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I was only 19—had I gotten pregnant, my entire life would have been narrowed to what I saw as two options: impoverishing and tremendously difficult single-motherhood, or kill what I knew to be my own child. Between such dread, confusion, and pain, hooking up had made my life hellish.

The USP: Gives you the chance to tell your friends (rather than strangers) that you want to sleep with them.The idea of the 21st century woman making her own sexual narrative sounded enticing. The real clincher seems so cliche in retrospect: the women who had no-strings-attached sex enjoyed enviable celebrity among men. I think I met the guy at a theme park, and I invited him to meet me at a club. He was concerned and called the next day to see if I was okay. I remember feeling smug about it, as if in successfully caring less than him I had somehow “won” the game.But we didn’t even make it inside—I wasn’t interested in that. I proceeded to hook up with many more men in short order, chasing an illusive thrill. Most of the guys couldn’t tell the difference between moans of pleasure and groans of pain, or didn’t care.But it felt weird and fake and, as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t.This sexual narrative was supposed to assert my autonomy, but I felt anything but empowered after a condom mishap.