In defense of rebound sex

Some people might say that three days after the “love of my life” dumped me was too early to go on a date. After all, my happiness felt like it had drained out of me like a blood transfusion gone horribly wrong. And yet, I was overcome with all these negative emotions that made me feel so alert and alive. I had two options: I could sit at home with my feelings, or I could pack them into a bag along with my clothes, and take my scheduled trip to Portland, the perfect setting for rebound sex.

Don’t get me wrong; I was devastated to lose a person who answered my multiple calls a day, and who called me whenever I skipped this usual pattern of contact. He listened to me ramble about life’s joys and mysteries, loved to banter, and actually seemed to enjoy my thoughts. But I was done being the romantic court jester to the King of Keeping Things Casual. I knew the best way to fight my deepest, most undesirable feelings for him was to follow my animalistic urges for someone else. Rebound sex gets a bad rap because heartbreak is emotionally crippling and makes it impossible to show up at your best, but it also liberated me to live like my most carefree self.

Conscious rebounding can rewrite the rules we’ve learned about heartbreak

Nowadays, one of the kinkiest things you can be in the dating world is a hopeless romantic. The guys I went out with were more likely to admit to anything, other than the desperate, human desire to fall in love. I was the opposite. I led with my heart, and now had no problem admitting to potential partners that it was broken. In Portland, on vacation, after sucking the fun out of a group dinner with my sadness, I returned to my Cascada hotel room to find a hookup to solidify how emotionally rejuvenating and validating rebound sex with the right person can be. Typically, in my experience, potential hookups only asked, “How are you?” to initiate conversations as a gesture signaling a desire for sex, not expecting a genuine response. But this time I replied, “Sad!”

“Sucks. Been there,” Matt messaged upon learning I was dumped. “Want some company? ;)”

“As long as you don’t mind hearing me talk about it,” I replied and ordered my Lyft.

Rebound sex is often frowned upon as complicated and messy. While this can be true, I feel our cultural objections to rebounding mostly exist because of how the emotionally afflicted tend to be portrayed in popular culture: as blind to their egos, or completely shocked by the breakup. These portrayals often involve folks who don’t actually want sex but are using it to fill a void or find a replacement for their ex. Some fail to accept that someone they opened themselves up to decided they’d be better off without them, and the chaotic nature of rebounding stems from denial. 

Then there’s the perception that rebound sex exists only for revenge. On the contrary, when it came to my own heartbreak, I felt grateful to have finally fallen in love and squeezed every moment I could out of it. I was even more blessed that it happened at an age when I knew my worth. Its ending didn’t take away from that. 

I initially pursued rebound sex to find some sort of pleasure in such gloomy days, and to mark the beginning of my post-breakup era. I didn’t imagine I’d change into a whole new “me” interacting with partners online.  

Leading with radical honesty helped me find a partner who wanted to kiss my emotional wounds—and me 

We often assume that in rebound sex, the reboundee is unaware of what’s happening. But I’d argue that today many of us are far more honest, accepting, and self-aware than our predecessors; we grew up with more access to dating wisdom and the empowerment that comes with an open mind. While my ex-situationship and I might not have been the exception to the rule, getting under Matt to get over my ex was anything but under the table. We both knew exactly what we were there for.

On my way to meet Matt, I came to terms with the fact that I had put my dating life on hold waiting for stone to turn to gold. I became more angry than sad that the man I loved didn’t value everything I wanted to offer him. I transmuted my rage into sexual energy like a brokenhearted alchemist. Registered psychotherapist Adam Goldhopf told me that heartbreak can impact libido very differently depending on the person. Rebound sex is less about a universal reaction to loss, and more about how someone’s particular nervous system responds to it.

“For some, the emotional intensity, attachment activation, or desire for reassurance can stimulate the accelerator, increasing sexual energy and making rebound sex feel compelling,” Goldhopf said. “For others, heartbreak activates the brakes, through grief, rejection, depressive symptoms, or loss of emotional safety, which can significantly dampen libido.” My nervous system had slammed the accelerator on my sex drive.  

Matthew, as I called him to spice up the moment, seemed to enjoy it when I shoved him onto the bed, tenderly grabbed his hair, and bit his lip. I was passionate with him, without the slightest care as to whether I would mean anything to him tomorrow. A rare and powerful position for a hopeless romantic like me to find themselves in. I was conscious that lust only served as a distraction from my heartache. Matthew’s tongue in my mouth seemed to be the only thing that shut me up. My pain felt easier to deal with when paired with the exhilaration of a new man in a new city. Life could change in an instant when I didn’t chain myself to misery. Time might be the only cure for a breakup, but giving myself to a kind, hot lover helped me remember that the proverb about fish in the sea is best experienced in practice. 

Heartbreak is a powerful source of energy  

The most thrilling part of my rebound sex ironically happened when I left; it was the first time an online hookup had asked me to come back the same evening. Matthew said he was open to just watching a movie if I didn’t want to have more sex, and I had a full body emotional orgasm in the car back to his place. Gay hookup culture had previously made my pursuit of connection feel like a red flag. Here was someone who was almost definitely not my soulmate, but he was hot, kind, and most of all, he liked me at my worst. For the first time in my life, this was enough. 

In bed with Matthew once again, I cried a little talking about my unrequited love and how it had been my first experience loving someone. We proceeded to have sex like wild apes, and it seemed amazing to me how we could compartmentalize so much of ourselves without feeling like we were holding back. Matthew was so much better looking, taller, and more muscular than the guy I cried about, and yet that didn’t stop my yearning for my ex. But it certainly cemented a perspective I had hoped to be true: the best was yet to come, even if we both already had—multiple times. 

I never expected that getting my heart broken would make me feel so alive. I was able to channel this energy with a man who not only sympathized but wanted to please me. Our chemistry was so strong, and I was delighted to see that the shameless vulnerability which might repel one person enamored another. Of course, the fact that I was a visitor made it easy to slip in and out of this idyllic fairytale without being complicated by expectations. 

Rebound sex won’t change your reality

After uncovering my rebounding desires, I’ve realized that, for me, rebound sex requires a specific mental state: one where I feel truly ready, willing, and able to look to the future. Back home, I was still in the process of falling out of love with the wrong man. Meeting more people in order to now find the right one no longer felt as daunting, though. Unfortunately, I couldn’t replicate the fiery energy or shamelessness I’d experienced with Matt, so I planned a trip to Cleveland with a long-lost-ex-turned-friend to see if rebounding might resuscitate a spark. I knew I had been the one who got away for Ryan, so he didn’t hesitate. I chose Cleveland purely because Betty White had starred in Hot in Cleveland, and Ryan wanted to spend time with me enough that this made sense to him too. 

After catching a show at Playhouse Square, followed by dinner, I lay down in the hotel bed next to Ryan, and was nowhere close to wanting to be intimate. I thanked God I had insisted on separate rooms. I felt comfortable with him in the least romantic ways and realized that maybe the spark of rebound sex relied too heavily on newness and freshness to work on an old romance. So I went and danced my heart out at Twist Social Club, a gay bar which served as another reminder that the experiences I loved most didn’t require a plus one. 

I had caught lightning in a bottle with Matt in Portland and knew better than to stress myself silly trying to replicate this magic. It was probably the best sex I’d ever had. I couldn't decipher how much of that had to do with Matt himself. Mingling with men in the Cleveland club, I felt how much I still care about the things my former situationship had so beautifully checked off my “looking-for” list: a youthful spirit, a humble nature despite a fabulous job, and a deep care for his family. I felt hopeful I could find someone like that to love, and be loved by. 

My experience with rebound sex left such a lasting impression on me because it helped me to experiment outside my typical identity in dating—less hung up on what others think, more authentic to my own experience. I was able to be a hopeless romantic and seek sex while mending a broken heart. I had forgotten what it was like to have sex without expectations, and doing so with vulnerability and honesty made it even better. Most of all, it helped me to affirm that the man opening the door is always a better choice than the guy closing it. 

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