I Don't Tell This Story

I've been otherwise silent on social media about the whole MeToo movement and the reasons I tell myself are because my parents and family would see it and I don't want them to worry.  If I'm being honest with myself, it's probably more because I worry they'd look at me differently with the knowledge I'm about to expose to the Internet. Yes, the Internet: the cruelest, most hurtful anonymous place in the universe. I don't get it either but there is something compelling me to do this and do it right now before I lose the gumption.

I was raised Catholic and went to Catholic school from K-12.  It was an experience that scarred me in many ways, but mostly in terms of self image, self respect and self awareness.  My first memories of sex ed are from fourth grade.  The teachers separated the girls and the boys and my fourth grade teacher showed us drawings of uteruses and penises.  They weren't lifelike drawings - more like blueprint, cross-sections.  She also told us that she kept feminine hygiene products in the bottom drawer of her desk and that we'd go straight to hell if we engaged in pre-marital sex.  I also got the impression (or was directly told; I'm being vague because I don't recall exactly) that every sexual encounter led to pregnancy. That impression figures in pretty heavily later on.

In high school, I seriously think it was an Ethics class where we were shown videos of fetuses in trash cans and learned about the horrors abortion (and probably accidentally, the horrors of child birth).  Those lessons didn't do much to explain those things weren't intertwined and looking back on it, I think that was by design. My fear of pregnancy was soon deeply ensconced and by extension, fear of sex. I'm sure those teachers and curriculum designers would say MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

When I was about 15, I started dating my first boyfriend, who was 17 at the time. He could drive and I couldn't and I liked the music he was introducing me to. For my 16th birthday, he got me tickets to see my favorite band at the time, The Replacements. My parents were out of town the night of the concert and I was staying with an aunt and uncle. I told them I was staying over at a girlfriend's house after the concert but really, it was the first night I was staying over at Matt's house.  He had just returned from his freshman year at college and we were all over each other, as you'd expect from young people that had been separated.  He was my first love.  So when he badgered me into having sex with him that night, I gave in. Even as he was sticking it in me, I was saying out loud, "I don't want to do this." I cried and he thought it was because it hurt (it did) so he told me not to worry, it won't hurt next time. But, I was mainly crying because of losing this virginity thing I had been led to believe was valuable and because it sucked not being heard and because I didn't do more to stop it and because since it happened, I was now a "bad" person.

A month or so later, I dumped him when I found out he'd had sex with numerous girls while away at college.  So my first sexual experience was my first metoo and I had to reckon with my first love being a fraud.

By the start of the next school year only a few weeks later, I was not really in a great place in terms of self respect. I felt violated and that it was all my fault. I wept for the loss of my virginity and literally prayed not to get pregnant, anxiously waiting for my next period, which stubbornly came late and had me beyond stressed. I had started hanging out with a girl that was new to the school from Idaho and she was pretty wild. I don't recall how we met or came into contact with the 21 year old I'll call KS, to protect his identity even now and even though he was a predator.

KS had a party one night with his older friends and Carrie and I felt like such adults, drinking alcohol and hanging with an older crowd.  KS showered me with affection all night and plied me with more alcohol than I'd ever had in one sitting. That night, as I was passed out in his bed, he had sex with me.  I know this because Carrie had also stayed the night in an adjacent room and told me she could hear me moaning and the bed hitting the wall rhythmically. I never hung out with KS again.  I don't remember a lot of detail about how we stopped hanging out but my vague recollection is that I tried to contact him and he ignored me by not returning my calls.

Another round of panicked anxiety and watching my underwear for the sweet relief of seeing my period ensued. For some reason, I decided sex wasn't for me. Thus began my four year stint of celibacy. It was also not long after I'd made this decision that I met the first boy I loved that actually loved me back. We were both on the fringes and felt like outcasts, broken by our inability to understand why things worked the way they did. During my celibacy, PS and I were madly in love but I would not let him stick it in me. We mutually masturbated each other every chance we could and kissed each other like we'd never kissed another and did this for the remainder of my high school and the first year I was away for college.

PS moved out of state with his family and we decided we would allow ourselves to see other people. By this time, he was out of high school and basically doing nothing. I was in college and making friends and partying like you do. I met NB and within two weeks, I let him stick it in me. I told PS - we were always honest with each other - and it broke his heart. I could hear it on the phone. I had devastated him and our relationship was over. NB turned out to be a raging alcoholic and our relationship lasted 9 months.

The celibacy was ended and I had learned my body, my desires meant nothing to anyone (including myself) and I engaged in several one night stands.  I wrote down the ones I could remember in a notebook. Some were friends with benefits, some were boyfriends of friends, some were basically strangers. I've always been ashamed of this chapter of my sex life and I hate even acknowledging it. But I've included it here because it shows the progression of how those first two intimate encounters have shaped my perspective on sex.

A couple years later, after the party for my graduation, PS and I found ourselves making out in the basement of my parent's house. I didn't put up much of a fight when he started to stick it in me - I felt like I owed it to him. It was joyless and I got the distinct feeling he was doing it out of spite.  Sex was a tool that men could bludgeon me with, whether I loved them or not, whether I wanted it or not, whether I was "there" or not. And so I learned to not be there emotionally. That's how I protected myself from the shame, the feelings of disgust - I disassociated. And it became habit.

I'm now in a committed relationship that has almost no sex. We've never mutually masturbated. We sleep with our clothes on. We don't talk about each other's bodies, much less our passions or physical desires.  We've had sex twice since I had The Biscuit, who's now 16 months old.  He got a vasectomy 4 months ago and we've never tested it out. When we first started having sex, I really enjoyed it and even had orgasms during sex; something I'd only experienced a few times before. There's probably some irony in there, but it's too painful to care about it.

My sex life was, is and (it feels like) always will be, a fucking mess. I don't really have anything else to say about it either. Now that I've written it down, I'm debating about publishing the post.  I don't know what good it would do but I guess I feel marginally better about getting it out.

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