I have been having sex now for ten.. eleven years. I have had a lot of sex. There have been some I was very in love with, some who were friends, some I hardly knew, and some I wish I hadn't had sex with. I have had good sex, bad sex, drunk sex, and sex I don't remember at all. Now, I want to have no sex. Just for a while.  I want to experience being by myself, physically. Not for a definitive amount of time, or until I have some great epiphany, I just want to do it, for a while.

“When I get lonely these days, I think: So BE lonely, Liz. Learn your way around loneliness. Make a map of it. Sit with it, for once in your life. Welcome to the human experience. But never again use another person's body or emotions as a scratching post for your own unfulfilled yearnings.” ― Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

It may seem convenient that my celibacy binge began at pretty much the same time as me leaving the country, and therefore leaving behind anyone who I may have been having a sexual relationship at the time. Take away the sex partner/s, and well, of course I am celibate. I see and understand this. But it is not only the act of turning down sex (such as the charmer last night who kissed me and then said "I wanna bone you" - sometimes it's really easy to say no), it is knowing in my heart that I am actively not interested in having any sex. My mindset is different because sex is not even an option, and it hasn't been a difficult transition at all.

I do wonder what it might be like, when I decide that I do want to have sex again. Whether it will be after a night of vodka, whether I will reunite with my blue eyed Sydney boy, or whether I will one day fall in love again. Any of these are okay with me, and breaking my celibacy won't be a failure at any point, it will just be... sex.

Last night men hit on me, two even kissed me. It actually strengthened my resolve. Drunk men fondling at me as I tried to dance. Assuming that dancing means gyrating, laughing means flirting, talking means kissing. It's tiring really. Admittedly, I wasn't in the classiest of establishments - some packed dirty bar in Brixton. But I really don't see the appeal of a 30-something year old man in his dishevelled suit trying to grab my boobs on the dance floor while he spills his bourbon on his shirt. Okay, so perhaps last night was not a challenge at all..

As I write this blog, I am exactly four weeks celibate (I am awaiting my nun's habit in the mail). I feel good about it, and I don't care whether you think it's silly or strange. Who needs knees anyway?