Sex flashbacks are one thing: Ugh. Or, Oooh. Or, yum. Sex regrets are another: Why did I? How could I? Let’s pretend it didn’t happen. We talk and think and wonder about all the men that we slept with. But what about the ones that we didn’t sleep with? Am I alone in developing a fixation with people I should have slept with? When I perhaps could have: Hmmmm. Men I metaphorically turned my back on because I was obsessing about some idiot or just not paying attention. Or I was too drunk. The paths not taken, the sexual doors now slammed in my face, the wondering.
I have become so curious about some of them. What would we have been like together? One of them seemed so benign but I have heard since that he was absolutely rapacious. Dominant. Utterly sure of what he was doing. So I’m kind of sorry that I missed that. Another looked at me in a certain way. A way no one else has ever looked at me. How might that look have translated?
The dress we could have bought, the argument we could have won, the holiday we could have taken, the man we could have experienced. It just feels like rather a shame. If only we could replace the mistakes with the unchartered territories. They might have turned out to be mistakes as well. But they might have turned out to be the best sex of our lives. So we squeeze our eyes tight shut and we wonder. And wondering can also be fun.