How many sexual partners have you had?
This is one of those rude and ridiculous questions vanilla people repeatedly ask one another as they fuck their way through their early twenties.
While the answer means next to nothing, the question itself speaks volumes about a middle-minded American sexuality built on little more than thinly veiled puritanical moralism and quantity-over-quality Costco consumerism.
Retail or wholesale, do you fuck in bulk? How many, indeed.
It used to piss me off. There was a time when being asked a question this tacky would start some shit. Nowadays, I regard it with mild amusement.
Sure, it’s a vulgar question, but if it’s coming from a place of emotional virginity rather than general douchebaggery, I try not to be mean about it. After all, the lifetime average for women in this country is only six sexual partners. I’ve had weekends bigger than that.
The honest truth is I have no idea how many sexual partners I’ve had. Even if you gave me an objective definition of what constituted a sexual partner, I still wouldn’t have the slightest clue, and really, what’s the point of some vague approximation?
Once you’re outside the realm of easily remembered single digits, keeping a running tally of sexual statistics is more than just a little bit creepy. It’s also a red flag that says you’ve got something rather unhealthy to prove.
Besides, if you listen closely, no one is ever really asking for a number. At best, someone wants to know if they’re special. At worst, someone wants to know if you’re a whore. Either way, fuck the numbers, I can answer honestly.
No, you’re not special, and no, I’m not a whore.