The first thought I had when he kissed me was “WRONG. This is wrong.”

Logically speaking I know it’s fine for me to have sex with whoever I want to, but every so often slut-shaming and mono-normative thoughts creep into my head and it’s hard to shake them.

He led me inside and told me I needed to be wearing much less clothing, and the teenager inside me who was told she’d be forever sullied if she had sex with someone who was not her husband, quavered.

He started off by having me suck his cock, which didn’t help.


What would people say?

You shouldn’t be doing this.

Shut up, all of you. 

We went into the bedroom where he immediately bent me over the bed. I was still swollen from the night before, so much so that despite being wet, he had a hard time entering me.

“I’m beginning to think you can’t handle me two nights in a row,” he said. “You’re so swollen its like fucking an 18 year old.”

Inside, I am still an 18 year old. Just now experimenting with my sexuality, because back then I was too scared and repressed to do so.

It hurt. I grit my teeth as he slammed into me. Told myself to relax like I do at the beginning of anal. Breathed. Whimpered. And eventually came.

It stopped hurting. I came again. I came so hard and got so tight that I pulled the condom right off him–he had to stop and put on another.

I came the way you should only be able to come from tantric sex–continually. I came for 20 minutes straight. As soon as one orgasm ended another began. I rose and crashed, whimpering, moaning, screaming and panting. Eventually, he came too, with me still in the middle of an endless orgasm.

He told me to get up on the bed for a cuddle but I could barely move. He kissed my neck and growled in my ear, sending more shivers of pleasure through me.

I am allowed.

I am allowed to feel this.

I am allowed to use my body in whatever way feels good.

I am allowed to orgasm, I am allowed to cuddle, I am allowed to suck cock, and I am allowed to do it with whoever I want as long as they want it, too.

My body, my life, my pleasure, my choice.

The only one who has to live with it is me.



16 Comments on “Wrong”

  1. plantpage says:

    Great insight. You absolutely deserve it. You absolutely have the right.

  2. d says:

    Now we are getting somewhere ..

  3. I go through these same thoughts every time I’m with someone other than my husband. I deserve to have sex. I deserve to feel pleasure. I deserve to be loved…and yet, there is always a crash. When I’m in the thick of it, I’m not in my own mind. I’m somewhere else, transported to another plane of existence. Maybe it’s the flight back to reality that hits me so hard.
    My Buddhist practice is almost constantly focused on appreciating what is in front of me and not looking out the window at what I want my life to be. Sometimes I am better at it than others. When I am with my children, or out in nature, I can focus. When I am spending yet another night sitting across the couch from my husband watching yet another episode of “How Did My Life Turn Into This?” it is easy to fantasize about wandering the planet experiencing all that life has to offer. I need to get better about appreciating the normalcy of watching television and cooking dinner.

    • I hear you. I feel like the only way I can appreciate the dull moments is by looking forward to the not-so-dull ones.

      Granted, I actually enjoy watching TV (while drinking 😉 ), but that is my down time. I wouldn’t appreciate it if I didn’t have other times to compare it to.

  4. chinaskie says:

    I agree 100 percent that it is your body, your life, your choice. All of us have the power to decide for ourselves, always.

    However, the last sentence you wrote brings up a question for me.

    If or when you feel compromised, shamed, guilty, resentful, hurt, or are injured in some way, it stays with you. What stays with you shapes you and how you see the world and how you interact with others. So is it really accurate to say you’re the only one who has to live with it?
    Sorry to be a pill, but I wanted to put it out there. Feel free to ignore.

    • I was raised in a culture of shame. Shame for my very normal sexual feelings, shame over my body (I swam in a t-shirt and shorts until LAST YEAR), shame over my liberal political leanings and all the ways in which I was not quite meek and ladylike enough.

      When you are mired in something so destructive, it takes time to untangle. I can’t do that by continuing to allow myself to be controlled by that same mind-set. I can only overcome my feelings of shame by facing them. The only way out is through.

  5. plantpage says:

    Not the right answer lol

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