I don’t mind being celibate if it alleviates me of the possibility of an unremarkable (or even remarkably terrible) sexual experience.I’d rather keep the sacred space that is my bed untainted.I’m tired of biting my nails before first dates and wondering if I’ll get a text back.
I’m more afraid of trying to find someone who gets to decide if he or she wants to. I really don’t know, and I’d rather not discuss it or give my mother any more false hope.
I’m not afraid of not getting someone; I’m afraid of someone not getting me. I’m not the kind of woman who would ever abandon her friends for a man.
I’d prefer to go to parties and weddings alone rather than be questioned by every person I know, every time the man on my arm is someone new. After all, they’re the ones who will need to pick up the pieces should things fall apart.
A random guy may spit a lot of game over text and yet be completely mundane over a dinner table.
If I have my notebook and a novel, I know my night will never be wasted. I have plenty of orgasmic help in the robotics department; I don’t need a guy to satisfy my needs.