
The last time I was single – way back in 2011 – bodycon dresses were still in fashion, Julia Gillard was still Prime Minister and Netflix didn’t exist in Australia (let alone 'Netflix and chill').
I was 18 when I met and moved in with my ex-partner in Melbourne. Ten years, several moves and a big chunk of adulthood later, it’s all over.
We split up at the start of the year and every aspect of my life has changed, not least: my sex life.
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My ex and I had had nice, vanilla, hetero sex. Until we didn’t. Until it dried up and ceased to exist no matter what lingerie I wore, no matter how dirty I talked, no matter how hard I tried.
Before we called it quits, we were having sex once every couple of months, and it was the same routine we’d done for the past decade: him on top, me on top, him satisfied, me not.
Sex was a chore, an obligation, something to tick off the to-do list. There was no spontaneity or passion.
We’d never experimented with toys or role-playing, hadn’t watched porn together, or even really talked about what we wanted. Foreplay was obligatory, oral was out of the question, and my self-esteem was at an all-time low.