the why of the end

One of my biggest fears when I embarked on the year without sex was: what if I died in 2023 and I spent the whole year not doing one of my favourite things?!

If you’ve been keeping up with this little adventure, you’ll know the last time I wrote I promised to tell you why I broke my resolution not to have sex for a year. I’m not sure I will capture it in this hastily scribbled post, but I’ll try.

Honestly, when I just wrote that opening par I was like: Jayne, I don’t think anyone thought you could do it except you.

But I really, really did. On January 1, I was three days from my last adventure which had all the hallmarks of a fabulous story and included a lover coming through spontaneously, lots of laughs, making out in a dingy pub in that glorious post-Xmas, pre-new year’s eve liminal time, a nude midnight swim and a sandy coitus interruptus under a summer moon. It was a good time.

So, I guess you could say my tank was full, which made the decision easier than it really should have been.

Then I found a nice philosophical concept to wrap around my resolution and I was set. I couldn’t see anything that could make me waver. I had projects to focus on, I had a handful of people who knew of my decision and were still happy to flirt in the spaces around the rules so I wasn’t devoid of sex-adjacent contact, work is super fulfilling, I had plans with friends and was trying new things, and, as always, I was busy as fuck.

And yet…

I don’t know that it was something I was thinking about for very long, but I do know the specific things that were the catalyst for me deciding to throw in the towel.

For a few weeks before I decided to overturn my decision I had been feeling really flat. I had been training and eating and working and socialising as usual. In fact I was probably training harder than ever. One of my trainers knew of my resolution and every week when I smashed a workout he would just laugh and say: getting to you is it? But overall nothing else really changed and yet all through February I was flat, I had a low mood and my body ached day in and day out.

As a side note I love a good case of DOMs (delayed onset muscle soreness for the non-gym tragics). They let me know I am moving my body, strengthening it, honouring it. But this was something else. I would wake up and my feet would ache the minute they hit the floor, my legs would be sluggish, my heart would be tired. I started to wonder if I was dying, and the idea that maybe it was a lack of sex started simmering in the back of my mind.

I often say that sex is an energy source for me. Certainly thinking about it and studying it gives me a massive boost. But actually connecting with a lover, well there’s nothing quite like it. I can have an all-night experience and be fully charged for the next day on no sleep. It’s a kind of superpower.

Photo by Marius Matuschzik on Unsplash

Then came my 54^th birthday. I honestly don’t give a fuck about my age. I am stronger, fitter, hotter and wiser than I have ever been. I welcome every new year of life with gratitude. But this year I was sluggish, achey and bored. I wasn’t having a great time.

Into the mix came a super fun and chaotic night out. I’ll spare the details to protect the innocent, but the upshot is on this night a gorgeous young human that I work with shared with me some details of their current sex life and… Oh. My. Gosh. It was a carbon copy of my old life. I’m not gonna lie, I was envious! That night I flirted and laughed and took my new year’s resolution blinkers off and thought: Jayne, what the actual fuck are you doing? I got a lift home and on the way, I made my decision. Nope. I am not doing a full year without sex.

And here’s the thing. One of my biggest fears when I embarked on the year without sex was: what if I died in 2023 and I spent the whole year not doing one of my favourite things?! I tried to put it out of my head – I mean I’m healthy and strong and not likely to die soon. But you never know…

Serendipitously, Ben*, who started me on this whole wretched journey happened to check in the next day to ask how I was doing. I told him the mission was abandoned and he begged to be allowed the honour of escorting my re-entry. It felt like a glorious symmetry which I love, so of course I said yes. Plus he’s bloody fabulous.

We made a plan. I brought the wine. He brought the gummies. The night was perfect. Exactly what I wanted and needed.

And, I kid you not, the next day I felt immeasurably better than I had in weeks. My aches had gone, my smile was back, my energy levels soared. Ben insists he is to be called the fountain of youth from now on. I’ll indulge him, but I think it might be a phenomena a little bigger than him (adore you Ben, but, you know…)

So, I did 80 days without sex this year, which, except for when I was faithful to my first boyfriend when I lived in the UK a million years ago, is the longest period of abstinence in my adult life by a long shot. Of course I don’t regret it. But I absolutely don’t regret my decision to overturn my resolution. I already feel like my old self and I freaking love it.

I’m not sure where this year will take me but I’m sure it will be exactly what I need.

*Not his real name. ‘Ben’ has given me permission to share his real name, but I have another nickname for him, and his real name doesn’t make sense. He’s happy for people to know he’s a legendary lover, but I actually don’t think he needs any more publicity :D