What does it take to be a successful sex blogger? I read a few of the newer sex blogs last night and familiarized myself with traits of a successful sex blogger: must be female, cisgender, blond, thin, and pretty enough to be photographed nude. It also helps to live on one of the coasts and have weird friends. Also, being bisexual or some other permutation of queer lends credibility. They must also have a lot of sex and get plenty of honest dates, too, which would give them plenty of experience to pull from when answering questions or writing about the matters at hand.
I used to want to be a sex blogger – I still do, but it used to be my #1 career goal. I will always want to talk openly and honestly about sexuality from a woman’s perspective, from a poor person’s perspective, from a queer person’s perspective, and from a Black perspective. (See how many niches I belong to? That’s valuable, isn’t it?) I want to share my ups and downs with people who are going through the same and offer advice that is always honest and heartfelt.
But last night I had an epiphany about sex blogging, and it’s that I don’t have the energy to pretend any of this is fun or interesting or easy. That’s not to say that sex bloggers uniformly try to pass off relationships or sex as fun or interesting or easy, but an optimistic promise of a happy ending is what most of us are looking for out of anything and everything in our lives. We buy furniture from IKEA and put it together while cursing and screaming at the stress of it all, but in the end we know we’ll have a perfect EXPEDIT bookcase, perfectly sized for storing records. As annoying as The Notebook is, people still love that fucking movie because even though homegirl’s brain totally deletes the memory of Ryan Gosling, he reads it all back to her like every night and they’re still together so isn’t that sweet. Carrie’s vague blogs that she wrote at the end of every episode of Sex and the City only seemed publishable because she always, always made some sort of a hopeful hint towards a happily-ever-after for herself and Big/Aidan/her shoes.
I’d love to always have a message of hope and sunshine but I just can’t. I can’t even. Seriously? This sucks most of the time, and when it’s not sucking, it’s just really nerdy negotiating and haggling or, even worse in my opinion, a revolving door of one-night stands that looked a whole lot like slutty first dates in the beginning. And I know my experience isn’t unique. I live in a small town that is bustling with single people and I’d be rich if I had a nickle for each one of my homies who communicate frustration with dating or sometimes even just a profound desire to give the fuck up at this. Internet dating was supposed to make it all easier – it’s kinda like shopping, riiiiiight? – but the same insecurities and issues that make face-to-face dating difficult can and do follow us onto the internet and have the potential to throw monkeywrenches into anything beyond a gloryhole meetup.
So yeah, I wanna talk about sex and dating but I’m not thin or blond but I am queer, and I like being seen naked but I was more into the “naked on the internet” thing in my twenties. I date and I get laid (yawn). My sexuality might be assumed to not be marketable at face value – and not for the reasons that it’s actually not interesting, but because I’m Black and Black women are oversexed sluts anyway, and I’m chubby which means I’m desperate, and I’m in my thirties which also means I’m desperate. I’ve been used and dogged and ignored and dumped like lots of people, and that colors my view of singledom. I wear the same clothes most days and I’m too exhausted with game-playing to take flip-flopping over a second date as anything less than rejection. My frustration isn’t necessarily marketable but it’s true to life, it’s what most people feel and experience out there in the world, and sometimes empathy can have more of an impact than the head-pat of, “Don’t give up – there are so many people on OKCupid!” Sometimes we need to be told to change course, to seek out greener pastures. And sometimes that pasture isn’t a new date, but an entirely new city.
I do not like things to be sugarcoated. Honesty is the best policy in all things, and my truth is not whiskey-flavored or lit by city lights anymore. I wanna write about it, but I’m telling you right now – there is no happy ending. Not yet, at least.
(See how I offered a little hope at the very end?)