'I've never had an orgasm,' I say.

Sandy is 26 years old, bisexual, and suffers from anorgasmia, or a severe inability to reach sexual climax.

She defines both her relationship status and her personal relationship with sex as 'complex,' but claims she has a solid bond with her partner despite their 'unconventional' position.

She'd like her sex life to be 'orgasmic' someday, which is understandable.

Do you want to know how she did this week?

Your wait is finally ended...

Thursday

I've had a long and exhausting day at work, so sexual activity is the last thing on my mind.

The subject of sex, on the other hand, was frequently on my mind.

From a feminist standpoint, I spend a lot of time thinking and writing about sex.

I'm occasionally compensated for it.

Turning off the critical part of my brain during leisure time, including sexual activity, can be challenging — letting go and enjoying it takes work.

Some may claim that this is why I've never experienced an orgasm; I'm just overthinking it.

However, I've spoken to others who overthink sex as much as I do and have no trouble reaching climax, so I feel it's only part of the issue.

Friday

Again, it's not long after I wake up before I'm thinking about sex.

Not in a wanting sense, but in an analytical way.

It's difficult to feel seductive when I'm working from home in my sweatpants and no makeup.

However, I don't feel deprived of sex as a result.

Having sex on average once a week seems to suffice for scratching the itch at the moment.

My approach to the situation could be described as clinical.

I have physiological desires that sex helps to suppress.

I can feel grumpy if I go too long without it, though I wouldn't go so far as to call sex a 'need.'

The idea that everyone is entitled to sex, which I believe is implicit when sex is labeled as such, has long bothered me.

Anyway, because the boyfriend-type-guy-I-have-sex-with-on-a-regular-basis is unavailable tonight, I watch TV with my flatmate, who is an excellent (platonic) company.

They, like myself, are academically interested in sex and are passionate about questioning nuclear family systems, so we always have enough to discuss.

Saturday

I'm drinking coffee and reading the news this morning.

My flatmate is on the phone with their new boyfriend, whom they've just known for about two weeks.

And they've been talking semi-seriously about moving in together, marriage, and other things the whole time.

Yes, despite what I mentioned about them being an anti-nuclear family – while they are in a lesbian relationship, to their credit – none of this is heteronormative.

I've been living with them for a few months now and I'm pretty happy with how things are going.

So, as delighted as I am that they've met someone with whom they already feel bonded enough to move in with (this is known as 'uhauling' in the lesbian community), I'm worried that I'll be left without a place to live.

I couldn't bear living alone, and living with the family was out of the question.

My flatmate's ideal future includes a partner and children, which I do not desire.

That is not what I believe my boyfriend-type person desires.

Certainly not in the near future.

Because my ideal future is childless and unmarried, I occasionally spiral about how tough it is to live in a world where the majority of people want a more 'traditional' life than I do.

Is it even possible for me to live like this?

Is it possible that something is wrong with me?

Is this why no one wants to have a relationship with me?

I'm looking for safety, stability, and intimacy.

However, I do not wish to have children or adopt.

I'm not interested in a white wedding.

Aromantic is a term used by certain people in my situation.

I consider myself to be a practical person.

I tell my flatmate how I feel after the call.

I say I'm worried about being left behind after overhearing them excitedly discussing a potential living situation that I presume would exclude me.

They are reassuring, saying that my health is really important to them.

In addition, I was missing key context for their interaction.

Although it isn't enough to dispel my anxieties, I am confident enough to travel to town to meet up with my sort-of-boyfriend.

He texts me ahead of time to say that sleeping over would be inconvenient for him.

He's a musician who works full-time in a high-stress profession, so this happens all the time.

I try to be understanding, but as a result, I often feel like an inconvenience.

Regardless, we're having a good time.

When he brings us coconut buns from an Asian bakery, it's a highlight.

We spend a lot of time talking about food.

I persuade him to stay, but he must first return home to pick up some medications.

I'm almost ready to go to bed by the time he arrives at the flat, but I force myself to remain awake to watch TV with him and my flatmate.

We cuddle in bed for a few moments before I tell him I need to sleep alone.

Because he snores so loudly that sharing a bed is inconvenient, we've developed the habit of sleeping separately.

Sexy!

Sunday

My partner has a gig with his band in the morning, so he needs to leave really early.

We have another snuggle, but that's about it.

The walls are thin, so it would be awkward even if my flatmate was awake in the next room.

My housemate is reading a book about leaving heterosexuality for lesbianism in the afternoon – evidently written before bisexuality was such a widely used term.

When I ask for a read, I have one of those everyday tiny identity crises that many individuals who live on the edge of the gay and hetero worlds go through.

Since I was a pre-teen, I've known that I like both men and women.

But, after reading this book, I'm left wondering if I'm heterosexual, given the dichotomy of straight and lesbian.

Although I consider myself to be functionally heterosexual in some aspects, this does not totally preclude me from experiencing (at times frightening) homophobia.

As someone who has a general predilection for women, I used to identify more with lesbianism.

However, I've primarily dated men.

I find that if I don't spend too much time thinking about identity issues, I'm happier.

It can feel liberating not to be closely linked with any specific identity in a world when there is a lot of pressure to choose your tribe.

My relationships are a part of who I am, but they do not define who I am.

Monday

Back to work.

Today, the closest I get to arousal is probably when I watch a sexy thriller film from the 1980s with my housemate in the evening.

There is an excellent sex scene.

Not to romanticize the 1980s, but I can't recall seeing such passionate lovemaking (for want of a better phrase) between a hetero pair in a recent Hollywood film.

My flatmate informs me that another flat in the complex has become available , and that she believes I might be interested in it.

I'm not sure why, and I don't inquire.

Later, when they say they'll keep a cardboard box for when they move - they swiftly amend themselves with an 'if' – it's still another red flag, but what can I do?

My relationship precludes cohabitation, and my lover has informed me that it isn't about me.

He simply cannot envision himself sharing a home with another person.

This has sparked a lot of debate.

It's disheartening to feel as if I have no control over my destiny due to other people's emotions.

Thankfully, The job exhausts me too much to think about it right now.

Tuesday

Tuesday is the horniest day of the week for me.

I get drunk on wine and have a good time with my flatmate at a gay pub.

When I'm intoxicated, I almost always text my partner and ask for sex.

He's game, but warns that he'll be sleeping soon.

I'm having so much fun here at the pub, damn it.

I tell him I can't leave yet.

He eventually falls asleep.

I'm too inebriated to write anything philosophical about what it says about bisexuality that I, a bi woman, had my booty call fall through because I'm having too much fun at a gay bar.

Wednesday

I don't think I've had any intercourse this week, let alone masturbated.

But, more importantly, I've had physical intimacy with both my almost-boyfriend and my flatmate.

I may not be the sexually empowered millennial woman I deserve to be, but I'm glad for the love I have.

*Please note that the name has been altered.