Intimate Introspection

I’ve had enough heterosexual experiences for this lifetime

vagina monologue
vagina monologue

In this here post, I will share 3 of my most memorable sexual encounters.
They share this in common – I questioned my sanity, and sexuality, after each of them. They are in chronological order.

Encounter 1 – “I” is for Idiot

My then-boyfriend slept over at my place one Saturday after our date. He had work the next day so he intended to sleep early. And, what this man intended to do, he usually did. So, he slept. And I, bored out of my mind, decided to feed my curiosity.
I always wonder what conversations male best friends have (because surely it cannot just be football and capitalism every day, can it?) and if anyone had a male best friend he loved to death, it was this man.
So, I took his phone (I swear on my future grave it was not malicious – only curiosity), went to his messages, and opened the best friend’s chat.
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Friends, when people say you will find what you are looking for… It dawned on me that it isn’t just football and capitalism that men talk about; they talk about sex as well. And, in this particular chat, this particular duo spoke about sex with multiple women, while he was dating me. Was it anger I felt? Sadness? Heartbreak? This boy was sleeping in my bed, talking to his best mate about sleeping in other people’s beds. I was angry, and sad, and heartbroken. I did what all angry, sad and heartbroken people do in that moment – threw the phone down, woke his lying ass up and…threw him out my house? Dumped him? Showed him the texts and demanded an explanation? Nope, did none of that.

The sis woke his lying ass up and had sex with him. Ask me why. And I’ll explain in tears that I don’t know. No thought process, no critical thinking, no thinking at all. Only, retrospectively, I believe that I subconsciously accepted that men will cheat, because while we women yearn for love and centre it in everything, the same can be said for men and sex. And I don’t want to find myself in relationships where I accept infidelity as the norm, but with men, I evidently have. Idiot!

Encounter 2 – am I big brother?

Okay short story. He asked me to watch him cum – I kid you not. Those were his exact words: watch me cum. And closed his eyes while he did. And I watched all of it, and forgot about my own needs in the process. And perhaps it was a kink, or a fetish, so to each their own. (*In a deep voice*) Remember, Big Brother is always watching.
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Encounter 3 – done

It was when I experienced intimacy from the most gentle, kind and thoughtful man I have ever met (who was patient, gentle, kind and thoughtful as a lover), and STILL screeched from the pain, that I decided I was done.

It had been months of tongue-biting and “yes, I’m okay, go on. No, it hurts, stop” but this one experience, the last time I had sex, was especially traumatic. So traumatic that I spent the night curled in a ball, crying from the physical pain and from the mental anguish at feeling betrayed by my body.
If this boy, who went out of his way to make sure I was comfortable and relaxed, could not prevent this pain, absolutely no man could.
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I wrote in my diary that night:
Continuing to have sex despite the debilitating pain, the energy exchange with men and the risk of ill-health is an act of self-violence. Love yourself. Be kind to yourself. Stop hurting yourself.

I used to say the only reason I won’t cut men off completely is because I love heterosexual sex. After years of going by without introspection, I stand corrected. I hate it. It is way more painful than it is pleasurable. So, I am renouncing my sexual preference for men. I’m done. This is not it.”

With time, and motivation, women who experience pain during sex can train their vaginas to stop viewing the penis as an enemy. I could potentially work with a gynaecologist and therapist to start treatment so that my body can be as heterosexual as my hormones are. But alas, where does one begin to find the motivation?

Perhaps I will one day long for intimacy with a man. Then, and only then, will I seek treatment for this debilitating but treatable condition.

Until then, (or until I finally act on the other half of my sexuality) I shall practice celibacy. Celibacy, for me, is a radical form of self-love.

Published by blaqandgoldblog

Life seen through a black girl's lens

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