Screw The Number

I was having lunch with a girlfriend and we were discussing our "number". You know the number I'm talking about. She leaned in and whispered hers with some shame. It was in the double-digits.

When I was growing up, I was completely uncomfortable around boys. My parents were more protective than most, so I didn't spend much time going to "mixed" parties or hanging out at the 7-11. By the time I was 13 years old, my friends knew their way around first and second base and I wasn't even in uniform. Until I was 16 and dating the guy who became my first husband, I was ashamed by my total ineptitude with all things sexual. This is my official apology to the guy who's pants I struggled to undo for at least 15 minutes and then froze with absolutely no idea what to do next.

Growing up and even now in mid-life, we judge ourselves for having too little or too much experience with sex. That we are either frigid (that one still stings) or a slut. Trying to find that "right" number.

When I think about what I want for my daughters, I get clear about what I want for myself, for all women, and heck, even for men. I want us to be free to make our own decisions about sex, to have it or not, without suffering harsh judgement. I want us to have an abundance of love and pleasure. I want us to know that our value isn't determined by our sexual experience. That our value is unconditional and its source is our very spectacular existence.

Screw the number.