Disclaimer: This post has very little to do with sex. Well, actually it has a LOT to do with sex, but it does not contain a sexy story.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about the journey I’ve been on in the past 5-10 years. It’s been a pretty dramatic transformation, personally. The last couple of years has been an insane ride. In an attempt to digest my past, present, and future, I’ve decided to blog about it.
This is a new type of post for me, its personal. I already feel vulnerable and I’ve not said anything personal yet. So let’s get real.
I think it all started when I discovered at 18 that I had a condition called PCOS which explained some confusing things that made me feel different from other girls. Among them – an inability to have a regular period, the ability to gain weight rapidly and nearly impossible to lose, more hair on my body than what I normally see on girls, and a high probability I’ll never be able to have kids.
That’s a lot to take at 18, when life is just starting and you’re told some of the best parts of you are defective and fucked up. At 18 I was not in shape but not out of shape. I was curvy and knew how to dress to accentuate those curves. I was also in a relationship with a guy who I thought I liked – after all, we got along great… but I didn’t know what I was missing because I was just 18 and stupid.
He proposed when I was 19, and I accepted. I was 19 going on 25, or so I thought. I had my life figured out. Or so I thought. He ate me out for the first time on my 19th birthday. It lasted all of 30 seconds before he told me I tasted too bad for him to go on. I didn’t have the nerve to ask him to try again for another 6 months. When he couldn’t handle it again, I figured out I was the problem, just another defective part of my female system. I decided that life had officially screwed me, so I would just have to deal with it.
Youth is stupid. I got married at 20 and thought I was happy. Sex was boring. I remember losing my virginity and when it was over 30 seconds later I thought: that’s it? Sad. I got little enjoyment from sex itself. Our first year of marriage we had sex about once a week. To me that seemed odd – isn’t the “average” like three times a week? We’re newlyweds, what’s wrong? He couldn’t understand it – why wasn’t I interested? I wouldn’t admit to myself what a mistake I’d made.
A lot was wrong. He didn’t like toys. Our once a week turned into longer stretches of time until it was once a month when I would get so fucking horny I couldn’t stand it. We’d have sex and then I’d have him give me a hand job until I came. When we had our once a month fuck I’d fantasize about other men to keep myself wet and in the moment. It helped, but it didn’t fix the problem. I stopped asking for oral – it hurt too much to be told over and over how ‘dirty’ I was.
And it wasn’t just the taste. He didn’t like my smell. He would wash his hands after touching me, he didn’t want the smell to linger. He would shower after sex to wipe our cum off. If cum spilled on the bed we had to wash the sheets immediately. All I felt was that I was dirty, gross, and there was no way that ME – my fluids and my desires – could ever be desired or enjoyed by another.
I told him I wasn’t attracted to him. I wanted to be separated. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be in this anymore. I was having sex dreams about exes and other men, never about him. If I thought about him I’d get turned off and could never cum. We couldn’t afford to live in separate apartments like I wanted, so I moved into the other bedroom. It was wonderful.
Finally, I told him I wanted out. I couldn’t take it anymore. At this point I was so desperate for some good sex I was almost ready to cheat. I never did, but it was close. What remained of our relationship ended quickly, and he was gone.
I felt free. Free, with a price. Years of feeling bad about myself, bad about what I liked and wanted had taken their toll. My weight was up nearly 65 pounds from that marriage. I felt ugly, fat, gross. I didn’t seek anyone out – it wasn’t even a consideration for me.
And then the BF entered my life. I delayed showing him my picture for months, afraid and nervous. I was too heavy, too unattractive. He would see it and run. Finally, I couldn’t delay it any longer. But I told him I didn’t want to disappoint him. I told him about that stupid condition I’m trying to control (with hardly any success) and how I don’t like who I am today. I sent him that message via FB and went to bed, dreading the next day.
He wrote back with this: I see a short, bigger girl. who is very pretty. and does have a very sex body. your eyes are very pretty. they look to be baby blue. don’t worry abut losing any lbs for me hun i love you just the way you are. and i do spend every waking hour thinking abut you. ps i iam falling very hard for you
How the world changed!
To be continued.