Definitely a fun week

Work has been pretty busy lately and I’ve had a fair amount of stress, so I’ve taken a teeny tiny step back to try to have some fun (I’m writing this between paperwork I have to finish for my real life and work).  I had a surprisingly good date/sex on Wednesday and on Thursday a guy that had grabbed my interest asked about meeting up.  In retrospect (after last night’s date), I’m not sure what it was that I found all that interesting about him. But I had a good gut feel that we would get along.  He was new to online dating and said I was the first person he had even talked to.  We agreed on last night and even tho we were meeting a little later than my morning-self likes to meet (only 8:30, but I’m not a night person!), I didn’t want to reschedule  I wanted to meet.

I told him the part of the city I live in and he suggested my favorite nearby bar, so that seemed to be a good sign.  I got there a couple min before him, found a seat at the bar, and was a little nervous.  He had asked me out before he saw my face (my online pics don’t show my face) and I was a little nervous that after he saw my pics, maybe he didn’t know how to say “I’m not interested” (not that I get that a lot, but it happens, and that’s fine – we’re talking about sex. We need to be attracted to each other).  And in his pics, he looks pretty hot, had a great job, and all around seemed like a guy with options. So when he walked in and after the initial introduction, immediately said “you look good”, I kind of breathed a sigh of relief.  Conversation was easy and, being the awful flirt that I am (or think I am), I was trying to make some contact with my knee against his leg, but I wasn’t getting much physical touch in return, so I was slightly concerned.  But then he suggested we take it to another bar (my favorite was oddly loud), so we decided to go to my 2nd favorite bar down the street. It was already late-ish (for me), like 10:30, but I was really enjoying myself.

I *assumed* he was into me when we were going to the next bar…but it was raining, he didn’t make any attempt to touch me, and I was telling him this story of a bad date where he asked me on a 2nd that interested me in topic, but not in company, and he started to say we should do the date in question…and then stopped himself and just said “you should go do that sometime.” So, mixed signals. But then when we got to the next bar, he became a little more clear. My sundress had a small opening at the low back that he kept touching and when I told him I had never seen Game of Thrones, he invited me to watch it with him any time. So at this point, the question for me was just whether he was going to feel comfortable with sex on a first date or, being new to internet dating, would feel he had to wait. We had a drink and decided to leave, which I was fine with as it was 11:30 or so, but I also was really enjoying talking with him and flirting with him and didn’t want the night to end. (Which, again, weird for me. I like to be asleep by 11:30)

We stepped out of the bar and it was pouring. He asked me what I wanted to do and I said “I don’t mind getting wet”, he agreed, so we started walking towards my place holding hands. And he finally kissed me. I was kind of waiting for it at bar 2, but it was pretty perfect in the rain. He was a very gentle kisser and I started thinking what his lips would feel like elsewhere…along the way, we stopped a few more times to make out and he commented how hot I looked in my dress (at this point, it was totally soaked and clinging everywhere…and I wasn’t wearing a bra).

I still didn’t know if he’d come in when we got to my place, but he made a joke about getting out of his wet clothes and I said “maybe you should”, so…that was that. It was decided.

Of course my dogs and cats decided last night was the night they all wanted cuddles, but he had a good attitude about it and the sex was still hot.  Unlike my usual M/O, I had not discussed with him any particular sexual interests, so I was going into it more blind than usual.  Pretty much right away, he dove into ass play (pretty literally), which I do love, and he was great at it.  So when he asked if I wanted him to fuck my ass, I said yes (which I haven’t done since my 4some).  And…it was amazing.  He was very good at it and I came pretty quickly.  Then we moved along to fucking and oral and more fucking….and finally I had to tell him I was exhausted…so he got dressed into his wet clothes and I decided to stay naked…I was helping him find his socks as he was waiting for the uber, walking ahead of him when he bent me over my bed and started licking me again and then started fucking me and had to cancel his uber.  It was pretty hot. And since I have a long-standing issue of feeling self-conscious about my ass, I liked hearing from him that my ass just looked too delicious and he needed more time with it (he also talked more about how perfect my boobs are, but I’ve never worried that guys don’t like my chest).  So, eventually he actually got an uber and left, we talked about doing this again, I’ve given him my number, we’ve exchanged “last night was fun” texts today…

I still can’t figure out why I thought I’d like him, but it was probably one of the best nights I’ve had in awhile. I am ridiculously tired today, but it was totally worth it.



The connection between consent and pleasure

As a rape survivor, I couldn’t be happier that discussions about consent are now pretty common and people are trying to navigate those waters…

But I completely agree with this piece that, until women know how good sex can feel, discussions about consent are missing a critical element. After all, a “no” and a “I don’t want to, but if you want to” are not all that different…but there is a huge difference between a “no” and a “hells yes!”

We need to get to understanding that difference, and empowering women both physically and emotionally feel the difference, before we can really navigate the waters about communicating that “hells yes!” and the various ways that can be communicated.

I didn’t intentionally start this blog on Halloween…but…interesting that I did

Because 23 years ago on Halloween, I was raped.  I was in college, went to a Halloween party, made out with a guy (a swimmer in town for a competition) and went to a room for some privacy.  When I told him I didn’t want to have sex, he insisted.  When I said I would scream, he said no one would hear me.  And that’s how I lost my virginity.  If one wants to count “date” rape as one’s first time.

I’m sure that’s shaped how I view sex.  I was in denial for awhile about what happened and did stupid things with random guys.  And then when it dawned on me what had really happened, the first guy I told, someone I considered a friend, asked if I’d give him a blow job.  So I did.  Because he was hot, and a friend, and I was confused.  That certainly didn’t help my relationship with sex.

Fortunately, by the time I was 22 or 23, I could have “normal” sex with a boyfriend (what is “normal”? I don’t know…but I could enjoy sex and I didn’t have to overcome very real physical and emotional issues preventing sex that I know some women deal with after being raped).  But since I had done stupid things with random guys as a way of dealing with my denial about rape, and I knew that was bad, I ended up feeling like casual sex was inherently bad, at least for me.  Of course, I also followed this, 3-5 dates in to a dating situation, sex was ok, approach.  And that’s not exactly unrandom.  I guess I was looking for rules that “normal” people followed for sex.

Then in 2009, I was in my first really loving relationship.  And one night I had sort of a PTSD flashback of being forced to have sex.  And that, combined with some other issues, convinced me I needed to go to therapy to deal with my past.  It was a lot of work. Over years.  To unravel rape from sex and sex from love and to recognize that the act of fingers or mouths or genitals involved with other genitals could have as much (or little) meaning as I wanted it to have.  That’s a simple idea…that sex has no inherent meaning and its meaning is derived from the participants to an act.  But it’s one that I don’t feel is emphasized enough.  Or even recognized.  When we learn someone has a lot of partners, we assume that person has some kind of issue (if a male, he’s unwilling to grow up.  if a female, she has self-esteem issues, for instance).  If a person is “too old” to be a virgin (or has had too few partners over too long a period of time), we assume that person hates sex, or has other issues with their sexual identity or being afraid of sex.  We even assume we can tell someone who has been sexually assaulted under the law how she or he should feel about that.  And, of course, I don’t mean to suggest that the law should change or that people don’t deny the impact of a sexual assault to their own detriment.  Laws, if anything, should be strengthened and we have to recognize that denial can be a big part of sexual assault.

But I spent a lot of my life sorting through all these competing messages.  And as a survivor of rape (and at least one other incident that I would call, unequivocally, a sexual assault), I had to sort through how I was “supposed” to feel about sex from a position with a lot of expectations on me — a woman AND a rape victim.  Sheesh.  I couldn’t be too easy, I couldn’t be too frigid, I couldn’t be too kinky.  Ugh.

So, I decided to follow what I knew I wanted. I wanted to have more sex in my life. And I have some kinkier interests.  And I wanted to be in control of the terms of sex.  And casual sex with FWBs has allowed me to do all this.  Fortunately, I haven’t had a bad experience (unless inept sex counts as “bad”…to me, “bad” means that someone isn’t respectful and either crosses the line or threatens to cross the line between consensual sexual acts and non-consensual sexual acts).  I think I’ve had to rely on gut instinct a lot when choosing who to meet.  So, maybe that warning voice in my head is doing an ok job.  But not being raped (so far, again) is also a lot of luck.  And anyone who believes otherwise (unless they never leave the house and live in a fortress) is kidding themselves.  But knowing I can say to myself “This person has said everything ‘right’, but something isn’t sitting right with me. I’m not going to meet him” or “I’m not comfortable with that thing you’re doing” (in the midst of other sexual acts) or “Here’s my line about x” (and have it honored) has allowed me to fully know that the act of inserting a penis into a vagina is generally a fun thing for me.  Sex IS fun.  As long as everyone is on board with what is going down.

This is a topic, I’m sure I’ll revisit. It’s both simple and extremely complex in our society.  For both women and men.  But seeing a college-age woman dressed very similarly to how I dressed that Halloween 23 years ago last night…well, I felt like there was a reason I saw her, a reason I posted my first blog post, and a reason why I am where I am.*

*Note: I am not saying I am into casual sex because I was raped. But I can’t deny that taking back the fun and control that should be part of all sex isn’t more pronounced in me because my early sexual life was marred by something that took away the fun and control relating to a sexual act.