In a city of unlimited options, every New York animal has the gateway to an abundance of food, entertainment, and sex—more sex than any promiscuous television character could handle. From one-night stands to sex delivered by OkCupid’s arrow, there’s no telling how many people New Yorkers experience in any given week. Each of these encounters highlight one of the most interesting components of sex: who our partner, regardless of our relationship, becomes after sex.
I had sex for the first time when I was sixteen with a guy we’ll call Brian. Hi Mom! Subsequently, this was also the first post-sex experience I had. Brian was a few years older than me, lived in NYC, and already owned his own business. I felt like Ivana and he was my Donald Trump. Brian and I dated for a summer in which I snuck away to spend every day and night with him. Brian was, for the most part, a cold, cynical, and distant person. He barely had time for family or friends, spoke about life in terms of business, and would diminish any creative part of me. Looking back, sex with Brian was similar to his personality, uninspiring and made me wonder why the late-night segments on HBO were far more interesting. However, who Brian became after sex was noteworthy. In contrast to his ice behavior, Brian’s post-sex nature was affectionate—almost too much. He’d crash his 6’2 frame over my 5’7 body and tell me he wanted to live together and get married.
Moments after these sex-induced statements, he’d fall asleep. It was as if he was one of my drunken sixteen-year-old friends: blabbering about love and then asleep within minutes. But similar to my hung over friends, he’d wake up without any hint of the person he was the night before. Eventually, this dual personality of his became too much for me and when the summer ended, so did our relationship.
Fast-forward a few guys and years and a cyber-friend is staying for the weekend.
We’ll call him Aaron. Aaron was similar in age and his appearance fulfilled every Marilyn Manson fantasy I ever had. For a weekend, I was going to be Dita Von Teese if it killed me. Aaron arrived on Friday with the plans to party all night (a complete contrast with my plan to work). When he returned from partying, Aaron stumbled into my apartment reeking of alcohol but still looking as picturesque as he did when he left. It only took a few minutes before our bodies were tossing around in my queen-sized bed.
Once our bodies collapsed, Aaron’s post-sex nature instantly reduced him to a body inhabiting half of the bed. For the remainder of the night and his stay, Aaron became distant and vague when it came to any physical act occurring. The slightest brush against one another induced a sense of discomfort. This uneasiness was similar to being the last kid picked to play in Gym class: embarrassing. I wished I could leave. Unfortunately, this was my bedroom and all I could do was wait for him to leave. Monday came and he was soon gone. But like all good cyber friendships-turned-hookups, we still exist in one another’s Instagram feeds.
Akin to my New York spirit, I could share a few more intimate encounters: the one who needed to shower immediately afterwards or the one who would make me move so far to the other side of the bed that I was basically hanging off. But no matter who it is or how the sex was, people always show you a part of themselves after they are intimate with you. It may be the only time you’ll ever see it or it’ll be who they become for the remainder of your time with them. Either way, it begs to make us wonder, who do we become after we’ve had sex?
By: Johnny Cassanova