I miss MPS’ grad school years.  We just eloped.  I was without a job (just made my transcontinental move to the Left Coast) and he was a full-time student.  We had no real worries. 

We were living in his dorm room.  Luckily it was a single.  It definitely wasn’t married student housing.  He’d wake up for his 8 am class.  Kiss me goodbye.  Then hop back into bed naked around 10 or so.  I would be woken up with a morning orgasm.   There was so much free time.  So much sex. 

I don’t work Mondays.  I was  still nursing this awful cold.  My head felt loopy.  I was all stuffed up.  MPS caught my cold.  He came home from work around 1 or 2 pm.  It was glorious.  We nuzzled up together and hid from the world under a big blanket (it was 80 something degrees outside and we decided to blast the central air). 

We didn’t do much yesterday.  There was lots of sleeping, chatting, nuzzling and orgasming (like our first few years of marriage).  I miss those days.  Work didn’t get in the way of living.

MPS is Henny Penny.  Some of you actually know me and know where MPS works.  There’s no threat of layoff.  But then again, anything can happen in this market.  My husband is the definition of risk averse, literally.  So he’s been wiggin’ out to say the least. 

Anyhow, he has an offer on the table from a prestigious mega uber safe place.  The kind of place where the sky will never fall.  So we have been discussing moving.  No one wants to move.  Nothing has been decided.  This is really  just discussion.

But damnit, I don’t feel like I can nest!!!

Anyhow, my mom talked to MPS last night while I chatted with the BFF.  My mom talked about how she wants to move in with us if we move.  There’s family nearby.  And MPS gladly said okay.  I don’t blame him, he’s a happy-go-lucky, very loving kind of guy.  He worries about my mom.  But I called her and I was more stern.  I wanted to know what the deal was.  My house growing up was a revolving door for all of the Bangladeshi population.  They came and they went.  It was full of drama (remember my post from my first blog about my dad’s funeral???) — serious drama.  I like not having these peeps in and out of my house.  I like the fact that no one knows me or has the opportunity to talk shit, b/c all of my family (minus mom and Little Bro) are kinda awful shit-talking manipulative bastards.  I won’t get into it right now.

So I brought this all up to my mom and she agreed. She told me the family sucks.  And I told her very honestly, “Mom I just don’t want people showing up and staying with us if this move happens and if you live with us.  B/c let’s be real mom, you’ll never say no to them.  I have no problem being the bad guy.”  Now mom’s not sure she wants to live with us, which is fine by me…. BUT…..

But now I feel like I’m being mean.  Ugh, this is complicated.  You’d have to know my family.

Yup, I’m obsessed with sex.  But I have good reason.  From the day I lost my virginity and for almost 5ish years following, I never came.  Not once.  Not close to O’ing.

I assumed the following about me:

1. I’m just not horny ever, my sexual drive is super low;
2. It’s me, not him; and/or
3. I simply can’t cum.  I’m broken in some way.  Fuck, maybe O is just a myth.

I.  Devirginization

We need to first talk about when the seal was broken — the bloody seal.  I met him (P$) shortly after my 17th b-day.  I was awkward.  I didn’t feel comfortable in my body.  I had just come out of my ugly duckling stage and wasn’t coping well with the new found male attention.  I gravitated towards P$ b/c he was something out of my world.  He was rebel.  Nothing straight edge.

One of the first things he said to me was, “I just stopped taking acid.  I kept taking it until I metamorphosized into the person I wanted to be.  I finally dropped some in a Church a few weeks ago and I’m where I want to be.”  I should have run away from him.

I was 18.  We had been on and off for 2 years.  I was home for winter break.  I was committed to giving up my virginity.  I went over to his house and we discussed the deed.  He was the expert.  It was very matter of fact.  As soon as we entered his bedroom at his parent’s house, he climbed on top of me.  He yanked off my panties and pulled his penis out of his drawers.  This was nothing like the movies depicted.  Why weren’t we writhing around in ecstasy, dripping in sweat and breathing heavily like on late-night HBO?  Hell, we weren’t even naked!  Foreplay lasted a minute.  When his penis pushed against me, I screamed.  It scared him.  He stopped.  He yelled at me for wasting his time.  I held back tears and said I was ready.  I cried and screamed out loud. He finished.  The pain was raw.

I remained on his twin size bed crying.  He went downstairs.  Everything hurt.

I remained scared of sex for years to come.

II.  Fucking away my problems (Not to be confused with Ex-Sex)

Affairs strengthen the weak of spirit.

I was scared to leave P$.  Regardless of all the things he did to me, I should have left the relationship with as much respect that I could have mustered.  Bad form on my part.  My karma is stained.  I slept with a fellow grad student.  I got caught.  He was furious.  He forgave me.  I went back.  Guilt.  He proposed shortly afterwards and I felt very much obligated to say yes, seeing as I fucked another dude.

I went to a party in DC.  I took off my engagement ring.  The thought of the pending wedding made me want to puke.  I flirted.  I drank.  I made out with a boy.  It was hot and passionate.  I had none of this passion with P$.

At one point I, the chick that loves all sex play, said to one of my homegirls, “I just don’t think I’m the kind of person that’s into sex.”   She said, “sex oozes out of your pores… you crazy girl.. leave him.”

P$ had stripped me of all of my self-confidence and inner strength. I felt uncomfortable in my own body.  I never felt safe with him.   I couldn’t give my body to him.  I was closed off.  My mind left as he entered me.

Through the whoring hook-ups and the affair I engaged in my last year with P$,  I learned that I could get turned on.  My pussy had the capability of getting quite wet.  There was nothing wrong with me.  Everything was wrong with my relationship with P$.

I came home and said, “I can’t marry you, here’s your ring.”  He stayed at my house and did laundry.  He was a sociopath.

II.  Discovering the Orgasm

I started to feel beautiful (internally most importantly).  I never did with P$.

I was thirsty to discover my sexual energy.  I had a new found courage after leaving P$.  I started hooking up.  I was in control.  This was my show.  There was nothing to be afraid of.  I had no qualms walking up to someone and whispering in his ear, “I’m ready to leave with you.”  I was going to take whatever I wanted.

No fear.

No self-judgment.

Then I had a series of flings with mighty good men.  We were equal parts friend + lover.  I wasn’t looking for love.  I wasn’t looking for a relationship.  I wasn’t looking for any commitment beyond the adventures of the evening.

My voice returned.  I was able to express my needs/desires/years of wants.  I felt safe.

III.  Dear O, are you there still?  It’s me Perky Titty.

So, here’s when irrationality enters the game.  I’ve only owned my orgasm since age 22/23 (more like 23).  It hasn’t even been a decade yet.  I know that my O is not simply created from a magic button.  Even if there was a magic button that got erased away, my O would roar from deep within b/c I am wholly in sync with my body.  I fully honor my body, my sexuality, my sensuality, and my pussy.

But still, I don’t want to lose my O.  A slight-fear exists.  I might as well just check everyday just to make sure I can find her, no?  No harm, no foul — just orgasmic bliss.

In the process of self-punnan-discovery, I learned:

1. My sex drive is off the charts.  I’m a horn-dog.  My sex drive may kick the ass of many dudes.
2. Some men just suck in bed.  Side Note:  Shocking how many doctors are so bad with the cha-cha.  You think they would have learned more in gross anatomy.
3. I can always cum. I am whole.  Fuck, maybe I’ll die from an O.

It’s ironic how there are some memories I wish I could hold onto forever and others I wish I could burn out of my mind’s memory.  I’m going to write out all of the details as I remember them.  I’m not going to edit this post, otherwise I may never publish it.  Here’s a flow of words…..

A hot humid summer day in July.  I was 9.

I was really excited about my new sun dress.  It was a pastel green baby doll dress that went to my knees.  The sleeves were thickish straps.  The dress had 3 mother of pearl buttons.  It was flowy and girly and I loved it. 

It was surprisingly sticky and humid for 8ish at night.  I heard my mother cooking in the kitchen.  I think she was frying up some fish.  Uncles and dad were on the deck, trying to catch a breeze.  I sat next to him on the couch in the living room.  We watched tv.  I don’t remember if we were watching the news or cartoons.  I felt safe.  I had known him for years.  We used to play house together.  He was always fun to play with.

He put his hand on my knee and smiled.  I smiled back.  His hand was sweaty.  His hand started slowly moving up my leg.  I was confused and excited.  He rested his hand over my panties.  He looked at me and smiled.  I smiled back.  Someone else came into the living room and he quickly removed his hand.  The person left.  His hand was once again resting on top of my panties.  I felt his fat thick fingers sliding underneath my panties.  I was more excited than scared.  I didn’t say anything.  Not even a whimper.  His fingers started pushing against me.  It started hurting.  I was scared.  I knew this was wrong but not quite sure why.  He kept saying, “do you like this?”  I couldn’t answer the question.  All I wanted was for him to stop.  I felt like I was ripping into two.  I didn’t know that pain could be so endlessly burning.  A scream was caught in my throat.  Someone else came into the room.  He moved his hands and wiped them on his pants.  I ran upstairs to my bedroom.

I never wrote the green dress again.

Fast forward to Catholic School, 5th grade.  We were taught that sex is wrong.  Masturbation is wrong. Touching of the genitals is wrong.  God would send us to hell for any of the above.  I was scared out of my mind.  I had visions of leaping flames dancing in my head.  Every night before I went to bed, I prayed.  I prayed to God to forgive me. 

The mind is very powerful.  I completely forgot the memory.  I thought it was a nightmare that I couldn’t shake.  It wasn’t until the end of high school that I started remembering.  I don’t know what happened to bring on the memory.   I just remember that one day I knew that the nightmare was real.  I could no longer fool myself.  I felt ashamed.  I didn’t say anything.  I didn’t say, “NO.”

Years went by.  I finally had a breakdown in grad school after being confronted by my friends.  They suspected the truth.  For the first time I really believed that what happened was not my fault. Funny that it took almost 13 years to get over the guilt.

This is one part of my life I do not want to deal with.  I don’t want to believe in anyway shape or form that the green dress incident effects me.  I don’t want to give him power.  This is my life and I create my own happiness, right?

But it still does effect me.  Maybe it always will.  But that’s okay.  I believe I have made my peace, as best as I can.

*Breathing a sigh of relief — I wrote this story.*

No means no.  I had a hard time saying the word “no.”  It wouldn’t roll off my tongue.  I physically couldn’t say the word.

 

I couldn’t say no when I was 9 and being molested.  I couldn’t say no when I was being physically and sexually abused by an ex.  Hell, I couldn’t even say it when my clit was being rubbed so hard by some dude that it hurt. 

 

Yeah, I’ve had some pretty horrible experiences.  A pinch of molestation helped make me who I am.  I have a perverse sense of humor if it isn’t already obvious. 

 

Then life happened.  Good friends.  Lessons learned.  No started entering my vocabulary.  I got out of a toxic, soul-sucking, bruise-leaving, heart-whipping hellacious relationship.  I stand my own ground now.  I will never be coerced, intimidated or threatened.  I will not apologize for being me.

 

This morning I held my ground, for better or for worse.