Persimmon - The coitus chronicles: my quest for sex, love, and orgasms

Copyright 2019 by Olive Persimmon

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

Cover design by Erin Seaward-Hiatt

Print ISBN: 978-1-5107-3241-4

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-5107-3244-5

Printed in the United States of America

coitus

noun coitus \ 'k--ts, k-'-, 'ki-ts \

Physical union of male and female genitalia accompanied by rhythmic movements.

Also, a fancy way of saying sex.

Anyone who uses it is probably not having sex.

.

CONTENTS

When I started this book, sex, for me, meant a penis entering my vagina. Ill be the first one to acknowledge that my scope was limited and naive. Thankfully I learned that sex means a whole lot more than that to a whole lot of people.

This book is for anyone who feels as insecure and confused as I did about sex. Its for anyone who thinks that everyone else is having more, better, and kinkier sex than them.

WERE IN THIS TOGETHER.

THE BRIEF HISTORY OF AN UNINTENTIONAL CELIBATE

T here are a few things you need to know about me before reading this book.

Im twenty-nine and the last time I had sex was four years, five months, three days, and 1.3 hours ago.

Ive had intercourse with two people, less than eleven times in total.

Ive never done reverse cowgirl.

Or doggy-style.

Or anything with whipped cream.

I wrote a book about my tenantless vagina called Unintentionally Celibate and my love life has only gone downhill from there.

Maybe youve already pegged me as some sort of undateable weirdo who smells like onions. Let me assure you, and youll have to take my word for it, I dont smell like onions. And although I dont look like Angelina Jolie I can more or less hold my own at a bar.

So how did I wind up here ?

Here being a desolate wasteland of no sex. A Sexmageddon. A Coitus Catastrophe.

Its a question Ive asked myself ad nauseam for the past four years, five months, three days, and 1.3 hours.

My friends are surprised that Im in this sexless situation.

Honestly, Im not. I kind of saw this coming.

It hasnt been smooth sailing for me in the romance department. As far back as middle school, when other girls were discovering their feminine charms, not one single boy at Klimpton D. Walton Intermediate School like liked me.

Not one.

Granted, I did look exactly like Danny DeVito.

I was seriously overweight with nerdy glasses. My mom bought all my clothes, which meant that I was wearing pom-pom glitter sweatshirts well into seventh grade. My hobbies included volunteering at the nursing home across the street, crafting, theater, and sitting in the middle of my front yard in my inflatable chair.

Needless to say, I wasnt killing it in the middle school dating scene.

In high school, when other people started exploring sex, I still said fiddlesticks instead of fuck, and boys were uncharted territory.

When it came to sex, everything I knew I learned by cybering and downloading illegal porn on Napster.

Which means I knew NOTHING about sex.

To this day, my knowledge of the female anatomy is often ill-informed. Case in point: I thought it was possible to lose a NuvaRing inside of you until a friend of mine informed me that my vagina wasnt the gateway to Narnia and things couldnt get lost in it.

I blamed my midwestern education for my lack of knowledge, but none of my friends had this problem. Perhaps I just wasnt paying attention during sex ed because sex wasnt even on my mind.

I didnt talk to boys until I was fifteen.

My first kiss? Sixteen.

My first kiss without a face full of slobber? Eighteen.

At twenty-four, I lost my virginity to a Ken doll look-alike who cared less about me than Id like to admit. We had sex a total of eight times and never moved beyond missionary. We broke up after I came over to his house without any underwear on and he decided to build his patio table instead of sleeping with me.

Not the best introduction into the world of sex.

My next partner was my long-term friend with benefits, Tyler. On and off for two years, we exchanged oral pleasantries, but surprisingly, never had penetrative sex.

Until one night we did. Three times. He was a gentle, giving lover. He kissed parts of my body that Ken doll had ignored. We went to the grocery store afterward and held hands.

It was Sexual Redemption.

It was also the last time I had sex.

I moved to the Big Apple one month later.

Theres a rite of passage when you move to NYC that involves owning no furniture, having no friends, and sobbing on the subway once a week. No job, no money, and as a result, no self-esteem. Dating was off the table.

It wasnt until I was finally settled that I felt good enough about myself to start dating again. There were first dates. Second dates that never turned into third dates. Some make out sessions. Some over-the-pants penis touching. Under-the-pants scrotum stroking. Sexual innuendos. Occasional nipple-licking, butt-grabbing, thigh-stroking nights full of potential.

But no sex.

A few years into the dry spell, I started dating someone seriously but still didnt have sex with him. By then it had become a thing. I was afraid that because I was inexperienced, Id be bad in bed. In my mind, that was practically the most embarrassing thing a person could be. I had so many insecurities that I kept putting off sex until our relationship ended before we could do the no-pants penetration dance.

Luckily, everything changed on a Sunday night in November. By a twist of fate, I wound up at a party with a select group of members from one of New Yorks sex-positive communities.

I had no idea what sex-positive even meant.

I had been invited to the party by my friend Renee, who, unbeknownst to me, was an active participant in the community. According to her, the sex-positive community was based on the belief that sex was natural and healthy, that it should be enjoyed. She and her friends talked openly about intercourse, went to sexy parties, and occasionally participated in polyamorous relationships. They enthusiastically explored new ways to seek pleasure.