For some value of sex I’ve been sexually active for a bit over thirty years. But most of that early stuff doesn’t count. That was abuse. I asked someone to fuck me for the first time twenty years ago. It feels crazy that it was so long ago.

Noah took me to Carmel for the first time ten years ago. That is where he got me roaring drunk and introduced me to the wonders of anal sex.

Before and after Noah I had lots of other partners. I’ve tried a lot of different kinds of sex. I still get surprised all the time. It doesn’t go how I think it will. I react emotionally in ways I don’t anticipate. I physically react in ways that surprise me.

Shouldn’t I know how to do this already? But I don’t. I’m still learning. I wonder if I will ever feel like I really know what I’m doing.

Even so many years into marriage sex is still surprising. We had a lovely weekend. Lots of raunchy sex like we used to do all the time. Just like old times. Only this time it was different. It isn’t like old times.

Now when things start hurting I can’t dissociate any more. I get angry. Then I start crying. I didn’t used to do that. This is new. This feels… awful. I feel like a failure at sex. Noah says that when I stop him during the fourth time in less than twenty-four hours I don’t get to feel like a failure. He says I was willing to try and go as far as I could before my body says stop. That’s success for sex.

Only…

A long time ago someone told me that an orgasm isn’t the point of sex. I believe I started guffawing like a donkey and pointing at them. Wheezing while I stammered out, “Not the point…. Orgasm isn’t the point of sex…” I thought that was funny.

I think I’m kind of fucked up in how I think sex is about orgasm. If it doesn’t end in an orgasm I kind of don’t want to give myself a mark on the quota tally sheet. It doesn’t count. I wussed out. I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t satisfy you so it doesn’t count.

But I don’t dissociate like I used to. I really can’t do it with the kids around. I have had to change my body awareness a lot over the past few years in order to not space out and ignore them. I have to pay attention. I have to keep them safe.

I’ve been thinking really hard about what I had to do to be a slave. It was very hard. He didn’t want to know anything about my trauma history and I had to keep all of my emotional messiness pretty much in check. In some ways it was good for me to learn. I’m glad he was kind enough to not marry me. He would have been a bad husband.

A lot of things Noah doesn’t actually want me to do. Noah wants to know when I’m upset. He will change his behavior based on my emotional state. He is considerate and caring.

When I started freaking out he physically backed off but was verbally very supportive. I can’t complain about how Noah treats me.

It’s weird. Sex is becoming more vulnerable by the year. I didn’t expect that. I thought of sex as being kind of like running. You go do it and you learn the physical motions and that is that.

But that really isn’t what sex is about. It is… but the physical parts may be some of the least important bits.

I don’t know how I feel about all this. I dislike how volatile I feel lately. I know I’m due to start bleeding any day. I could blame it on that. But I don’t think that is all of it.

I’m really glad I have a partner who is patient with me.