Sex and the Smithie: Voluntary Celibacy and Lesbian Experience

The Sex and the Smithie column is wrtten by a different anonymous author each week. Send submissions to sophian@smith.edu.

The title of this piece is homage to late lesbian poet Adrienne Rich, who wrote a stunning essay called “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Experience.” In it, she argues for the basis of what we at Smith would call heteronormativity: the idea that no matter how many meaningful or passionate relationships women have with other women, their only accepted partnerships are with men.

Reading Rich as a closeted high-schooler gave me hope for the queer paradise of Smith. Then I got here and had actual lesbian experiences, with the requisite drama, heartbreak, synced cycles, yeast infections and other hazards of lesbian sex. After a few too many instances of déjà booty, I hung an “out of business” sign on my boudoir door, and am reveling in month two of Voluntary Celibacy: the Lesbian Experience.

Yeah, what of it? After your first year, getting laid at house parties, is, well, first year. OkCupid seems too desperate, but not quite as bad as sleeping with people in your house or org. And Mount Holyoke is going too far. Sometimes, you just want to focus on yourself. And by focus on yourself, I mean I’m spending weekend nights with Mad Men on Netflix and getting intimate with two special men: Ben and Jerry. Between Don Draper and Chubby Hubby, I’m starting to question my sexual orientation.

Despite the Liz Lemon tone, I enjoy voluntary celibacy. The crazy has gone out of my eyes and my jittery fingertips. I’ve gotten two new jobs, and my grades are the best they’ve ever been. I’ve made new friends and strengthened old friendships – it’s surprising how much better interpersonal relationships can be when you’re not sizing up new acquaintances as potential partners.

I have more time to sleep, and I sleep more soundly when I’m not waiting for that breathtaking buzz of a late-night text message. I have time to read Adrienne Rich essays about heteronormativity and stretch out, languid, in clean sheets that I remember to wash on a decent laundry schedule. Best of all, my weekends are long and productive, and I still have time to have fun with friends.

I can leave parties while I’m still having fun, before the night turns into a disgusting, grabby last call. When dramatic recaps of who’s sleeping with whom take over dinner conversations, I can smile and nod, sighing with relief that I’m not torturing myself with the convoluted world of lesbian dating/screwing/seeing/whatever people call their interactions here.

If you feel like the scene is getting old, join me in Voluntary Celibacy Land.  It’s not a permanent exile; it’s a restful vacation. I promise the party’s waiting for us when we get back.