Think back to the first time you had sex. You were probably nervous. You probably did it with someone you had some kind of trust with because you didn’t know how it would go and wanted to feel safe enough to say something. It was emotional, weird, maybe a bit scary, but also exciting, fresh, and new.
Now imagine that every time you want to have sex (intercourse), you’re as nervous, scared, and emotional. Imagine that need to have enormous trust in the person you’re with, probably having been with them for months if not longer before you felt safe.
I don’t tend to move very fast with a partner. There must be a good deal of trust to allow someone to touch me in any sensual manner. These days even my sides are oversensitized from the pulling of my muscles on my nerves. Anywhere ticklish is amped more than most people. My nerves fire like lightening instead of rain.
When I tell a friend I’ve had my own version of a sexcapade they are usually a little shocked. For me a one night stand is more like a several hour make out session. Recently I was up until dawn with someone. We didn’t go past second base (or, using the pizza analogy developed by Al Vernacchio to provide a more egalitarian way of discussing sex, we only had half a pie), but it was super fun.
Telling my friends is both exciting and daunting. I want to be able to share my story just as much as they share theirs, to giggle and relish the experience of retelling just as much as they do (I have very open friendships). Unfortunately, they usually respond along the lines of, “You have amazing restraint. I would have had sex after only an hour of kissing like that!” I realize they don’t have to think like I do, that they can just go with the flow of their bodies without fear of excruciating pain.
Though they shouldn’t, their comments make me feel ashamed. They remind me that I don’t have restraint because I am careful, but because I cannot do anything otherwise. The fun I had is tempered by their inadvertent reminder. Everything I do is directed by pain.