When did we grow up?

In an overnight and over-a-bottle of wine/whisky conversation I expresses my pity over the other person’s strict sapiosexuality.

-If I were to only sleep with people I find intellectually attractive I would still be a virgin!

My alcohol triggered open-legs-syndrome actually implies a disease and it’s not really politically correct. In the age of gender fluid we’re allowed to ride Kinsey scale like a roller-coaster so there I went off describing myself as whatever-sexual through the rest of the conversation.

Whatever-sexuality would be very similar to pansexuality, however without attraction to the other person. It requires being horny, drunk and bored. And a dash of poor self-esteem.

The first night back from Rome I went out with my best friend. Me, her, bottle of the tequila with salt and lemons, our very own driver with his not that very own car.

I woke up and popped the most disturbing question of the last summer:

-When did we grow up?

You see, we had the time of our life  driving up to the beautiful lake on Earth and accidently staying the night in a forest.

I slept on a comfy back sit of the car, with my dress on. Panties on. Hell, even my shoes on. And the male driver on the front seat. Clothed as well. Apparently  we’ve stopped making out at some point of the night, because either of us had condoms.

I can’t count the multitude of my “whatevers” in this matter, but somehow I made the responsible decision.

I’m working on a set of a new TV show pilot and I’m in love with this preview of my future. I realized that I don’t have (and won’t have hopefully) time nor the energy for sex with all of World’s population.

The summer away from Biker Guy made me discover my superpower – sex with myself. Solosexuality is a thing and you can read about it here.

As an adult I’ve accidently became, I’m forced to define myself as a solo-curious heterosexual female with a dash of sapiosexual in her.