In Defense Of Ex Sex


Ex Sex
Having sex with your ex-husband: good idea? One woman tells her ex sex story.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that "sex with an ex" falls somewhere between "crush on a co-worker" and "affair with a married man" on the great Don't Go There continuum—an emotional quagmire, best avoided if you know what's good for you. You're playing with fire, psychologists admonish would-be repeat offenders in their advice columns and call-in shows. It will only bring back a flood of emotions. Find someone new and keep that door shut, girlfriend. Nerve: Sex, Lies & Pubic Hair On The First Date

With all due respect, I think the advice columnists are wrong: breakup sex is way underrated. Sure, it has the potential to be misleading and self-destructive, but so does a one-night stand with a total stranger. Under the right circumstances, I'd even argue that one last round in the sack can be an essential, healthy step towards the Holy Grail of all breakups: closure. Take it from me. I slept with my ex-husband three months after our divorce was final, and it was one of the best decisions of my life. Nerve: Why I Get Sloppy Drunk On Dates

He and I had been lovers all through college and married the month after graduation. From then it took us three rocky years to admit that somehow the unthinkable had happened—we had woken up from the fairy tale as unexceptional twenty-five-year olds who fought more than we should, hardly ever had sex, and no longer had much of anything in common. Despite a mutual decision to sever ties, the incision was far from clean. I moved to California, and in my absence, he took up with my best friend. I broke down, spent a month in bed, and when I finally emerged from my gauzy stupor I told him to stop calling me. Months passed when our only communication was brisk emails about practicalities. Slowly, tremblingly, I established a separate life for myself thousands of miles away from him. It was only after all the paperwork had been stamped and filed, and my life had started to take recognizable shape, that I was able to admit to myself that I missed him. Nerve: How The Financial Crisis Ruined My Love Life