"I Haven't Had Sex in a Year." The People Whose Sex Lives Went on Permanent COVID Hiatus

Our social lives have all been disrupted by the pandemic to some degree, but some have suffered more than others—particularly when it comes to our sex lives. For anyone navigating the last year single and shielding, the concept of casual sex has been entirely off the cards. In this article, we chat with the people whose sex lives have ground to a halt, how they have managed, and how they feel about a return to normality. 

Something I’ve always found quite amusing is my friend’s starkly contrasting views on what they consider to be ‘a dry spell.’ The other day, a friend of mine looked forlorn and wide-eyed declaring she hadn’t had sex in a month, whereas another friend once hosted a small but good-spirited party when she hit her one-year anniversary of the last time she found herself between someone else’s sheets. 

When it comes to sex, what makes one person baulk in horror will always make someone else shrug in nonchalance. That said, I think we can unanimously agree that a year is a fairly long time to go without any kind of sexual intimacy—especially for young adults. But, for many of us, an ongoing sexual hiatus became commonplace amid the global pandemic, whether we chose it or not. 

If I’ve learned one thing from the last year, it’s that Hollywood disaster films grossly misrepresent how sexy a pandemic is. Some things they do get right. It turns out people do go completely feral over groceries and supplies, and there will inevitably be that one person who gets ill (be it from Zombie-bite or COVID-19) and simply goes about their day like it’s not happening, causing vague chaos somewhere down the line. But mustering the energy to look sexy while the world is crumbling? Most unrealistic. And the concept of casual sex with some attractive other party? Please. My sides. 

At the first whiff of lockdown, I practically tripped over my own feet to get out of London and back to my parent’s house in the middle of the Sussex countryside. For me, it was a no-brainer. I am almost indefinitely fine in my own company and am a fundamentally outdoor person. I was choosing fields over friends, solitude over socializing. Despite the constant dread and collective grief, lockdown itself didn’t bother me so much—but there was one crucial caveat. 

Moving back home for the pandemic, for me, came with certain, worthy sacrifices. While many of my friends back in London were slightly casual with the rules, I had chosen to come home and live with my high-risk father who was undergoing chemotherapy. The rules for me were absolute. There were no quick nips inside my friend’s kitchens, no brief car rides with the windows rolled down. We were a fortress against the virus and, together, we were not letting it in. 

Now, as I’ve mentioned above, a global pandemic is actually a bit of a sexual mood kill. In those first few months, living in constant fear that a particle of COVID would find its way in on an ASOS delivery and infect us all, unsurprisingly, doesn’t make for a particularly hot environment. But as time went on and our family got better and better at being its own little island, some of that initial panic wore off, leaving me, shall we say, more...suggestible to other feelings. 

I suppose I realized I was missing sex when I found myself on the phone with a FedEx customer service rep, trying to explain in hushed tones from my parent’s living room that the package they were holding at Canadian customs was just a vibrator, not anything more sinister. Nothing makes you feel less like a twenty-eight-year-old woman than trying to navigate an awkward solo sex life under the feet of your sixty-year-old parents. In the end, I mostly gave up. 

If you’d told me at the beginning of March 2020 that I would be embarking on an almost year-long dry spell, I might’ve stayed up in London and taken the crowded house share and one-walk-a-day rule. But, in practice, it really wasn’t so bad. And I’ve not been the only one who feels that way. 

Lara*, another would-be Londoner, also moved back home to live with her shielding parents through part of the pandemic. When it came to the sudden, off-the-cards nature of her sex life, she found she coped quite well: “I used [dating] apps at the beginning of the pandemic, when we thought it might all blow over in a month. I have sporadically used them since but went on a hiatus from November to March as I was at home and there was no point. [With sex] I feel like I've gone through phases. Initially, I missed it, but after a couple of months I haven't really noticed it.”

For some of us, we’ve become so accustomed to this new way of living that the concept of sex and dating has become an almost alien thing. When faced with the idea that it might soon be a reality again, Lara says she feels “excited, nervous and out of my depth. I feel like I’ve forgotten how to flirt!” But for others, the change can’t come fast enough. 

Harry*, who moved in with his family after losing his job to the pandemic, is happy to see the back of this ‘fallow year’: “I never want to do it again! I think it’s only been doable due to social distancing restrictions. Before, I always used to feel kind of gross after gay Grindr hookups, but now I can see the benefits of random hookups and see them for what they are.”

It’s an interesting thought: that a year of no sex can actually change our sexual perceptions and preferences. Whether, like Harry, you are now able to return to the original thrill of a one-night-stand, or, like another friend of mine, have felt you have been afforded the time to explore your sexuality and the concept of same-sex relationships in this time—sex may not have been on the cards, but it’s certainly been on the mind. 

For me, what I found I missed over the last year was not a lack of sex, but a lack of intimacy. Interestingly, my year of solitude made me realize that, even before the pandemic, my romantic relationships were seriously starved in this department. What I had been missing was that deeper, more explorative connection that would ultimately not be solved by the pubs reopening or by finally breaking my sexual hiatus. It was something that I was only able to solve on my own in the quieter, more reflective life I had created for myself.

Absence makes the heart grow...wiser, I suppose. 

*Names and locations have been changed for privacy reasons.