Hot Gauze Summer

I read entirely too much news. And when I say "news", I of course mean "blatant clickbait stories that are promoted on Twitter until they trend". In 2021, when COVID was allegedly "finally over", I found that a disturbing number of these stories were variations on the theme of people frantically and insistently pursuing casual sex after a year of being home alone. Terms like "hot girl summer", "summer of love", “sexually charged”, “sexplosion”, “post-COVID dating tsunami”, and “Big Summer Sex Boom” proliferated all over the internet for what felt like months. 

It seemed weird to me that the media took it as a truth universally acknowledged that anyone who happens to be single must be in want of an endless parade of random sexual partners for the foreseeable future post-COVID. 

Before you dismiss this as me being an old fogey, let me assure you that there was never a single moment in my life, however long ago, when I thought casual sex with strangers EVER sounded fun, let alone wise. I don’t have anything against sex. I’m actually strongly in favor of it! But I find it infinitely more pleasant in the context of an actual relationship, where there is trust and emotional security.

I’m also not criticizing those who want indiscriminate sexual encounters with a series of strangers! If you wanna roam the world in tear-away pants, frantically humping the air and hoping someone with your preferred set of genitals puts themselves in your way, godspeed! I just want society to acknowledge that even after the lonely, terrifying isolation of a pandemic, some of us still want to make a real human connection with one other person. And then get up to all kinds of shenanigans with that one other person.

I didn't understand why every twenty-something journalist on Earth seemed to anticipate an orgiastic summer of beautiful people, naked and glistening, bouncing from partner to partner in a furious effort to release their “pent-up sexual energy”, to the erasure of those who are still trying to shed the Pandemic Pounds and have to step over their frantic copulation on our evening jogs. Dating was already hard enough. Now I also have to wade through a sea of anonymous thrusting pelvises in a potentially futile effort to locate one (1) straight dude that will smile and say “Hello!” before sending a woman a .zip file containing 3500 images of his erect penis taken from various angles?!? THERE ARE 7.7 BILLION HUMAN BEINGS ON THIS PLANET! I CANNOT BE THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS BETTER THINGS TO DO THAN “SCREW STRANGERS TIL I NEED MEDICAL ATTENTION FOR THE CHAFING”!

Look: in May of 2021, I got a nosebleed. It was the first nosebleed I’ve ever had. I’m always convinced that any symptom I get is 1) indicative of a terminal illness and 2) somehow 100% my own fault. And if I’m convinced I’m guiltily dying every time my tummy hurts, you can imagine how well I handled the endless torrent of blood pouring from my nose and mouth as I drove home from my grocery pickup. It was all I could do not to have a full-blown panic attack. As a single person, it was also one of those frustrating moments when I REALLY could have used a partner - someone who could think straight, make some phone calls, drive the car, or Google a damn symptom…and all I had was myself. And myself - lest we forget - was bleeding profusely out of her face at the time. I tried to make a telemedicine appointment, but I couldn’t use my phone’s touchscreen effectively because it was covered in blood. In the end, I went to the ER because, basically, I couldn’t think clearly and I didn’t know what else to do and I just needed it to STOP. 

Sitting in the waiting area, I was pinching a blood-soaked towel to my face, head tilted skyward, focusing all my mental strength on NOT sobbing in public. Fun fact: you’re not supposed to tilt your head back for a nosebleed, even though that’s what you’ve seen in countless TV shows and movies! You’re supposed to tilt your head forward, so the blood pools in your nose rather than running down your throat to your stomach. When the doctor saw me, he came across the waiting room, introduced himself, asked some brief questions. He showed me how I should be holding my head, and where I should be pinching my nose. I was doing a good job of not actually crying, but I suspect my baffled terror was still evident, because he then put his hand on my shoulder, squeezed gently, and said, “Don’t worry. We’re gonna take care of you.”

After a year of only seeing people on screens or from six feet away, that doctor’s hand on my shoulder was the most wonderful, comforting thing I could imagine. That’s all I really needed. That was the connection I had missed while I was holed up in my apartment, flicking my eyes from my work PC to my TV screen to my phone screen to my iPad screen… 

I’m not in the business of telling anyone else what they should want, let alone what they DO want. Most of the time I don’t even know what the hell I want. And I’m sure there are a lot of people who truly just want a thousand dopamine hits off the orgasm machine in their undies every summer for the rest of their lives, but I suspect that a lot of other people want human connection back. The doctor’s hand on your shoulder. The checkout girl who compliments your choice of cookies. The hair salon receptionist who asks you to show her how to set up Apple Pay on her watch.  

If we happen to meet someone wonderful along the way and get some MA-rated action out of it, so much the better! But Glassy-Eyed Sex Automaton Summer isn’t the only option, and I’m here to tell you it’s OK if you want to opt out.