If there is anything you should know about me this very moment, it’s that I floss every day. If you need to know another thing about me, it’s that every girl in the world is having more sex than I am. 

I’m not kidding. Look around you! The woman from Illinois, walking around Times Square with eight large Macy’s bags and 36 cretin children gets more sex than I do. That old couple making out in that Christmas commercial where I feel uncomfortable. The overly sexualized “NOT MY DAUGHTER” in the Lifetime movie. Every friend I talk to over a glass of wine. All of them seem to have things sticking into other things on a fairly regular basis, and here I am, wearing ratty pajamas and eating popcorn by the fistful, vagina as closed as an oyster that is closed. I’m getting no sex at all—not from the mysterious brunette who’s no good for me that I met in a bar, or from the trusty old friend that kisses my cheek and whispers ‘we shouldn’t be doing this.’  Not from Jeremy Renner, or Colin Farrell, or any other playboy you may have in mind. I don’t even have sex dreams anymore! I had a dream about me and my college crush getting ice cream and holding hands the other day! My vagina is Sally Field, standing on the table and completely on strike!

Here’s the thing—I’m 23. I live in New York.  I’m at my sexual prime according to every CW television show ever created. Frankly, I should be wearing sparkly dresses on Tuesdays that show off my gams. I should be dry humping in all the bar corners in all the world. I should be ripping my underwear off as I type this, lustily spooning some blonde Fuck Tower who works in ad sales and also at a bar in Brooklyn. Instead, I’m curled up in my flannel sheets, talking to my friend who’s like ‘yeah, I met this guy and we’re like doing it all the time and my sex life is crazy.’ Instead, I’m looking at cranberry sauce recipes! I’m checking my Twitter! I’m not having sex. At all.

Besides some issues that involve the need to sleep with a stuffed animal when I have my period, I’m a fairly normal person. I wash my hair with Herbal Essences and it smells good. My skin is soft. I have a nice laugh. I paint my nails. If I wanted to, I could probably chug a beer and nod softly at some guy across the way and we could go back to my bedroom and do some things with our mouths and genitals. However— I don’t want to. That sounds gross and scary and I don’t want to do that at all.

This isn’t because I find sex disgusting. I mean, I find sex disgusting any time except when I’m actually having it. It’s wet and squishy, with weird noises and sounds. It’s like reaching into a grab bag and pulling out an octopus. It’s like grinding against a wall made of screaming slime. When I think about actual intercourse, all I can imagine is people moaning loudly for no reason while they slide bananas into keyholes. However, when I have sex, I thoroughly think it’s awesome. Right now I think of dipping my hand in a plate of duck sauce, but I also know that it can be good and great.

This also isn’t a ‘I live in New York and if I take somebody home for one night they may rip my face off and put it on their wall over a poster of Justin Bieber and kiss it slowly’ thing. It’s partially that though, I’ve seen Law and Order and lots of people die every second of every second. Mostly these people are women looking to have sex in the exact bar I’m in. This isn’t a religion thing, or a ‘taking a stance like Patti Stanger in the Millionaire Matchmaker’ at all. I didn’t read Twilight and nod my head in some Mormon-induced trance. I won’t wait till my next ‘boyfriend’ or whatever, and I’ll open my creamy little thighs (EWWW) whenever I damn well choose.

The reason I am not having sex, is that I simply don’t want to right now. I’m a completely sexually liberated liberal lady, but just because I have the ‘option’ to do something doesn’t mean I have to do it. I’ve done it a bit. I’ve spun around and done some freaky positions and have been bored or excited or thrilled. Some girls like to do the naked tango all the time. I think that’s great, and if it feels good, I think you should continue to do it. Those girls are always cooler than I am, anyway. I can’t pretend to be cool and able to wear Free People clothing because I’m always getting mustard on every shirt I have.

I’m kidding, I’m really cool. Sex has nothing to do with ‘cool,’ by the way. I think this is the main problem with being a girl who doesn’t really want to have sex—people think that sex is cool, when in fact it’s just sweaty and makes your sheets smell like a rubber prison. It’s not cool or uncool, it’s something that feels good and something that bumblebees do. You should never base your worth on whether you think you have too little or too much, damnit! I also can’t seem to get it out of my head that sex can be awful. I’ve had super casual no strings attached sex with a couple of guys in my young lifetime, and I usually leave it feeling like:

Oh jeez, did I really just take my pants off and flip my pants off to the corner of my room with my TOE? Did I really just take 30 minutes to find my bunched up underwear? Did I really just get over attached to this guy because we managed to stick our bodies in places that only THE DEVIL KNOWS? I get weirdly attached after I have sex. Some girls don’t, but it sort of irritates me that I sit by my phone, waiting for some neanderthal who likes gin to send me a message because I’ve seen his balls. I’d rather just go talk to my friends, and wake up on my pillow and go to brunch the next day. I’d really just rather wait for somebody who makes me say ‘hell yeah! I’d love for you to stick your genitals in me! That sounds still kind of gross, but also awesome and great and you make me happy and you make me laugh.’ After all, my hair looks god-awful after sex. It takes a great person I really like to see me with sticked up hair and mascara down to my cheeks from all the pushing and shoving.

If you want to have sex, please do. Take those lumpy genitals and stick ‘em in to you. More power to you! But if you’re like me—don’t. Go to bed with your computer, and let the hot chord burn a whole through your stomach. Wake up in your college sweatshirt. 

I’ll just be the girl who isn’t having sex. Until you come along, of course. Until you! 

And if not, a woman’s sexual peak is at thirty or something. So suck onnnnnn that.