He kept scheduling sex like it was a meeting – I hated it

‘7:00pm tonight, yes?’

I sighed at this text from my boyfriend Adam*.

He wasn’t scheduling a date, and we weren’t going anywhere exciting. My favourite dress was not going to be worn and no one was handing me flowers.

This was scheduled sex.

And I hated it.

It started off as a suggestion to have more sex after we realised we weren’t really getting down and dirty as often as we wanted.

But it turned into a chore, and I needed out.

I met Adam on Tinder and we started dating just after lockdown in 2021, hoping to find the intimacy we so desperately lacked during COVID’s strict (but necessary) rules.

So when we first got together, we were all over each other. 

The first date was at my apartment, and we were instantly on my bed, ripping our clothes off and running our hands all over each other. Our mouths were connected, permanently, it seemed, for the rest of the night.

And it was glorious. I needed that touch more than anything.

But Adam wasn’t just a one night stand – we got on really well and in no time, we started dating officially. I can see now, looking back that a lot of the decisions were made off the back of being deprived of human intimacy, but he moved in a month later.

My friends were astonished, but it made sense to us. We just really liked each other and had lots of sex, which was important at the time.

Soon, however, we noticed that we kept parts of ourselves from each other, in an attempt to hide our insecurities. He, it turned out, had quite a few.

He was very anal about objects having a ‘home’ in the apartment. For e.g. the keys had to have a bowl and the keys had to go in them every day. The letter had to have a tray and they had to go in the recycling when I was done rolling my eyes at the bills.

When it wasn’t, he’d get annoyed and passive aggressively put my keys in the bowl, ‘until I would learn’. Like you would a dog.

In many ways, this was fine – it’s nice to have an organised house – but he wasn’t just anal, a part of that personality came with a sense of prudishness. Which was so strange considering we met just to have sex. Maybe it was our lockdown brains that created that intense need for touch, because he stopped very suddenly two months into him moving in.

I noticed he was acting differently when he picked up my used underwear from the floor and grimaced at it, as if it was nuclear. A month ago he was swallowing the contents of it from my body, so I wasn’t sure where the disgust now came from.

A few days after this, I raised my need for wanting to have sex with him – I did it using naughty talk – but he jumped back from me after I whispered some sexy words in his ear.

‘Don’t say d*** that’s just crude!’

I laughed, obviously, like a normal person would, because this must have been a joke right?

He turned away and left the room, leaving me speechless. It felt like I had no idea who I was dating or living with.

I followed him and sat him down in the bedroom – this needed a long talk, because without communication, our relationship would be more than over. It would be pointless.

I told him how I was feeling and that I didn’t realise he found certain words crude. He sighed – the stress of living with someone so unorganised had thrown him, apparently. I took a deep breath to try and get past that comment and made a suggestion.

‘You like to organise – let’s schedule in sex’.

I didn’t realise how much I would regret saying that.

He immediately perked up, and took out his diary to look at the ‘best nights’. I was quite frankly astonished at how quickly it turned me off, but I was determined. I had to make this work, I told my friends it was a good idea for him to move in one month into the relationship, I can’t be proved wrong this quickly.

So, I smiled, gave him some dates and scheduled sex began.

At first, it was okay – we had sex on days we were both at home and free. It was intimate and nice. Then eventually, it was booked on days he would be rushing home from work, or I would be coming back from a night out. 

And the intimacy was missing.

Three weeks into this scheduled sex, I hated it. He began coming to bed, not speaking, having sex, and going to sleep. He stopped bothering me orgasm.

It became a task that he had to complete and all the fun and excitement was taken out of it. I would turn up, like to a doctor’s appointment, and open wide.

So, I had to bite the bullet.

‘No’, I text back to him after his 7pm suggestion.

I got question marks as a response, which I felt was dismissive.

‘I can’t do this anymore Adam, it’s over. Come home after work and collect your things’.

His response: ‘fine’.

It was over a long time ago, but neither of us admitted it.

We had rushed into something because the world was on fire, and so were our bodies, but when it died down, we realised we did not like each other at all.

He came home, collected his things and left.

I opened Tinder and invited someone around for spontaneous sex – this time, he was leaving right after, not moving in.

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