A matter of desire

When I was a young witch, I had an incredible libido. And when I say incredible, I mean inconvenient. I felt very embarrassed about it, frequently rejected, and I sought advice from anyone who would listen for what I could do to make it stop.

In the end (as a person in a female body) that came down to:

Have children.

Children, I was assured, would kill my libido.

And yep. Can confirm. Wow was that ever effective.*

My breeding years got me a good decade of peace. And I gained a new, much needed, perspective. Suddenly I was the uninterested one. I was saying “not tonight honey” and meaning “not this month, either.” That was good for me because I learned it isn’t about love. It wasn’t a statement about how I felt about my significant other. I learned that my libido is about me, his is about him. Primarily anyway. (Obviously outside factors have an effect, but him saying no to me didn’t mean he didn’t love me, or didn’t want to want sex, and I didn’t get that until the tables were turned.)

Bit by bit that decade of peace is drawing to a close. Sometimes I have free time. Sometimes I’m feeling myself and my body. Sometimes sex is all I can think about. But now, quite simply,

I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

I have never conventionally dated. I’ve either done the long-distance thing (10/10 would recommend) or I’ve been preyed upon. Nothing else. I don’t have any experience to draw on here, and though scheduling sex works and flat out telling a partner what you need is great… it’s not fun.

I miss the chase. Dear Hart made me work for it, back in the day, and I loved that. I loved the mystery and the beating the odds. There was a time where a single photo of my body would’ve been like gold to him. Now I’m afraid he’ll text back “What? Do you have a rash? I don’t see anything.”

Over the past week, I’ve realised I don’t know how to flirt – especially with someone I know well. Or, there’s the expectation we know each other well, but often I feel like he doesn’t know me at all so… I probably don’t know him half as well as I think I do either.

It’s funny too; I worked as a relationship advice columnist for nine years, but now I find myself googling this stuff. (Wasn’t helpful, if you’re wondering.)

With all the changes I’m going through, I feel like we should court each other again. We should date. We should re-ask all those questions that kept our conversations lively as teens – because we’ve had time to grow into ourselves and gain life experience. But I don’t know how.

As with anything, the answer is to simply begin. There’s no tangible difference between romance and being corny, far as I can tell. But the fear of rejection—or worse, being laughed at—is crippling. I’ve dipped my toe in the water a couple of times already and it was bitingly cold. Does that mean I shouldn’t jump in? No. Nothing amazing has ever been built though giving up.

And so, I’ll take the risk. If you’re in the same situation, I hope you will too, and that our bravery will pay off.

*Obviously it’s a terrible idea to have children for this specific purpose. I wanted children regardless.

Miriam Cumming thrives on over-sharing and bonding with people through all the things we’re not supposed to discuss. When they’re not talking about their vag on the internet, Miriam enjoys sitting in the sunny patch, drinking coffee and taking naps. If you enjoy this content, consider sending it to a mate; Miriam doesn’t have the funds for advertisement.