The Man Diet: One woman’s quest to end bad romance. Zoe Strimpel

this rule:

      Pre-Man Diet

      I had no ‘say no to NSA’ policy in place at all. I knew it didn’t make me particularly happy, but I thought it was an essential part of my single-woman persona – that of the liberal, adventurous, sexual singleton. My romps made for great stories but too often they smacked of adventure for adventure’s sake. This, I think, is because my view on sex was: ‘Why not?’ rather than ‘Why?’

      How I did it

      All I did was think about it more. I reflected on the simple idea that going through the motions – albeit often pleasurably, or at least excitingly – wasn’t really how sex was meant to be. That disconnecting real intimacy from physical intimacy probably wasn’t the best I could do. It’s amazing how much just thinking can achieve – in merely reflecting on this topic I began to be far more choosy. Not because I was depriving myself of anything – just because I stopped feeling like having such a simplistic approach to sex, since I am not a simple person. Nor are you.

      The other thing that kept and still keeps me in check is this question: ‘Do I want to be exhausted tomorrow?’ Let’s be honest – NSA sex often involves unplanned sleepovers with next to no sleep involved. On weeknights they’re lethal. On weekends, pretty sad if you had any plans to do things the next day.

      Specifically, if a guy came along and it was on the cards, I would …

      • Just leave. If he wanted my number, great. If not – had I lost anything? Probably not, apart from a notch.

      • If something was happening, like a smooch, I’d just extricate myself. ‘It’s getting late’ or ‘I need to take the Tube’.

      • I considered very carefully how I wanted to feel the next day. Usually, the desire to be alert and well rather than wrecked and pointlessly buzzed triumphed.

      How it felt

      Good. Very good in fact. I felt in control, and very clearly that I was respecting myself. And, banal as it sounds, I also felt smug at saving myself a lot of trouble (attachment to guys who were far from appropriate; potential worries over STDs and so on). Did I feel deprived of lots of wild no-strings sex? Not for a good while. Which brings me to …

      What I let through the cracks

      I find going for very long periods without any physical intimacy rather tricky – many women do. And so, every now and then, I let situations take their course – or even, in (usually intoxicated) extremis create the situations. I’m not sure I feel better after, but I feel different. It shifts my energy. But allowing for NSA is a last resort.

      And now?

      I try not to partake in NSA sex. It seems unsatisfying. And upsetting in subtle ways if it goes nowhere or is with someone below par. I used to call this kind of thing ‘fun’ – now I’m more careful with my definition of fun. When desire for something to happen takes over, I go into it with eyes wide open, but even being realistic doesn’t necessarily help – a little part of you always either wants sex to be meaningful or thinks it will go somewhere.

      SOS!

      If you’ve had one NSA sex experience after an empowered run of dieting, you’re either feeling a) sated or b) remarkably shitty. Well, take hope from the fact that if it’s the first, you were able to enjoy it exactly because of a period of declining it (the Man Diet) and your strength and self-esteem has risen. If b) you now know you’re not missing anything even remotely great by saying no to NSA sex and you’re very much on the right track with this rule. Here’s what else:

      • Don’t beat yourself up about it. You haven’t done anything wrong – you’ve just given yourself a bit of short shrift. You will either be feeling a naturally negative reaction, which is punishment enough – or you’ll be moving on with your life. Do the latter, but don’t think, ‘That didn’t fuck me up, I’m going to do it all the time!’ Because that would be a pointless back step. And a sure-fire way to feel fucked up (possibly again, depending on your past).

      • If you feel post-sex strings, acknowledge them to your heart’s content but there’s no point making the whole thing worse by prostrating yourself at the man’s feet. If it was NSA going into it, it was almost certainly NSA to him and will remain so.

      • If, by chance, the no-strings part of the sex came with heavy boozing and lax protection, don’t brush it under the carpet. Go along to the clinic in three months (the HIV incubation period – yes, sex can have a long afterlife), and make sure you’re good to go.

       Rule Number 2 Cut Down on the Booze

      You need this rule if …

      • Once you start, you can’t stop.

      • The bulk of your sexual encounters as a single woman follow excessive drinking.

      • You can’t imagine not drinking on a date.

      • You worry about being boring when sober.

      • You think you only come alive sexually after a bottle.

      • You frequently do things with men when inebriated that you later regret.

      • Your big nights out involve necessary consumption of ten times the government’s recommended weekly number of units.

      • Your hangovers trouble you far more than ‘my head hurts’.

      • You worry that your boozing is affecting your overall health and mental alertness.

      Goes well with …

      • Refuse to Have NSA Sex

      • Dwell on Your Sense of Self

      • Do Something Lofty

      • Do Not Pursue

      • Know Your Obstacles

      Sarah’s alarm went off. She couldn’t bear the task in hand: getting up and going to work. She prolonged the agony of getting out of bed by trying to decide what was most horrible about her current situation. Was it her physical state – pounding heart, vile aftertaste of red wine sharpened with gin from the G&Ts she’d thought were a good nightcap, inflamed eye sockets and sharp head pain? Or was it the inevitable mental distress that would descend when events from the night before came creeping back?

      Her eyes are still closed, her alarm still beeping. Sarah’s normally a cheerful, emotionally stable woman. But when she wakes up like this, which she does no more than any of her friends or the other millions of women in the UK who occasionally binge drink, she’s not cheerful, or even okay. She feels an intense horror at herself; dread at what she might have done. Or has done. She pictures a massive black well out of which she must pull herself in order to regain her hold on life.

      What happened the night before …

      In this case, what Sarah had done wasn’t particularly bad, but it was the fact that she’d been making a habit of it. The night before had started out as work drinks; some lawyer contacts had hired a space at a bar for a group of her colleagues. A bottle of wine per person was already waiting for them on the table, along with some nibbles. It went fairly rapidly; and suddenly it was closing time. Feeling a naughty pulse rise in her – the desire to make some kind of trouble for herself involving men – she decided to see what she could rustle up. She wanted sex; she felt reckless, wild, her romantic dissatisfaction and fragile ego about to be pummelled under a wave of alcoholic courage.

      It was a multi-pronged attack: first, she dispatched a few texts to men she’d either had something with before, or thought she could have something with now. She didn’t like any of them enough to see them when sober. Then, she started homing in on the seemingly interesting candidates that were out with her. Keeping up this dual-pronged attack, she eventually made headway. None of her textees replied – something that bothered her but that she could deal with in the morning. But thank God, one of the guys that