You might be wondering if the title means what it suggests. The answer is yes, I slept around with a plethora of men to get my ex out of my system. It wasn’t a particularly proud time in my life. In fact, I was in a bad place. My self-esteem was at an all time low. My husband would rather sleep with other women than me. I was getting a divorce. I am a failure at being a wife. I was a failure at getting laid by my own husband.
I felt ugly and unwanted. What was wrong with me? Why wasn’t I enough?
I beat myself up with those questions. That’s when I stopped caring about being good. I had been a dedicated, loving and loyal wife. I had given up my job to have children. I did all of the “happy homemaker” bullshit and did my best to get back into shape so my husband would stay attracted to me. None of it mattered. No matter how hard I tried to please him, he chose someone else. Being good did me no good.
I have to admit when I received my final divorce decree, I felt a huge weight off my shoulders. I was free from the narcissistic asshole but I cried until I couldn’t cry any more.
Failure. Unlovable. Unwanted. Rejected. Disposable.
My body had been dedicated to one man and now it wasn’t. If I couldn’t feel pretty then I was going to be desirable – and there was only one easy way I could think of to remove the stink of my failed marriage.
I started working out to get back into shape. Got dressed up and put my lipstick on and went out to the local bars to find a quick fuck. The first time I went out, I was excited and scared. Dare I be so naughty to get naked and be intimate with a perfect stranger?
I wasn’t interested in a long-term relationship. I didn’t even want an overnight. I just wanted disposable fun. In some weird way, it was justified since I had been disposed of. Give what you get, right?
My attitude was basically to go into the bar, have a few drinks and if he was passably cute and a little interesting, I was like, “Yeah, you’ll do,” and do him I did. I don’t remember half their names. I didn’t care to because I wasn’t looking for the next mister.
One and done, baby. I was wilder than I’d ever been. Sex outdoors, on the hood of a car, different positions that my husband had never even attempted, and during my sexual expeditions, I’d found out about the delightful experience of cunnilingus.
Why hadn’t my husband ever done that? What else was I missing?
I had to find out.
My one-night stands were fun and purged the ugly of my failed marriage. I was building up my confidence in an unhealthy way but I needed the affirmation that I was worthy of a good fuck. I don’t need compliments. I don’t want your number. Just shut up and do me.
It’s not like I was bringing anyone home to meet mom and dad, or to be dear uncle so-and-so in front of my kids. This was sheer, unadulterated, uninhibited fun. No ties. No responsibility. It was an exploration of sensuality.
I stopped questioning why my husband rejected me and convinced myself that I was better off. I was wanted, albeit temporarily. I felt like a desirable woman again. I wasn’t getting a no. Different partners meant different sex. My sexual curiosity was at its peak.
Eventually even that scene got tiring and found a man who touched my heart, rocked my world, and stimulated my mind. There’s a part of me that believes I needed that time to be promiscuous and wild. I will never again be the timid woman who let someone else convince me that I was ugly and disposable.
Yeah, I slept away my ex but I don’t have any regrets. That is my confession.