An Orgasm

DQ asked me what this is... Oh Boy... here we go.

Slack-jawed, bug-eyed, she sat there with an ever so slight smile on her face as I gave what is possibly THE WORST explanation of an orgasm. Where is the Egyptian when I need her. She would have handled this SO MUCH better!

I start, "Well you see it happens when you have sex...."
She replies, "Yeah..."
(oh shit! You mean that wasn't enough?)
"When a man puts his penis into a woman's vagina, and moves it in and out..." (and yes I acknowledge that there are MANY ways to achieve an orgasm here folks, the least of which is penal penetration, sorry boys!, but in the moment, I could barley wrap my brain around the fact that I needed to answer the question, let alone try to encompass every possible scenario)
"He puts that inside me!!!" (well I wasn't specifically thinking of you here dear, in fact COMPLETELY NOT YOU, you cannot have sex until you are 40!) "That has to hurt!" (Good, yes, IT DOES HURT, so don't do it!!!)
"Well yes it would hurt if you had sex when you are young, but when you are older and your body has grown it feels good." (OK, so that wasn't so bad, right? Maybe this Mom thing isn't so hard...)
"And then what?" (Oh, you mean I'm not finished, shit!)
"Well then it feels so good that your body has to release all of the tension, boys ejaculate from there penis in spasms, and for girls, well it's mainly the spasms. And that in a nut shell is an orgasm."
"Oh." (Uncomfortable silence, shit did I do it wrong, must call the Egyptian...)
"Mom, don't you dare tell anyone I asked you this not even..." (Yeah right!)

Unwritten

I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined
I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you can not find
Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

I break tradition, sometimes my tries, are outside the lines
We've been conditioned to not make mistakes, but I can't live that way

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you can not find
Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten 

She was only 15

I have been chewing on this for awhile, but I came across a writing exercise on another Blog I read, and so I decided today to finish what I started. The exercise is to tell a story about yourself that was a defining moment in your life. Use details to create a voice that reflects who you are today. I immediately thought of this incident that happened when I was 15. I originally wrote this in 3rd person, because it was too hard to re-live the graphic details again and still write about it honestly. But I went back and translated it to 1st person, because that's what the exercise was. It wasn't until I finished recounting this memory, that I really knew for me why it was such a reflection on who I am today. Up until today, I categorized this as one of many young sexual experiences that I would like to just forget. But now, it is so much more. A defining moment? Maybe... Yes, I think it was.

I was 15, a sophomore in high school, and things weren’t great at home, so the attention from the senior was the perfect distraction. He was so cute and the way he looked at me, like I was the only thing he could see. He was so much more intense than any previous boyfriends I had been with.

It didn’t take long for us to be come sexually intimate. I liked the way he touched me and kissed me, like he couldn’t get enough. I liked that he wanted me, when I felt so unwanted at home. I took pleasure and pride in turning him on. I was willing to do just about anything he asked, including things I thought I would never do. And although it was enjoyable, I was never able to come when we had sex. I assumed orgasms were only possible when I touched myself so I never even tried, instead focusing on him and his pleasure was the name of the game.

We had been seeing only each other for many months and having sex often and regularly. Even though my mom would not let me date, I was frequently allowed to go places with him. He would even sometime pick me up for church early on Sunday mornings. Mostly it was an excuse for us to spend time together and more specifically to be alone and have sex. And normally I was OK with this, but today was different. I slid into the passenger seat and we drove away silently from my house.

I may have thought my silence and indifference was enough to tell him that sex was the furthest thing from my mind, but he did not understand this passive cue from me. We drove until he pulled into a familiar secluded spot. And then, without words he leaned over, kissed my neck as he found the recline lever for my seat. My heart raced as I tried to find the words to tell him I just couldn’t this time, but his body was already on top of mine, kissing me, his hand sliding up under my skirt. My body stiffened, and I became tense as he pushed my underwear aside, but I still couldn't find the words to say. I turned my head and looked away as he continued to push himself between my legs. I could not bring myself to be even slightly aroused, so it hurt when he entered me. He moved in and out of me, completely unaware that I laid there so still, not falling into rhythm with him, silent, as he moaned in his pleasure, burying his head in my neck.

He didn't hold me down, he didn't cover my mouth, I didn't push him away, I didn't object at all. It wasn't what one imagines when one thinks of being forced to have sex. I didn't tell him no, he never even asked. In that moment it was more important to give him what he wanted, to take care of his needs, then to take care of what I needed for me. I reasoned, if I just laid there real still, he would finish and he wouldn't be mad, and treat me like the baby I was. Try as I might to push my feelings down, it wasn't as easy as convincing myself to lay there and not push him away. I started to cry, quickly wiping the tears away that betrayed me. He continued to move on top of me, oblivious to my suffering. Unable to contain the sadness, the loneliness of being misunderstood, the tears silently rolled down my cheeks, as I laid there just hoping it would end soon.

At last, he lay still on top of me the last of his orgasm shuddering through his body. I felt sick. How could he not see I was upset? How could he not feel the lack of interest? My withholding? But he didn't. As he rolled off of me, I turned away and opened the door to the car, simultaneously pulling down my skirt. I couldn't breathe in the car anymore. My head swam in the smell of him and sex. It was just too much to bear any longer. Caught up in the rapture of the moment, he never caught the silence, never saw me wiping my face on the sleeve of my coat.

We drove the rest of the way to church and walked in together, hand in hand, sat down, along with his family and everyone else in the service that day. Numb everywhere but between my legs, which slightly stung, I sat next to him, holding his hand, lost in my own mind, wondering how it had happened. It was so surreal to be sitting there completely normal, when I was far from normal. How could I appear fine on the outside, while inside something was broken? And how was it that he sat next to me so unaware? And all of these people around me, could they not see? How was it that everyone failed to notice that something had changed. How did they not know that inside I was sobbing, screaming for someone to notice. That in the space of just hours I was so different. But no one knew that I would never be the same again. That my view of my world around me and my role in relationships would be forever tainted by this submissive act.

But even I was unaware in that moment, that this pattern of giving up who I was, would haunt me long into the future. That I would continue to stifle my own feelings, and my needs, lying there silently giving to others what they want, in an attempt to keep their favor. All the while on the inside begging them to notice what I am sacrificing and that this is costly for me. That the girl that was unable to say no back then, is still as an adult, unable to say no. The uncertainty that kept her silent still lives in my heart, making me doubt myself. I still have not learned in all these years how to find strength in my own convictions and yet still be what I values most, a giver. How to give but not sacrifice myself in the process. How to not lay there silently crying, giving up to another what I think they need, pushing my feelings down. I still have not learned how to value my needs as much as I value the needs of others.

The Sign on the Door

I was reminded late last week that when you are going through hard times, surrounding yourself with a good support system will keep you from going crazy.

Speaking of friends, here's a song that I've had on repeat the last week. Surely not my first heartbreak, but possibly my worst. Yeah. And for now I can't imagine anything or anyone who could make me want to do this again... to fall in love. But in the meantime, nursing my wounds with you all, well, I can't think of any place else I'd rather be.

Wendy's sittin' next to me, she's trying hard to drink it away
And I feel the rumble of the subway beneath the stage
And her eyes are screaming and her lips are pursed
And this ain't her first heartache
But it feels like, it feels like the worst
And she says, "Can someone tell me how this can happen?"
And I guess that God only knows
My heart used to be the sweet shop of love
But now the sign on the door
It says sorry we're closed
And I hear myself tell her some old words I know they won't help
And then I feel guilty 'cause I closed some sweet shops myself
And we all talk about timing and lifestyles and such
But to a heart that's been shattered those words don't mean that much
And all of our pining it just goes to show
Don't you enter a shop with the sign on the door
Saying sorry we're closed
And she's been through all the pain that one can endure
And her new man thinks she loves him but he can't be sure
And his heart pines for Wendy
She says that's how it goes
How am I supposed to know
He can't read the sign saying sorry we're closed
Yeah we're closed
And she says, "Can someone tell me how this can happen?"
And I guess that God only knows
My heart used to be the sweet shop of love
But there's a sign on the door
There's a sign on the door
One more sign...

The Sign on the Door, Edwin McCain

Right to be Wrong

Dealing with other people's feelingsand opinions about my life and my choices has never been easy for me. I have to remind myself that: Those that matter don't mind and those that mind, don't matter. But I think Joss Stone said it even better....

"Right To Be Wrong"

I've got a right to be wrong, My mistakes will make me strong
I'm stepping out into the great unknown
I'm feeling wings though I've never flown
I've got a mind of my own
I'm flesh and blood to the bone, I'm not made of stone
Got a right to be wrong, So just leave me alone

I've got a right to be wrong, I've been held down too long
I've got to break free, So I can finally breathe
I've got a right to be wrong
Got to sing my own song
I might be singing out of key, But it sure feels good to me
Got a right to be wrong, So just leave me alone

You're entitled to your opinion, But it's really my decision
I can't turn back I'm on a mission
If you care don't you dare blur my vision
Let me be all that I can be, Don't smother me with negativity
Whatever's out there waiting for me
I'm going to faced it willingly

Right to be Wrong, Joss Stone

Over Compensating

It's like this: I am going through life and I feel myself start to slide. In that moment I freeze, that familiar sick feeling in my gut of being out of control. And then begins the process of righting myself. It is here where I over-compensate. And I find myself on the other side of the road, going the wrong way, facing on-coming traffic. I do this, a lot. I have been doing this for three years in one way or another. In the process of trying to right these wrongs, I seem to create more wrecks.
I over-compensated after my marriage ended, and I picked someone to get involved with who was completely opposite from my ex-husband. I needed to feel like I had control, and I didn't want someone who would take that from me.
And then I over-compensated many times over when I got involved with someone who didn't quite have his shit strait. I over-compensated for him to right his wrongs. When he said he didn't have something, I gave it to him. If he couldn't figure it out, I figured it out for him. When he needed something, I provided. Although he may have been able to do these things for himself, when he didn't, I did it for him.
I over-compensated emotionally, financially and intellectually trying to make things good for him, believing that if things were good for him, they would be good for us. When in truth we were (and are) in two different places. He said this is where he wanted to be: in this life, with me and two kids, a house, etc. And I took him for his word and worked towards making a life for us together. But over and over again, he has made choices that show what he really wants is something different.
I think he does want the life, but I'm not sure he really wants me as his partner. I say this because the reality for me is he is not attentive to my needs. He seems to be OK with the life, he's good with the kids and the house. It's me he doesn't seem to really be interested in. Maybe he figured the trade off was OK for him, I don't know. What I do know is: It is not OK for me. I want someone who wants me. Totally and completely.
And now as we are separating, I find myself doing it again. Wanting to make this OK for him, for the kids, for his Mom, for everyone. When in truth, I am sad, disappointed, angry that we need to separate. And I need to make this OK for me.
He says he needs to prove he can take care of himself. I get this. It is the right thing to do. I'm not sure we can stay together and that I can give up control to allow him to do this well enough to satisfy his own pride and gain my trust. After all this time, it is a hard habit to break. I just feel like I have too much to lose.
So these wings of his that have been built up over the last 2 (or so) years will now be tested.
In all of this, he is taking care of him, making the decisions he wants, doing what he wants, when he wants. And patiently, I have been trying to wait for him to figure everything out. Knowing that whatever he does, I will compensate to make things right again in my life. I need to take care of me. But every step I take toward taking care of me, is a step away from him, letting go. Letting go of the relationship as I know it, letting go of my future plans with him, letting go of all that I wanted for us. Just letting go.
I know we need to do this, but I can't help but wonder if we will ever be able to come back from this.