Sex and the community

At the risk of sounding cliché, this story begins at a Parisian café, where I sat with a man over a bottle of white and a pack of cigarettes. Our second date was going quite well until the dreaded topic arose: sexual past.

When he asked me my “body count” (God, I hate that term), I said my favorite response: “Guess.” I should have known that I was in trouble when he overestimated the number of people I’d slept with by over double the real number. I asked him the same question.

“Actually, I don’t know — but I think 120 something,” he responded. My eyes nearly fell out of my head. 120 something? I don’t even think I could name 120 people whose company I’ve remotely enjoyed.

I was shocked, and — for the sake of not becoming number 130 — immediately decided not to sleep with him. But then, I started to ponder why I made this decision.

Why was I so bothered by this number? I’m a sex-positive person (duh) who believes in unserious hookups, exploration and the abolition of purity culture. I had always thought to myself that body count didn’t matter to me — and I haven’t exactly been the Virgin Mary, either.

Is there such a thing as sleeping with “too many” people? What is the “right” amount of people to sleep with? What’s the wrong number?

First of all, there are many conditions that affect how one’s “body count” is perceived. The most obvious may be gender. In our little Isla Vista bubble, overt misogyny is certainly prevalent. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard girls who’ve slept with fewer people than I called “hoes,” “bops” and my personal favorite, “ferda.”

However, many young men’s double standards for women manifest in a more Madonna-whore-esque framework. In a college dating context, men don’t consciously sort women based on the “Madonna” or “whore” criteria — that’s the point. Instead, they view women who they know have slept around as “not serious” or “not wife material” by default. Yet, they will still sleep with her.

Both the “Madonna” and the “whore” are punished in this scenario, with neither finding love or respect. Women are either hoes or prudes, and almost any body count seems to be the “wrong” one in this scenario.

The second factor to consider is one’s age. The only reason that Mr. 120-something’s body count made any kind of sense is because he was over 10 years my senior (a topic for another day). 

I can’t speak to the entire experience that is one’s twenties; but, as I don’t plan on settling down anytime soon and I hope to continue my worldwide exploration of sex, my body count likely won’t be countable on two hands by the time I’m that guy’s age. 

So, should I pass judgement upon someone who I could one day become? I mean, if you divide 120 people by (let’s say) 15 years of sexual activity, that doesn’t exactly add up to jumping into bed with a different person every night. 

The third factor at play is what “counts” as a body. I’ve had “one night stands” where nobody had an orgasm, it lasted 20 seconds or something went wrong that I choose not to remember. Do these count?

Part of why we presumably care about our partners’ body counts are because of the intimacy that sex brings. Yet, if you and someone give each other head and spend the night cuddling naked together, that “technically” isn’t a body — but it’s practically as intimate and meaningful as sex. 

Also, five random hookups with different people across the span of a year is certainly less intimate and sexual than a long-term relationship over the same time span — yet, five random bodies is “worse.” Someone who has received head from 20 different people can have the same body count as someone who has never had their first kiss, but their sexual experiences are vastly different.

Some believe that your body count resets at the new year. Some believe it can be whatever you want it to be. Even if you’re not satisfied with the number of people you’ve slept with, what’s stopping you from just lying about it?

In the same cadence as a tree falling in the forest without anyone watching: If you have meaningless sex that you never tell anyone about, does it really matter?

I hereby coin the term “Schrödinger’s body count”: your body count is some strange amalgamation of all of your sexual experiences that only materializes when you verbalize it. Your number of bodies is different before you say it, but you saying it is what makes it real. 

To invoke the topic of my first installment, the only people from my sexual past that affect my daily life are the ones that I have to see. My “I.V. body count” is three, because I’ve only slept with three guys here that I run into out and about. My “abroad” body count is 0 because they don’t have the same “counting” culture there: every person was an experience!

This is where we run into the issue of honesty. Do we really need to be honest with our partners about how many people we’ve slept with? What is the point in even lying about it? 

Personally, I’ve never lied about my body count. However, I think that it would be difficult to lie about being a more wholesome and perfect virgin girl, only for a guy to be into that whole thing. Hundreds of years ago, when my body count was actually low, a few too many men were interested in that fact. At least I was telling the truth.

I think that the best way to handle the topic of body counts is to avoid talking about them. I mean, has anything good ever come from that conversation? It’s one thing to talk about it with a partner with whom you’re considering getting serious, but otherwise, keep it a mystery. Besides, I think it’s sexy to pretend you and your random hookup are the only two people you’ve ever been with.

Most of all, do not let your body count define you in the strange culture in which we live that is somehow at the intersection of hookup and purity culture. Your future spouse shouldn’t care about your past and, if they’re your sexual equal, their number won’t be far off. 

Diana Paradise’s body count is 0 ;)