Do Good Women Sleep on the First Date?

A Sainya Reflection on Sex, Power, and What We’re Really Looking For

There’s a pressure, quiet and invisible, that hovers over every first date. Will we kiss? Will we sleep together? And what does it mean if we do—or don’t? Women are taught to be either “good” or “fun,” but never both. And maybe, just maybe, we’re tired of playing roles that don’t fit.

Sex alone can’t birth love. But love, when it already exists, can be deepened—intensely—by sex.

A friend of mine ended up marrying a man she originally hooked up with. What changed? She fell in love with his quirks, his weird jokes, the way he made her feel seen. Another friend spent years sleeping with someone who never gave her more than fleeting warmth and hollow orgasms. Both experiences started the same way. Only one ended in love. So what’s the difference?

We talk about sex like it’s a yes-or-no question, when really, it’s a spectrum of curiosity, connection, and meaning. Most people don’t even know what sex is. Or love. They confuse proximity for intimacy. Pleasure for affection. Attention for care.

I’ve felt most powerful in moments of quiet noticing—when a man remembers I’m allergic to peanuts or knows I’d rather drink wine at a jazz bar than sip tequila in a warehouse. I’ve felt invisible sitting across from someone who talks nonstop, using my presence as a mirror for his own monologue. It’s strange how many men date women but never ask them anything.

Once, I instinctively pushed a man away when he leaned in to kiss me on a first date. I didn’t mean to. It just happened. He literally staggered off the sidewalk. The thing is—I wasn’t thinking about sex at all. But he definitely was.

Another time, a man did kiss me on the first date… and I let him. Because I liked him. It’s like that quote: When you like a person, everything they do is endearing. When you don’t, it’s creepy.

So… does a good woman sleep with a man on the first date?

I still don’t know. Maybe there’s no such thing as a good woman. Maybe we’re all just trying to figure out what feels right to us, and whether or not we want to be known in that moment—or simply touched. I can’t bring myself to sleep with someone unless I feel a real connection. There’s a word for it: demisexual. That feels closer to the truth.

But sometimes I wonder what it would be like to just… be a slut. Not in a derogatory way. In a curious, wild, unashamed way. Could love still blossom from that kind of bold honesty? Could rawness be its own kind of romance?

Things men have told me in bed:

“I was thinking about sex with you before we even met up.”

“I’ve slept with women I don’t even like, just to get it out of my system.”

“I think about sex all day. Even at work.”

And the thing is, none of them were bad people. Just… wired differently. They want closeness but chase release. I want meaning and get stuck in overthinking.

What nobody tells you about sleeping with someone you don’t love:

It’s mechanical. A performance. Like fulfilling a promise you never agreed to.

It feels transactional—he paid for dinner, he texted back, he was “nice.” And now, you’re expected to deliver. But I never want to see them again.

They text. I don’t answer. I don’t even leave crumbs.

And that’s the thing. We keep asking ourselves if we’re “good” or “bad” for what we do in bed.

But maybe we should ask instead:

Does it feel honest? Does it feel like me?

Because I’m not here to be anyone’s reward. I’m not a prize you win after three dinners and the right playlist.

I’m not something you earn.

I’m someone you meet—if you can.