We’ve got a secret surprise hiding under our covers this year. The Hatchet will bring you an anonymous columnist, Delilah, to report on sex at GW.
Editor’s note: Names have been changed to protect the naughty.
If there’s one day that is set aside to measure the quality of your sex life, it’s Valentine’s Day – only the yardstick has nothing to do with orgasms, S&M or even naked bodies.
On Valentine’s Day, the number of heart-shaped crap, Hallmark bullshit and red paraphernalia is sported around by happy girlfriends like some kind of badge won on the battlefield and takes the place of that certain smile that says, “yup, I live a sexually fulfilled life.”
Of course, that’s not to say that girlfriends can’t be satisfied by their long-term men, but let’s be real – just because you don’t have a beaming pink teddy bear strategically placed on your desk, doesn’t mean you’re not getting any.
From reading my column, you probably have a good idea of what a night under the covers with Delilah might look like – busy. Although sex is something that fascinates me, allures me and keeps me out and about at a club or a bar, I can say with full honesty and without a hint of embarrassment that this Valentine’s Day I did not get any flowers.
Valentine’s Day seems to be an excuse to make single people feel like they have something to be ashamed of. In fact, I’ve even heard of ordering your single friend a bouquet of flowers, delivered by some eye candy. If anyone was thinking of sending me pity flowers, just don’t.
It’s not that I’ve always hated this holiday. In fact, this is the first Valentine’s Day in five years that I have not had a boyfriend to share it with. For the past five Feb. 14th’s I have either spent it with my old hero Hercules or some other random guy that worked his way into spend Valentine’s Day with me.
In one way or another, we condition ourselves to measure our self worth by how many people we can get to sleep with us, text us late at night or invite us over for an after-hours party.
When we don’t see praise, affection or even mind-blowing sex, sometimes its hard to feel hot and fabulous, and easy to feel like maybe you will be that lonely lady in her apartment with 40 cats and empty cartons of Ben & Jerry’s.
Yet as I spent the beginning of this holiday in my room with no man candy in sight, I realized that a solo Valentine’s Day does not make me a spinster. In fact, I am glad to be spending it alone since it means that I have stood up for what I need and how I want to live my life.
In one way or another, my Valentine is me and this holiday is more about loving myself than anybody else. Because after everything I have been through between love, lust, romps, fights and more shenanigans, I’m proud to say that I would rather find ways to pleasure myself than have to put up with meritocracy from a second-rate man.