You’re reading Sex Diaries, a HuffPost UK Personal series about how we are (or aren’t) having sex. To share your story, get in touch on ukpersonal@huffpost.com.
When I started dating my boyfriend, I didn’t expect it to last.
I really liked him, of course, but we were two nerdy teens entering our very first relationship. We only knew one other couple who seemed to be in it for the long run (who are, in fact, still together), and instead it was much more common to see friends’ relationships to fizzle out after a few months. So I thought we were destined for a similar end.
Before him, I had been boy-crazy. Girl-crazy, too. I’d had multiple crushes (mainly on friends who didn’t like me back) but despite all the heartbreak – and the awkward facing the person on the school yard who had rejected your love confession just the day before – I was hopeful that life would have plenty of lovers in store for me. He was going to be my first love, but by no means did I believe he would be my last. We would have a wonderful time together and, down the line, both find something more long-lasting.
Naturally, we didn’t waste time any time waiting around. Hungry to experience everything a relationship had to offer, we jumped at the chance to sleep together within weeks. After three fumbling attempts, we finally had our first time on his narrow bed in his childhood bedroom. I can’t remember exactly what happened, but I can still remember the feeling. The lip-biting, electrifying lust.
Back then, we didn’t really talk about sex – we just did it. When we would visit each other at university, the first thing we always did was have sex, and then go and pick up a box of Chinese noodles so we wouldn’t have to spend any of our time together cooking. We’ve grown up since – we make better food, and have less sex – but we’ve also learned what makes the other person tick.
“Seven years later, we both find ourselves trying to get to grips with the fact neither of us have had sex with anyone else.”
However, now, seven years later, we both find ourselves trying to get to grips with the fact neither of us have had sex with anyone else.
I don’t want to paint this out like too much of a problem – having sex with someone you love is one of the best things in the world. But it does make me wonder: can you be sure you are truly enjoying the sex you’re having, if you don’t know what else is out there?
I won’t deny that having sex with the same person for years and years means you fall into a bit of pattern – neither of us have any real talents in acting, so our efforts to switch things up with a roleplay have just ended up with one of us failing to keep a straight face. I am quite intrigued by what it would mean to share this experience with someone else. What have we left undiscovered about ourselves by limiting each other to one sexual partner? When all the sex you’ve ever had is with the same person, even the idea of bad sex with someone new seems kind of intriguing.
As a bisexual, I am also deeply curious what it would be like to have sex with other women. People sometimes compare their sexual partners to each other, but I’m interested in whether it would change anything about the way I perceive myself.
We both believe a good relationship includes a fulfilling sex life, so I’d never want to hold back my partner in exploring his sexuality and I know he feels the same way. Throughout the years we’ve discussed the idea of an open relationship several times. It felt necessary when we were both studying in different cities and had to sometimes spend a long time apart from each other. But it never felt completely right for us.
“We would probably seriously suck at casual sex. But at least it would be easier to find that out for yourself while we’re both still relatively young.”
Now, this discussion feels pressing in a different way. Reaching this age has made us realise that this might truly be the endgame for us, and for some reason I feel much more comfortable with the idea of committing to having just this one relationship than committing to never having sex with anyone else in my life.
What has stopped us so far (besides the pandemic) is that we both think we would probably seriously suck at casual sex. But at least it would be easier to find that out for yourself while we’re both still relatively young.
When we started going out, we were one of the few couples in a serious relationship. Now that couples around us are starting to settle down as well, we’ve come to realise that a window of sorts might be closing.
In the end, the biggest reason me and my partner have stayed together, just the two of us, is that we are happy with what we have. I’m incredibly grateful that someone I love so deeply has been there for such a large part of my life. From our very first date, being together has felt like the most natural thing in the world.
And if that means I’m left a bit inexperienced in casual sex and romance, so be it.
Melanie is a freelance journalist, writing under a pseudonym
Have a compelling personal story you want to tell? Find out what we’re looking for here, and pitch us on ukpersonal@huffpost.com