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Timeline Of A Dry Spell

Today marks the 585th day I’ve gone without sex. That’s not a joke. Obviously, because there ain’t nothin’ funny about it. The last time was, of course, at my alma mater with a boy I hooked up with on and off for two years in college. It was the night before Homecoming the year after I graduated, 11/11/11 — lucky night…LAST lucky night (buh-dum chhh).

Needless to say, I’m experiencing what you might call a bit of a “dry spell.” Up until now, I thought they were urban legends, or at the very least only for uglies, virgins, and military girlfriends. As an average-looking, mildly experienced girl who refuses to date a man in uniform, I never saw myself here, yet here I sit. Since the beginning of my accidental bout with celibacy, I’ve gone through a rollercoaster of emotions, and as time goes on, so does my psychosis. Here is a timeline of what someone going through a dry spell might be experiencing.

Months 1-2: Ahh, the months immediately post-coitus. You are blissfully unaware of the miserable journey you’ve just embarked upon. Your last time was recent enough that you’ve paid no attention to exactly how long it’s been, because history has told you it won’t be long until you start back up at zero. I’d pity you, but I’m too busy pitying me.

Months 3-5: Right as you close in on the three-month mark, you begin to realize that it’s kind of been a while. When was the last time again? Yikes. I guess work has really been taking a toll on you, and I suppose taking up residency in the twin bed at your parents’ house hasn’t helped your nookie-getting cause, but oh well. Everyone goes through this at one point or another. It’s just your turn, and it can’t last forever.

Months 6-8: You have not had sex in six months. That is half a year. It has officially been what is classified as a “long time,” and you are feeling it — well, not feeling it. You are empty, literally and metaphorically. Sex is the only thing on your mind, and you know that’s exactly how not to get it, just ask every married man in America. You’ve begun “praying” to your new savior, E.L. James, pretty regularly, you’ve started lighting tantric candles in hopes of changing your aura, and is it weird for women to watch porn? Maybe, but you and your partner — you — are up for anything that will keep you from going insane at this point.

Months 9-11: After your unmet desires have reached their peak and burnt out, you are no longer desperate — you’re depressed. You’ve known for some time now that you were undatable, but…are you unfuckable, too? I mean, sure, you’ve gained a little weight, but who doesn’t gain five pounds after graduation? Ten pounds is not that hard to lose. Besides, anyone would gain fifteen pounds when they’re busy eating ice cream to distract them from their lack of sex life. But seriously…what is wrong with you? You’re pretty sure the only thing you need to get guys to sleep with you, in most cases, is a vagina — from there, everything else is a bonus. Are your standards too high? Are you expecting too much? Are you really just that physically revolting that you can’t make this happen? Is it true that Taco Bell made a taco with Cool Ranch Dorito?

Month 12: Enter insanity. Most people would have pussed out and put out by now, but not you. You have officially gone off the deep end, only it doesn’t seem that way to you, because you have convinced yourself that you want this. You’ve had some time…a lot of time to evaluate the situation, and you think about your former self. Why did you ever care so much about being physical? Was it really making you happy? Perhaps some form of chastity really is a good thing. Casual hookups are so immature after all. When your gynecologist asks if you’re sexually active, you proudly say, “No.” Just ignore all those old charts you have written up there, Doc. The past is behind me, and men, with their evil penises, are not. This has honestly been a good experience. You know what you want and you want it for the right reasons. Go you. Psycho.

Months 13-17: You know that feeling when you’ve been hungry for so long that you can’t even feel it any more? (Come on, I know I’m not the only person who skips breakfast and lunch on a semi-regular basis.) A similar phenomenon is occurring within your loins. You are the sexual equivalent of a starving Somalian child. You don’t even miss sex anymore, because a sexless existence has just become part of your life. You’ve accepted it. Hell, because you don’t even realize the magnitude of the situation anymore, you even joke about it with your friends. Haha, I haven’t heard this song since the last time I had sex! It seems funny, but that’s just the lack of penetration talking. A little part of you even wants to see how long you can go, until you like, I don’t know, die or something.

Month 18: It has been 18 months since you’ve had intercourse. Congratulations! Most people will never get to this point in their entire lives. You are now a circus freak — more interesting than the tall man, but less interesting than the bearded lady. People look at you with one part pity, one part awe. You officially have “baggage.” Bask in it. When most people tell a new boyfriend, “It’s kind of been a while,” they mean “Be prepared, because I am about to pounce on you like a caged animal who’s just been unleashed,” not “I am literally afraid to do it again.” You’ve got all the anxiety that comes with virginity, but none of the perks. Your only options are to have a one-night stand, which will probably result in tears from the inevitable pain (and though you’re not entirely sure, last you checked, crying in the middle of a romp wasn’t sexy) or to buy yourself a teacup pig, because cats are cliché.

Beyond 18 months: Pose the topic to your supervisor. Write a column about it to be published in a public forum. Kill yourself.

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Veronica

Veronica (@VeronicaRuckh) is a writer, editor and content manager for Grandex, Inc. After having spent her undergraduate years drinking $4 double LITs on a patio and drunk texting away potential suitors, she managed to graduate with an impressive GPA and an unimpressive engagement ring -- so unimpressive, in fact, some might say it's not there at all. Veronica has recently switched from vodka to wine on weekdays.

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