Tuesday, November 27, 2001
Let’s talk about sex, baybee.
Sex does not shock me anymore. The subject does not offend me, excite me, or even particularly interest me. There was a time in my life when I was so utterly fascinated with sexual interaction that it was nearly all I ever thought about. While I by no means am the most experienced kid on the block, I have done things - shocking things - that would make many people blush. I don’t blush anymore.
I lost my virginity at 17. I wasn’t particularly old, nor particularly young. I didn’t tell anyone, not even my closest friend, in part because I was embarrassed and in part because I was utterly pleased to have such a fabulous secret all to myself. I felt empowered in keeping that tidbit of knowledge locked away in my own head, shared only with one other person. For some reason, it gave me courage to speak up in class, a reason to talk back to my parents, and this sense of utterly being a real woman. Was I not a real woman before? Did I not know the pains of menstruation? Yes, but I thought that having sex was the ultimate proof of womanhood. That was, of course, until I gave birth to a child, but that is a story for another day.
It took me no time at all to realize that sex was not some toy, some play thing, some secret to keep hidden. Oh no. Sex was a tool. I used sex to get what I wanted and I made no pretenses about it. I didn’t even have to sleep with someone to make sex work for me, because the raw power of it exuded from my skin, slid seductively along the smallest whisper and crackled with electric fire with every touch. I was a goddess and boys worshipped me. I could give or take at my will, and I was giddy with that power.
That was the next lesson. Sex is power. Men are reluctant to release their power to anyone, much less a woman. A man I had only just met decided that the power was his to control, not mine. The boy I was dating was resentful and felt that his power was stolen, somehow, not mine. In the midst of the turmoil and pain that is left behind after a rape, I was left dealing with a pouty, controlling boyfriend who insisted that if I could “give it up for a stranger” then I certainly should be meeting his needs on demand. Stripped of all power, I learned never to say no.
My next lesson was one that didn’t stick with me as well as it should have. Friendship is the key to a good relationship, and to good sex. Despite the fact that all I wanted was to be friends, I couldn’t say no to his sexual advances, which lead him to think that because I didn’t resist, I was acquiescing. At least he was kind and gentle and playful. There was no love, no romance, and frankly, no fiery hot passion on my end, but sex was always fun and we explored each other and ourselves freely together. I trusted him, even if I did not love him.
While I was in college, sex was about pushing boundaries. I explored in ways I didn’t realize could even be explored. My purity score (because of course, that’s all college students do… have sex, drink beer and take puirty tests) dropped by dozens of points in less than one year of college. I was proud and exhilarated by my insane and often dangerous exploits. I also learned of the dangers of obsession. I found something I thought I wanted, and I fought long and hard to win that prize. Eventually, it became a matter of achieving my goal, and I didn’t even really know what that goal was.
By the time I realized that, I had been married for a year and had a son. Then sex was about making up after old fights and avoiding new ones. We didn’t get truly turned on until there was emotional turmoil and upset. Talk about dysfunctional. Back to the “sex is power” thing, I suppose. Resentment started to build up and that resentment still builds. When he wanted to make things right, we’d just have sex, because remember… I couldn’t say no. I wouldn’t say no. And he knew that. And while it’s pretty easy to just go numb and apathetic during sex, it’s not so easy to stay vehemently angry.
And then there’s a whole story of obsession, which my faithful readers (all, what? four of you?) already know about. Love lost. Maybe it was, as Monica once said to me, “Just some guy who was nice” to me. And I clung to that for dear life. Frankly, I don’t know what I saw in him or why I still cling. All I know is that the moments I had with him were some of the best of my life.
All of the sexual encounters were good and they weren’t about power or guilt or hurting or obligation. It was about sharing and desperately, achingly wanting to be as close as I could. It was messy, sloppy, fun sex where we’d fall asleep in each other’s arms and wake up the next morning to start over again. It was about sharing dreams of the future and intimate fantasies that didn’t involve third-parties, dead people or dangling from the ceiling. I’m not sure it was about love, frankly, I don’t think I’ll ever really know what love is, but it was definitely something special and something unforgettable.
As for current day… well, my thoughts on sex have evolved into those very commonly shared by many married women. Sex is a chore. He has no idea of what I want and I’m too resentful and disheartened to care what he wants. Sad, huh? Someone mentioned once (about three years ago) that this was just a “slump” in our relationship. Let me point out then, that my entire relationship must be a slump.
Don’t get me wrong. I adore him. He’s a great father and we are good friends. At least we have that going for us, because as previously mentioned, friendship really is the key. Still. I can not get intimate with him. At all. And nothing I have ever thought of or tried has ever fixed that. Sadly, when I find myself checking out a guy, 99% of the time I’m checking out a guy who is exactly the way my partner was when we first met. In other words, I’m still wholly attracted to him (or images of his former self) it’s just there’s this weird… block.
Crap. Time to spend a fortune in psycho therapy. I must need it after writing this freaking long entry. Thanks for reading it.
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