Single & Fabulous? | ‘Impulse sex – a recipe for danger, discomfort and psycho porn stars’

How long do you have to go without sex before your balls drop off and you die? Asking for a friend.

I’d mostly put off meeting guys for random rogerings as a safety measure… to avoid wasting time, selfish lovers, and to protect my self-worth that was previously bruised. What I’d realized, was that in the process, I’d become sexually stooshe, (I weren’t giving this dick out unless he had a full-time job AND could use cutlery properly), and found myself in the thick of a drought.

After one too many sexual encounters gone awry, I just wasn’t prepared to take any future risks. But just exactly how safe is the sex we’re having anyway?

It was a question that gradually tipped the scales in favour of emptying my balls, so getting laid became the mission, and one Sunday evening I got chatting to this guy. He was handsome, with an air of familiarity, (between the awful tattoos and professional dick pics, I assumed it was from porn).

I’d mentioned I was too tired to meet that night, and he suggested something to “wake me up.” Wanting to avoid turning up to some rattlebrain’s messy apartment, while they frantically argue with the voices in their head over a bag of drugs they’ve already sniffed, I declined. But when we were still talking a few days later, mid-week, I’d naively assumed he’d be sober.

I felt a quiver in my stomach as I knocked. Flat 66. Floor 6. Perhaps I should I have paid more attention to the universe spelling out omens than I did to his nudes. He opened the door, avoiding any eye contact, mumbled something, and sulked into his flat. I mean, if you’re gonna be high when you’ve got company, at least take an upper.

Following him in, the discomfort was imminent.

Even his bathroom looked like it’d been awake for a two days; water all over the floor, shower hose falling apart.

He lay in pitch-black dark and silence watching Miss Congeniality. Now, I know it’s been a while since I’ve had sex, but I’m guessing chick-flicks hadn’t replaced porn as foreplay background noise. Although perhaps enjoying Sandra Bullock movies was just another omen.

He laid on the far-side of the bed. Eyes fixed on the TV. I sat stiffly on the edge of the opposite side. I could hear the clock tick. He really should’ve taken some tips from Sandra, ‘cause this conduct was hardly congenial.

I asked for some water as I mentally prepared myself to leave, at which point he snapped:

“I can’t do this!”

OK princess, only wanted tap water, not San Pellegrino. I headed toward the door while he disappeared into a folding cupboard, which turned out to be his kitchen. Holding out a bottle of water, I snatched it from his hand to realise how mad I was.

Why had he let me come here in the first place? I quizzed him. He looked at me confused. Agitated.

“Don’t start drama in my flat,” he barked. And in my frustration, I snapped too:

“Oh fuck off, you prick!”

And in a split-second, he leapt toward me, raging like a Rottweiler, (although I don’t think at this stage, a bone would have distracted him). In fact, if he’d have just channeled a bit of this energy into sex, we wouldn’t have had a problem. I’m all down for a bit of rough sex, but I draw the line at getting kicked the shit out of.

I bolted out of the front door and ran down the hallway, until he’d stopped chasing me. While I was scared, I hadn’t expected him to catch me; not when I’ve been running from my issues my entire life. 

Joking aside though, I was shaken.

Even now, I don’t know if he was a chain-you-to-the-radiator-for-five-days type, or just on the mother bitch of all comedowns. What I did know, was that perhaps I’d overlooked my better judgement – and indeed signs from hell itself – for a bang. I ignored the part of myself that was apprehensive, and hoped for the best. And I have to take some responsibility for that.

The thing is, we use hook-up apps because we’re horny, and it’s historically proven that we make stupid decisions under the spell of orgasms. Put simply: horny = dumb. Just ask anyone who’s made a sex tape. It’s because we act on impulse, not rationale.

A good friend just dumped a guy after four dates because she realized she didn’t actually fancy him; she just needed a good seeing to.

But unfortunately it runs deeper than that; there are lonely and closeted gay men craving a connection, interaction, and intimacy so badly, that misjudgments are far more common.

Millennial sex comes with more dangers than a condom, or crash helmet, can protect. We have to be smart. I was far better off in a dry spell than I was being chased down hallways like some Stephen King film.

If you don’t feel 100% comfortable with the situation beforehand, just don’t go. We need to listen our heads, not our shafts. There’s plenty of dick in the world, but there’s only one you.

Anthony Gilét is a London-based writer, blogger and YouTuber – follow him on Twitter and Instagram.

To read more from the Single & Fabulous? series click here.