This past weekend, as you may recall, I was accused of treating my barely husband like a friend with benefits. I have already admitted my guilt, so why am I writing about this again? As with everything I write, I went back to it, to tear it apart in an analysis that my logic brain requires consistently. I have to warn you now there will be a lot of sexual talk and some swearing, so if you don’t like these things, stop reading now! You’ve been warned, so let’s start.
I am a sexual person. I am a VERY sexual person, a fact that surprises even myself considering my sexual life did not start with passionate sessions and amazing orgasms. I was 18 and had been dating this guy for 7 months. Let’s call him ‘Steve’. Our make out sessions were very heated, with hands and kisses going everywhere and when I say EVERYWHERE, I mean it. It was already like having sex without that final technicality that characterises it. One day I woke up and decided it was time. Just like that. I didn’t get carried away with passion and lust. I simply decided I was going to lose my virginity.
I informed Steve of my decision and we were lucky that his parents were going out of town for a few days. We went to his house and I wasn’t feeling romantic at all. I was a girl on a mission. He was a lovely guy and he wanted to take it slowly, to do it right and special for me, however me with my ‘just get it over with’ attitude that day kind of ruined it. Not completely: he was experienced (early starter, not old) and very caring and I have to thank heavens for that because I turned out to be one of those unlucky sods with a hymen fit for a bank safe security system. He held me off as much as he could and was very patient, but for me it was still a painful experience. After that my feeling was: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!
I think of it fondly and sadly at the same time. Fondly because of him and sadly because of my attitude. Had it been with anyone else, that experience might have been horrible. I’ve heard of horror stories about men who don’t give a shit and just shove it in causing a lot of harm. Thank you Steve!
We were very much together until I left for university not long after. The relationship fizzled out. We split-up and I was fine. I wasn’t even upset about it as my new life was already opening up in front of me, with my discoveries about myself and my sexuality.
Sex became more and more enjoyable as I practiced and I did get a good amount of practice! I wouldn’t say I was promiscuous, but I was very much in control of my body and my actions. I liked sex, but what I perceived as good sex changed one night. My then boyfriend and I went back to my room after a night out. Things progressed as usual and I was certainly relaxed. I had my first orgasm. Almost 4 years after my first sexual encounter, it happened. I was in shock, because I had never realised before I was missing that. I didn’t know that was the sensation craved by every woman. I enjoyed sex and, save from the very beginning, it was always a pleasurable experience, but THAT was something else. When it was over I was shaking, breathing hard and contorting my body in strange ways following the waves that were still running through my skin.
I wanted that sensation again, but it didn’t come easy for me. I was probably overthinking everything I did in this search. In hindsight, I know I didn’t relax, I just did it with the sole intention of having an orgasm and never switched my brain off, which basically screwed it up for me. It kept on happening, even with barely husband. Our first time was basically a fuck. He was straight to the point, not much preparation and I was fine with it because that wasn’t the end of the world and I had it like that before more often than not. Needless to say, no orgasm. Not even close, even though he thought of himself as some sort of sex god. Ha!
As our relationship progressed and the feelings got stronger and I did get what I wanted and now I still get it more often than not, but it seems I have to be in control of the act for it to happen. I tried to lose myself, let go of the control, but then I find myself not wanting to be there. I do come after him for sex, but it’s to satiate my sexual hunger; it’s not emotional, but purely physical. A friend with benefits serves that purpose well. I am GUILTY, GUILTY, GUILTY! I know…
As all my feelings are conflicted and I start to rethink my life, I’m at a point I want more. I want to forget what I’m there for and just let the sensations take over my control; I want to feel a slight touch and shiver; I want to kiss passionately.
I want to make love, not fuck.