Navigating Cultural Shifts in Casual Sex
By: Rachel Raven
Tags: Relationships, Modern Sex, Sexuality, Culture, Self

I became sexually active a few decades later, so I missed this sexual revolution. Regardless, I still had access to birth control and abortions, giving me the freedom heralded in by the previous generation. I’m at the tail end of Generation X, so my sex life has gone through our most recent cultural shift in terms of sexuality. This shift heralded a whole new modern conception of sexual interaction. We see a wider notion of gender, sexual identity, relationships, and sexuality than ever before.

I decided to show him I could escape the oppressing ideals of monogamy. I was going to go on a search for a “zipless fuck”

This cultural shift took place partly because of rapid developments in technology, particularly social media. Also, the political climate has shifted and the newer generation is open to a more expanded notion of what it means to be a sexual being. The binaries and limits imposed on earlier generations are imploding. And, I haven’t been immune to the results of this newer sexual revolution. My sexual interactions have greatly changed over that time.

When I first started to have sexual interactions in my twenties, it was before the shift got into full swing. However, I still had the opportunity for “zipless fucks.” One particular such encounter taught me a lot about my place in terms of sexuality in this modern era.

It was a few months after the turn of the next century, where I had survived the threat of Y2K and entered into a new decade wide-eyed and hopeful. My boyfriend and I fought one night. It had exploded out of our umpteenth discussion of polyamory. Polyamory was on the fringes at this time. However, many people of my generation were beginning to challenge what was seen as the presupposed notion that we were all eventually going to live in marital bliss. He was wanting us to give it a try, I was resistant.

It got heated, and like always, he emotionally withdrew and I was left fuming. So, I decided to show him I could escape the oppressing ideals of monogamy. I was going to go on a search for a “zipless fuck,” which I planned on telling him about afterward. I wanted to see if he could put aside any feelings of jealousy because, as he said, “no one should limit another person’s sexual interactions just because they are in a relationship.”

The only place I could think of to go to was a dance club a few streets over from our apartment. I had noticed it whenever we had tacos at the Mexican restaurant next door. The strobe lights would bleed out of the dark windows, and you could feel the pulsing beat when you walked by. It was a first: going alone to somewhere so pulsing with sexual energy. No one was there to hold my hand — or protect me. How’s that for a sexually strong and independent woman, I told myself.

Why was I there with this stranger? What was I trying to prove?

I marched in, full of tentative courage, and I sat at the bar. My resolve was feeling shaky now. Loneliness washed over me as I watched people dance. Everyone seemed paired up. I was saved from feeling sorry for myself when a man sat down next to me. He was African American, over six-foot, with huge muscles busting out of a white shirt. His muscular thighs strained against black dress pants. He had a shaved head. He was the complete opposite of my long-haired hippie boyfriend, Chris, who had gone to an elite college that was 99 percent white. Chris was lithe, not much taller than me. He dressed in scratchy ponchos and wore sandals with white socks. I felt comfortable in his arms but never man-handled.

This guy at the bar looked like he could really handle me.

We didn’t talk at all in the club. No exchange of formalities, just us next to each other, the bass from the speakers subtly rocking our bodies closer and closer together. After about twenty minutes like this, the sexual tension was almost unbearable. Finally, he asked me to come back to his hotel room. He explained he was in town for one night. I heard no strings attached. A zipless fuck.

Our clothes came off, leaving me in a black bra and panties and him completely nude. He had very little hair on his chest and back. Another stark contrast to my boyfriend.

I immediately started to pleasure him, my mouth gently taking him in.

While doing this, I noticed the bare, vaguely depressing, hotel room. I thought about the warm bed I could be in, sleeping next to my boyfriend. Why was I there with this stranger? What was I trying to prove?

I decided right then and there I didn’t want to do anything more than give this man oral sex. I felt a little scared, realizing that no one knew where I was. Anything could happen. The zipless fuck could have consequences after all. So, I decided to hurry this up as much as I could. Luckily, he obliged.

However, now that guy was relaxed and satisfied, he got talkative, reaching towards me longingly as I started to put my clothes back on. I pushed him away. I wanted to make it clear that I was done. He then reached for his wallet on the nightstand, and it crossed my mind that he was going to offer to pay me. But, instead, he took out a photograph of his toddler son. He seemed to wait for my response, all the while explaining how he was a single dad. This was a rare business trip away from his little boy.

Suddenly, this guy was a real person, with real needs and wants and dreams. He wanted to connect with me as another human being.

He wanted intimacy.

I had wanted a break from my relationship. A break from talking and convincing and explaining and everything that twenty-something-pseudo-intellectual-newly-college-graduates are prone to do. But, despite my intent that I had earlier, I didn’t have sex with this stranger. I got up, left, got in my car, and drove home.

I didn’t tell my boyfriend what had happened. I thought he would see the failed attempt to have sex with someone other than him as evidence that I was somehow flawed. How I wasn’t enlightened sexually. Like casual sex with a stranger would be some badge of sexual openness.

But, my not consummating the encounter with vaginal sex had nothing to do with my objections to polyamory. Instead, it would have to do with this stranger wanting to be seen for who he was, and that prevented me from fulfilling my desire for a zipless fuck.