It took a couple attempts. A few painful attempts. But he finally managed to get it in there.
“THIS? THIS is what people wait their whole lives for?” I thought when we were through.
I stared at the ceiling feeling dizzy and nauseous from the ride.
“ Disappointed” can’t begin to describe how I felt. It was the most anti-climatic, unnecessarily painful chore I’ve ever put my body through. But I remained sexually active with my boyfriend until we ended our relationship two years later.
Sex never got better.
It just felt like this raw, in-and-out motion with the occasional (and uncomfortable) thud against my cervix.
Raised in an ultra conservative Christian home meant not being taught much about sex or the labyrinth of my lady bits. Conversations about sex began and ended with a stern warning and a reminder that our heavenly father has ordained sex for the confines of marriage.
Women were to remain pure and chaste till marriage. Masturbation was a sin. And there were frequent arguments about when the actual act of sex begins. Eventually our clergy decided that all bases, from kissing to petting, constituted sex. Oh, and sex begins in the mind, so even thinking about it made you a candidate for the fiery pit.
But there was always a disconnect for me.
Women were meant to feel shameful about wanting sex. Women were also shamed for NOT wanting sex. Our church taught a delicate balance.
You see, we were supposed to remain sexually uninterested, but just enough, until the wedding night, when all of a sudden you transformed into a sexual beast eager to please.
Men often defended their need for sex in marriage. Being tired wasn’t a valid excuse for the vagina to rest. And withholding sex because of something emotionally painful your husband did was a selfish punishment. After all, your body belongs to him now — it says so in your vows!
In my case, there might have been an issue with chemistry or sexual compatibility, but the truth is I don’t want to sieve through scores of articles and YouTube videos to find out.
I’m just too disappointed.
Perhaps, I have to start the painstaking work of unlearning everything I’ve learned about intimacy.
I’ve already started that work. It’s delicate work.
I’ve discovered that:
- Sex is supposed to be pleasurable for both partners. I am not a sex toy.
- Everyone gets turned on differently, and at different rates.
- I am a sexual being. This is not a sinful.
- Sex is good and pure.
- I should not be shamed for wanting sex. I should not be shamed for not wanting sex.
- Not every sexual escapade ends in climax, but at the very least each should be enjoyable.
- Unless “I like it like that,” pain is not a good thing. And it should not be a permanent thing.
Because of my unfulfilling sexual experience I’m not excited to get back out there. But I hope to, eventually.
This time, I want an explosive ending.