Most great decisions are made in a bar bathroom, like, say the decision to f*ck someone you just met. Sex on the first date is such a controversial topic. But in my opinion, it's not up for debate: As long as you’re being safe and consensual, I say YOLO.
Anyway, let us return to the bar bathroom where I was preparing for — you guessed it! — sex on a first date. There I was, hovering over a sink in a bathroom covered in decals and graffiti (oh, Brooklyn). I drunkenly fished around in my bag for my portable toothbrush. I tried to cup water in my hands and ran into the stall to splash water on my vagina, proceeding to soak my pleather leggings and underwear. Hot! I had one more task to complete besides smelling my armpits. I looked myself straight in the eye in the dirty mirror. "I was last tested for STDs last month. All my results were negative. When was your last test?" I batted my eyelashes. How does one make this sexy? "I have no STDs… baby," I purred. I rolled my eyes, washed my hands, and took a deep breath. I got this.
I emerged from the bathroom and back onto Miranda's lap at the bar. Our first date was awesome so far. Dinner, drinks, dancing, more drinks. I went from frantically guzzling wine and panicking about conversation topics to shamelessly Jersey Turnpiking her in the middle of a club.
Jersey Turnpike (verb): For all you classy types who don’t know, a dance move in which you plant your ass against your partner’s crotch and bend down.
I was wildly attracted to her and wanted to go home with her. I was pretty sure she wanted to take me home. But I had recently vowed to make safer sex decisions.
See, I had sex on the first date all the time in college (or, more accurately, sex on the first hang), sans the safe sex conversation. I rolled with a band of sluts and felt like we were the unstoppable, liberated, female justice league of my dreams. Only my friends were using condoms on their sexcapades. I wasn’t.
I was sleeping with women, and thanks to our sh*tty, heteronormative sex ed system, I foolishly believed I was less at risk, and didn’t know how to protect myself from STDs. Luckily, I made it through college without an STD (bless). Now that I’m older and wiser, thanks to queer sex educators online, I know how to better take care of my sexual health. For some queer women, that means dental dams and gloves. For me, that means getting tested regularly because I will never put a piece of strawberry-flavored plastic over a perfectly good vagina. But that’s just me.
What’s one minute of awkwardness compared to hours of steamy, safe first-date sex?
Talking about safe sex is slightly awkward but necessary. We're all getting older. It's time to cut the bullsh*t. Are you starting to be a responsible human, even just a little bit? Then it's time to be responsible for your sexual health, too. Whether this means regular testing or barriers, it’s gotta happen, babe. Asking about preferred barrier methods and testing results isn’t the sexiest conversation on earth, but it is necessary. What’s one minute of awkwardness compared to hours of steamy, safe first-date sex?
If you like someone and feel attracted to them, I see no issue in acting on that. If you like someone and would prefer to wait before sleeping with them, that’s awesome, too. We’re living in the future, babe. You can do whatever you want.
I regret not always having direct sexual health conversations, but I don’t ever regret having sex on the first date. Isn’t that the reason we’re dating anyway? I see no reason to be coy about that. Anyone worth f*cking will be down with this honest important conversation. Anyone who isn’t doesn’t deserve to f*ck you. Same goes for anyone caught up in the whole "easy sex makes me respect you less" BS. Bye!
Now you know that you can be as DTF as you want as long as you’re responsible. Being slutty is awesome! Being irresponsible isn’t. Say it with me. Being slutty is awesome! Being irresponsible isn’t.
Now, take my hand, come back to the bar with me. I’m feverishly making out with a girl I just met a few hours ago, remember?
"Will you come home with me?" she asked.
Say it, say it, I egged myself on. "I don’t sleep with someone unless we’ve both recently been tested. Sorry, I…" I stopped myself. I’m not sorry. I’m not apologizing for taking care of my sexual health. "I was just tested last month. I have no STDs. I’m not really into dental dams, so this is how I roll." (Did I seriously just say how I roll?) I braced myself for rejection.
"I got tested last month," she said, smirking. "I think it’s really hot that you actually care. Let’s get out of here."
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