I had to be honest with myself that Simon was never going to be who I needed and we were both wasting our time in a way that was only hurting me.
“Thank you for the meal,” I said, grabbing my coat and heading for the door.
I was proud of myself for having the courage to leave. I’m not sure that’s something I would have done two years ago.
Later that night when I was in bed, I was still mad at Simon, but mostly I was mad at myself.
I was repeating the same patterns of behavior. As a result, I kept winding up in one-sided, confusing situations with emotionally unavailable lovers who could take me or leave me.
I gave and they took.
I called it casual when, for me, it wasn’t.
I worried.
I cried.
I analyzed.
But I didn’t change.
It was like watching the same movie, over and over but with different characters.
I thought of all the men before and after Simon. Amit. Ben. Steve. I was grateful for how they helped me rediscover intimacy and realize what I wanted and didn’t want from a partner. They were all valuable learning experiences.
Now, I had to demand better.
I had to raise the standards on my love life. I knew that if I didn’t, I was never going to find a partner.
This wasn’t just about sex anymore. It was about finding someone I could have a healthy, loving, sexually intimate relationship with.
This was the turning point.
I was ready to find love.
AN ENDING THAT’S HAPPY
I spent a long time thinking about how I wanted this book to end. I wanted this to be a story of self-discovery, with glimmers of sadness and sparkles of hope. Just enough sexiness to make it spicy. And of course, a little bit of humor.
When I wrote the original ending, it was an anthem for single people. I was happy and optimistic. I believed that someone was out there for me and when the universe was good and ready, I’d find the Amal to my Clooney. The Jim to my Pam. But at the time that I wrote it, there wasn’t anyone. There was no starry-eyed story arc or knight in shining armor. My life was good and that was enough.
Then, six months before this book was due, I met Jamie.
He had wavy hair and warm, dark eyes. He was a sexy nerd who was obsessed with sport fencing and could solve a Rubik’s Cube in under a minute.
We met through OkCupid and while I wasn’t swooning on our first date, it was good enough for a second date. As time passed it was clear that he was remarkably kind, thoughtful, funny, and loving. Our second date rolled into a third date and before I knew it, he was calling me his girlfriend.
No one had ever introduced me as their girlfriend.
He made it easy to be with him. He texted me every day, unlike Simon. He never crossed boundaries like Steve. He wanted to explore, like Amit. I never once felt insecure or uncertain about whether he wanted to be with me. I wore a baseball cap on our first date and he told me how beautiful I looked and made me feel beautiful subsequently every day after that.
One day when I was lost, and Google Maps wouldn’t work on my phone, I called Jamie. He looked up my destination online and gave me directions for thirty minutes, calling himself my personal GPS and staying on the phone until I arrived at where I was going.
He’d sneak chocolate bars into my bag, he’d tell me how proud he was of me, and he bought me a phone charger for his place. He was always doing thoughtful things like that for me.
He showed up in ways no one ever had. After two months of dating, my roommates and I were moving apartments again. As Jamie carried down my eleventh box from my fourth-floor walk-up, in the pouring rain, he never once complained. When he was done moving my stuff, he headed back upstairs to grab Lindsay and Mary’s boxes as well. I kissed him on the front stairs, rain dripping off his nose, and said, “I’m the luckiest.” At my new apartment, he built my bed and hung my shelves.
The first time we had sex he attended to me with great care and finesse. It was electrifying and loving. He stroked my face and held me until the morning.
In some ways, Jamie felt like my final exam at the end of the semester.
After two years of sex research, both academic and experiential, I was able to try out my newfound skills. Everything I had learned in classes and every position I had failed with other people. I was finally comfortable and vulnerable and because of that, we were having the best sex of my life.
He wanted to explore with me, so we tried everything:
Girl on top, couldn’t stop.
We used pineapples and mango skins.
We did it in the shower.
Every hour.
In the kitchen.
On the floor.
Foot stuff.
Behind the door.
We tried it all. We’d effortlessly move from doggy to missionary to some crazy move I’d never done before and couldn’t name. He made me cum six times in one night, went to sensation play classes with me, and watched videos on OM’ing.
On a chilly fall weekend, I rolled over and snuggled against his chest, “Okay, this is weird, but I have a thing about reverse cowgirl.”
“What do you mean?” he asked twisting a piece of my hair around his finger.
“I don’t know, I’m worried that everyone knows how to do it but me.”
“Maybe we should practice until you feel confident?” he asked, rolling me over and kissing my neck. We did it four or five times that week until I felt like I had mastered the position.
He said he loved me after three months. When I told him I wasn’t there yet—that it felt too soon, that I was someone who took things slow—without guilting me or acting hurt, he said, “You don’t have to say it back, baby. There’s no rush. I want you to always be honest with how you feel about me, and I’ll always be honest with you.”
It was a perfect response; instead of bolting like I’d normally do, it made me fall for him even more.
On Valentine’s Day he gave me a custom-made stamp with my initials on it and ordered a Brazilian pastry that I had mentioned I missed, once, in passing, several months before. Jamie remembered things like that. After I opened the bag, I smiled and said, “I think I love you too,” and I meant it.
It’s still new, so I won’t pretend this is a set-in-stone fairy-tale ending, but I’m happy. After two years of searching, failing, exploring, confronting old beliefs, changing, and growing, I found someone who loves me and who I love back.
And just like that, easier than it all began. . . .
My Coitus Chronicles had come to an end.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It’s 11:52 pm, three months before this book is coming out, and I’ve been putting off writing this all day. Instead I cleaned my apartment, called my friend, reorganized that one drawer. My procrastination comes from the fact that this is possibly the most important thing I’ll write in this whole book.
When I think about what I’m most grateful for it’s always: 1. My relationships and 2. The ability to make art, to use my words to create things that help people or make them laugh. In some way, this is a combination of both of those things.
So, how do I express how deeply fucking grateful I am to all these people who have given me the gift of their talent, friendship, and love? It’s much easier to organize that drawer.
Like anything in writing, to start, you just start. So here it goes:
To my mom, I’m so lucky to be your daughter, not only did you teach me how to be a funny storyteller, you taught me how to be independent and smart. Love you always, more than you can imagine. To dad, you taught me to dream big, and that belief and support is THE direct cause of this book. From one artist to another, proud to be an Alexander. Ian, my other dad, you’re the rock. Thanks for always slipping me twenties and not getting angry about that time I drove across the lawn accidentally. Leah, you’re funnier than I am, I love that we’re getting closer as we get older, may that only continue. To the rest o
f my family: God, I love us. Seriously, other people’s families are so fucked up, but we’re pretty functional. Also, thanks for being cool that I write about sex. That’s really freaking hard, but you all have only ever supported me in the “We’re your biggest cheerleaders EVER” sort of way.
To my agent, Myrsini, at Carol Mann, thank you believing in this book, and me, before it was even a thing. It means more than I know how to say.
To my editor, Caroline, and the entire team at Skyhorse, thanks for all the time, energy and love put into this book. Thank you for always accepting my meetings in-person.
To Jason and the entire team at Brilliance, holy shit, there’s going to be an audio version of this book. OMFG, that’s the most exciting thing ever.
Kymian, Katharine, Liz, Nikki, Nathan, thank you for reading countless chapters and offering your HONEST feedback. It was invaluable, as is your friendship. Vern, you get your own line. Thanks for your unconditional kindness, even when I was grumpy. Marina, thanks for being a great coach and always getting my ass into gear.
To all my friends in Ohio, you know who you are, thank you for making it feel like I never left every time I come home. It’s one of the main reasons I’m able to still use the word HOME. You’re stuck with me forever. Can’t wait to be ninety-five and sitting around Tony’s basement the night before Thanksgiving.
To all my friends in NYC, you know who you are, thank you for making this a place that also feels like home. To the countless times you showed up to parties. The countless times you answered your phones and came to my shows. To my communities, from PDN to HTM, thank you for providing consistent friendship and support all these years.
To all my friends elsewhere, Hi, I miss you. I love you. Call me soon?
To all the men who cared about me, thank you for teaching me both what healthy and unhealthy relationships look like. For helping me see what you saw. To JMM, thank you for teaching me what it looked like to both love and show up for another person.
To God, for my health, the good health of the people I love, and well, everything. To Millie, George, Grandma G, Webster, Paula, Phyllis, Faigy, Lisa, John, Margaret and all the other angels, thank you for always listening to my prayers. Catch you in the next life when we’re all cats.
To everyone on the internet who supported not only my work, but this whole journey, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. I read every comment, laugh at your wittiness, and feel like I’ve developed honest Facebook friendships with many of you.
Finally, to everyone who wants to write a book: Do it. It doesn’t matter if you have a platform or not. It doesn’t matter if anyone has validated whether or not you should. It doesn’t matter how flushed out your idea is or if you suck at grammar. Do it anyway and figure it out as you go. Write because that’s what you were put on this earth to do.
With every ounce of my being, Thank you all.
The Coitus Chronicles Page 19