I held on to my virginity for a ridiculously long time. At first I was convinced that I couldn't have sex with someone I didn't love. It just seemed inconceivable. All those romance novels taught me that my body must only be shared within the context of “love”. I never dreamed of the big wedding or what my wedding dress might look like or any of that nonsense. There just had to be love, even if it was one sided (on my part). After I finally realized that I couldn't wait for love any longer, I began my slutty adventures. I worried that I wouldn't be able to separate sex and love; that I wouldn't be able to fuck 'like a man' (sorry not sorry for the sweeping generalization). I needn't have worried. As long as I'm not emotionally vested, sex for me is 'just fucking'.
However, I'm not above getting my brain scrambled from great sex. And maybe it's all that oxytocin, but I've found myself entertaining some idiotic notions after a particularly great hookup. Luckily, those stellar hookups are few and far between (see my Candy Corn entry). Because I am a total Girlzilla (google it), and particularly susceptible to a pretty face and sweet words, I must be super vigilant as to not fall arse-over-teakettle for guys that know all the right things to say and do.
I wish I could be like those women who manage to fall for the men who fall for them. I have an FWB who has fallen in love with me (or so he says). As much as I would like to feel more for him, I can't. I can fake an orgasm but not a love connection.