We’ve all got numbers.
Lucky ones, birthdates and then the digit that doesn’t matter at all but might?
You know (or do you?).
The number of people you’ve slept with.
I'd never really thought about it, so that’s why recently when a prospective lover asked me ‘my number,’ at first I did what I always do, and got offensively defensive.
But then I got to thinking...although it might not give any indication about my personal standards, maybe there is some hidden wisdom about relationships and women within the memories of my past romantic experiences.
So, pen in hand, beginning with the first lucky lady at age thirteen I proceeded to chronologically recollect each of my most intimate moments.
At first the names came easily (that’s what she said) but eventually some of the faces faded.
Forgotten like the laughter shared during the courtship or the phone numbers that were once so precious.
To lubricate my memory I mentally recalled each of the places I’d lived and visited in the past seventeen years.
One by one the names began dropping onto the paper.
Like chapters of a book they merged to tell the sensational story of my sexual history.
As I etched the most recent name and the joint paper slowly changed to ash, the ladies leapt from the page like fire’s flame.
Transporting me back through time and a myriad of emotions and feelings shared with all those that thought I was worth the sweaty sheets.
I’m not sure what gave them that idea?
But judging from the average number (1-10) than the actual, sexually speaking I’ve been doing something right.
Inside and out I’ve been with some beautiful woman and even more beautiful experiences, nearly none of which I regret, and many of whom I would probably do again, if it was only sex.
Which it’s not.
Because sex always gets sticky. Usually afterward.
Once all the passion and play climaxes, what’s left in 95% of partners are fading texts and shrinking social media interest.
Oddly, I follow most of the girls I’ve hooked up with and I guess technically we are ‘friends’ since all of them know places of me others don’t, but we hardly communicate.
Actually I talk to the girls I've almost slept with more than the ones I actually have.
I’m not sure what that says about me, or us, except that like I said before, after sex things can get, well awkward.
Like all of a sudden texts aren’t being returned as quickly and the motivation for procreation isn’t nearly the same.
I’m not sure where the desire to hangout bangout goes but for me it usually melts into oblivion.
Then you’re left with a name on a list, and a lifetime memory, assuming you take the time to consider it.
Most of my male friends said they couldn’t make a list because for half of their sexual experiences they were too drunk to remember.
As if they'd want too.
The sex was probably terrible and the girl almost certainly below sober standards.
Personally I’d rather masturbate. It’s cheaper and less complicated.
Which is probably why my list isn’t what some of my friend’s are in terms of quantity, but there’s no comparison when it comes to quality.
That’s not to say I haven’t had my share of sex. But looking at the list I realized it was mostly with the same people.
Like for 10 of 17 years I was mostly with two women or so.
I can also somewhat vividly remember at least one encounter with all, which apparently according to my inadequate survey of homies makes me a weirdo.
I’m just not into meaningless or feelingless sex. Never have been.
Getting laid is easy. Lots of idiots are fucking.
Some of them even fall in love over it.
Especially the ones that aren’t doing enough of it.
So how much is enough or too much?
But if you make a list you can psychoanalyze it like a psycho.
Plug in your users per year. Research what’s ‘normal.’
But statistics don’t reveal anything about potency or passion.
The feelings and sensations experienced with others during our most vulnerable times are ours and ours alone.
Only we get to share in our own peculiar perspective.
Lovers eternally try to reveal themselves to one another, but beyond verbal expression there is a silent barrier better communicated by touch, taste, smell, kiss and embrace.
I can think of no place I’d rather be than within the tangled mess of lovemaking with a beautiful woman.
It is my holy grail of experience.
My nirvana and heaven on Earth.
When I am most confident, compassionate, connected and cosmic.
Is it profane that in lovemaking I am most humane?
I suppose it is weird that when I lay with her is when I’m most understanding and attentive to her needs.
In my daily activities I often fail to give many people the attention they deserve.
But in bed you will get all of me.
In retrospect perhaps that’s why I’m so particular about who I share myself with (or maybe that’s just the excuse I tell myself when I’m sleeping alone) since I can be a lot to handle.
Or at least my arrogant ego can be.
It’s him that’s never satisfied. That never let’s me settle for an easy lay or fall into temptation that would have soured many friendships and relationships.
That prick has cost me lots of pussy. But he’s also provided me with the audacity to think I know what I’m doing in pleasing us.
And for that I’m grateful.
So far I’ve had a very healthy, safe and beautiful sex life.
My hope is that when my past lovers look at my name on their list they feel the same.
For me it doesn’t feel uncomfortable revisiting the past because mostly I’ve followed my gut when it comes to an area of my life in which I’m unwilling to compromise morals, values or enjoyment.
For those ridiculous enough to attempt making a list of your own, there’s the chance that it won’t be the most pleasant or exciting activity of the day.
I mean what if your list isn’t long enough? What if it’s way too fucking long?
Or worse, you just can’t remember. Or you haven’t added to the list in a while.
Maybe you’re just not proud of it?
Well then it’s time to face that shit.
Sexual experiences are one of the many blessings offered to us as human beings.
It is the culmination of sensation.
Penetration is the ultimate meditation.
Intercourse offers an inner discourse.
An opportunity to raise your consciousness and vibration through intimate connection and collaboration with another individual that happens to be just as interested in you as you are in them.
It is the automatic be here. Now.
So is your love life working for you? Are you satisfied physically and emotionally? Are you having fun?
Be honest with yourself.
That’s really what a census is about. Accountability.
In sex, as in most things, we don’t just find success, it takes consideration and dedication.
And if there is one thing that I want to be a winner at before I slip away it is to enjoy an extraordinary and exceptional sex life.
But we live in a society that prepares us more for monotony and money than honey.
One that encourages us to be far more concerned with budgeting finances than spending collaborative currency.
And until we pull the sexual conversation from the grip of obscure and obscene then experiences will continue to be more about reps than depth.
And lists will be interpreted more by the sum total than by the value of the moments.
Wongi is a conscious critic, obviously awful writer and aspiring pilot. Follow him @iamwongi