As a single girl in college, living in a small college town, recycling is important to me. I put my bottles and papers in the designated bins and also scroll through my contact list late at night when I need to scratch my proverbial itch. I recycle exes, hookups, friends with benefits and really any sex partner that I’ve deemed worthy enough to have an afterlife.
To recycle your favorite sex partner is doing your part to save energy so that you can focus on the more important factors in your life. It is difficult enough without the constant worry of how you are going to handle your human desire. And to have a contact list full of potential bed buddies is a luxury that must be explored. It is a massive waste of a perfect, untapped resource.
I like to reuse the hookups I enjoyed the most — the carefree and spontaneous hookups that ended without any malice or spite, the ones that rank on my top 10 adult sleepovers. Those are the most reuse worthy. That’s the name you want to press on at 3 a.m. when all else has failed.
My other favorite recyclable is the overtly attractive hook up, the one that you are the most proud of snagging and banging — we all have those. The chemistry is obviously eminent and is ready to recycle, no need to butter up with tedious foreplay. The best thing about this recyclable is that there are no ties and no emotions to get in the way of the matter at hand. The connection probably never was established and never will be and that’s fine, since they’re just your recyclable, your good time.
My favorite reusable pleasure is a friend from high school, with green eyes, dark hair and the ability to carry me around — he is perfect. When in town, he is my go to recyclable. With him, there is always a good conversation pertaining to nothing serious and then the actual act. After, it’s a good “see you later,” and that’s it. It is, in essence, the perfect demonstration of recycle, reduce, reuse. The better the terms, the shorter the conversations, the better the sex.
Through my couple of years of being single and implicating the recycle, reduce, reuse routine, I have also accidentally recycled exes that should have been either composted or thrown promptly into the trash.
These non–recyclables can be designated into the discard bin as soon as you realize that you are emotionally scarred or exhausted by them. I find that my exes from two or more years induce this in me, since I once tried to recycle a very prominent ex and it got messy fast. The sex was great and everything was going accordingly. But emotions were very much present — that is not the ideal circumstance for a reusable ex.
To deem an ex worthy of the recycle bin and the late-night booty call attempt is risky. I have never executed this perfectly, but have faith that most people can. All in all, the ex just cannot be recent. You do not want residual feelings to spill into your reusing ventures.
Consider using exes from a separate sphere of your life, someone who has his or her own life and won’t intrude on yours. With no bitter feelings and a mutual desire for one another, recycling should be made obscenely simple.
To recycle and reuse does not mean to permanently keep in your life. Recycling relationships is something that can be saved for an entirely different column. In this world of ex and ex sex, to recycle means to keep around for intercourse. They know what you want and how you want it. It is how most college kids can contribute to the recycle, reduce, reuse movement.
MARISSA HERRERA can be reached for sexual inquiries at email@example.com.