I was 6 and in the 1st grade. We were at recess one fall afternoon. We were 2 boys and 3 girls. We all walked over to a tree on the far side of the playground. I knew that the girl with the skirt had mentioned a hole in her stalkings. So in a moment’s time she was squatting over as if she was going to pee. One of the boys went over to her and under her skirt; he slid his hand and touched her for a moment, then she let the other boy do the same. I didn’t understand what they were feeling for but I felt it. It was that same feeling I could identify today when I am turned on; a small pulsating feeling in my private area. It happened rather quickly and then the bell rang so we all ran to line up. When we got inside we planned to go into the coat room last. The blond boy told us to wait. Then he said “touch it”. As I looked down I saw a bulge coming from the crotch of his pants. And as the other girls just slightly touched it, I did the same. It was my first experience ever touching any part of a boy’s body like that. And I knew that I wasn’t supposed to but it was a very interesting discovery.

I thought about that moment a lot. We never did it again and we never talked about it either. A few months later, I moved and started a new school. I soon forgot the day and what had happened until one day in the second grade I saw something a little more intriguing. I sat in the very last seat in the second row from the windows. My new best friend sat right next to me. When on most days we would just do our work and whisper to each other, this time, she was quiet. But when I looked over I saw her doing something that I thought was weird.

She had her hands under her desk and she was pressing against her pelvic area. But she also had her legs stretched out and it almost looked as if she was holding her breath in order to make something happen. I remember we made eye contact that day but it didn’t stop her from doing what she was doing. Suddenly as I saw her face turn a little red and then she had a sudden relaxed look as if what she had been trying to accomplish had been. And I remembered that feeling. The one I felt in the first grade and the one I can clearly identify now. The problem for me was that I didn’t know how to bring that feeling back, until I realized what she had done. I never talked about it with her.

It’s almost as if I knew that things like this were supposed to be kept secret. But I didn’t waste any time that day in trying it when I got home. I shared a room with my siblings so I went into the bathroom and tried it before I bathed. Eureka! That feeling was there. I pressed and pressed against my pelvic area until I felt something pulsate. And it felt great. I soon began to do this from time to time; nothing too often because I was never really alone. But when we moved to a bigger house, I had more freedom to explore. I’d watch late night TV with one of my cousins and sneakily watch Cinemax and quietly watch the soft porn movies. But I knew I couldn’t really “relieve” myself around anyone so I wouldn’t. But I still felt aroused just by watching.

It wasn’t until I was about 9yrs old when I began sleeping over a family friend’s house and the exploration became greater and a lot more involving. She was only about one or two years older but this is where I truly learned how much I enjoyed masturbating. I had tried humping teddy bears and sometimes even just on the floor. But the more she and I spoke, the more I understood she had already been “exploring” herself too. I don’t recall exactly how we began our house play but for some reason we used that as our way to do it in a “normal” and acceptable way. And what I mean by that is by not making it seem “gay” because we both knew we only did this together because exploring with boys was not allowed.

Being Puerto Rican and this young, our parents were always protective and made it very clear we were not to think about or kiss boys. So we’d play house and we’d pretend to be dating. But one of us would always play the boy. We’d wait till we were going to bed and we began humping on each other. With the “boy” usually putting a sock in her panties so we would both feel it equally as we humped. This went on for about a year until she began exploring more with boys. I still wasn’t ready to let other people know that I was aware of my sexuality so I went on my merry way and continued to feel on myself and always comfort myself and without my friend to help. It had been fun. Our time to “play” was over. But I left that experience understanding that I enjoyed it. I liked to feel turned on. I liked to hump. I enjoyed masturbating.

When I was a kid I didn’t know what an orgasm was or how to have one so my personal sessions had no end point. I masturbated incessantly for extraordinarily long periods of time. With no final goal how does one determine when to stop? I can’t count the number of times I fell asleep with my hand down my pants and a goofy smile on my face.

For the next 7 years I persistently humped every couch cushion I could get my hands on. I learned Barbie feet made good clit ticklers and Ban Roll-On antiperspirant bottles were perfectly dildo sized. I was the reigning thumb wrestling champion at my elementary school because I had far stronger hand muscles than any other kid in town.

Fast forward to 1983, I was 12. One day my mother hands me a strange looking contraption with a long electric cord. It’s a nail buffing kit her friend bought, never used and passed on to her. Since my mother rarely did her nails she thought I might like it instead. After all, I was getting to the age when personal grooming was supposed to become an integral part of my delicate, feminine existence.

I lifted one eyebrow, smirked and thought to myself “nail buffing kit, huh? HA! I’m taking this thing straight to my room and fucking it!”

The 1980’s was one of the last decades we could pretend women didn’t masturbate. Touching oneself was dirty and shameful. You could go blind, get pimples or grow hair on your palms. I was in college before I realized tools designed specifically for genital gratification existed. There wasn’t a sex shop in every neighborhood packed with a mind numbing selection of pleasure devices back then.

In the 80’s we were inundated with electric vibrating personal massagers, back scratchers, scalp stimulators and buffers. We bought them for family members at Christmas from discount superstores. We pretended they really WERE for our backs, scalps and hands. It was mass blatant denial on the grandest level. There was a huge, vibrating, phallic shaped elephant in the room we collectively ignored.

Some of us, like my mother, had no clue these machines were used for less than pure purposes. I couldn’t believe my mom was actually using her Hitachi Magic Wand for her shoulders! She was clearly missing out on so much in life.

My new best friend was a little hand held electric device that accepted interchangeable “buffing” attachments. Some had rough, sandpaper like bumps designed for rigorous nail filing. The fine grit and smooth attachments intended for finishing were my favorite. Combined with the electric powered vibration, they were heavenly little clit stimulators in disguise.

Before this I occasionally had something that resembled orgasm. Today I’d call it a dud. The kind you work up to, feel the build, it’s about to hit and then . . . nothing. It fizzles out. I assumed the sensation was just a strange but pleasant side effect that occasionally happened while pleasuring myself. I still hadn’t experienced intense climax.

Thanks to my nail buffing kit I started having regular, mind blowing, body numbing, vulva thumping, aneurysm-tastic orgasms. Not only was I thrilled beyond belief, I finally had a goal! No more rubbing myself into oblivion. The job was always done in less than 10 minutes!

I continued to wham-bam-thank-you-mam myself for the next 25 years. What I didn’t realize was my newfound earth shattering orgasms made me loose sight of something else along the way.

Moving into adulthood, I entered relationships with people who regarded masturbation as something reluctantly resorted to when your partner wasn’t available. It was only performed as a shameful last ditch effort.

I always enjoyed self love because it was fun. It isn’t better than partnered sex nor worse— it’s simply different. It’s as if one is cake and the other ice cream. They’re both equally as delicious for different reasons. Sometimes I have a taste for one versus the other and sometimes I mush them together and gobble them both up at the same time.

I didn’t understand why ice cream was the disgraceful, inferior cousin of cake. It also wasn’t just my partners who viewed solo sexytime this way. Pretty much everyone I knew had the same opinion. If you liked disgraceful, dirty, whorish ice cream, it was something best kept to yourself.

I went to outlandish lengths to conceal my masturbation sessions. A hurried moment in the bath or the basement doing laundry was often the only opportunity I had to flick my bean. I parked in the back of dark parking lots just to capture a moment alone to Jill myself off in my car.

I used to be my best lover. I spent time with me slowly going over every little nook and cranny. Sometimes me, myself and I had crazy, threesomes that lasted hours. I had fond memories of those days but now everything was different. I became the secret, forbidden lover I was forced to hide. When we did steal a moment together it was rushed and frenzied. No more lazy Sunday afternoon lingering and fingering. I became ashamed of me.

At 36 I became single for the first time in 18 years. I had all the time and freedom in the world to tickle my own fancy but it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it was in my early days. The ridiculous number of sex toys I bought didn’t help either. I realized the quality time I spent with myself had very little to do with quality. Masturbation had become solely about the orgasm. I had stopped appreciating all the fun spent getting there.

One evening I decided to go all out and treat myself like I would a special first time partner. I carefully showered and groomed myself. I used expensive bath wash and put on my favorite perfume. With candles lit, my boring bedroom became soft, dark and inviting. It felt a little silly— all this for just me? I had on a garter belt, stockings and sexy, high heels which was unusual for me to wear for a partner, much less for myself.

Before settling in on my freshly laundered bedding, I felt liquid dripping from between my legs. It splashed onto the floor. What was this? I hadn’t even laid a hand on myself yet!

Turns out, after all those years I was still THAT into me. I spent the next few hours caressing myself and doing all sorts of naughty things. I got out the clothes pins, silk scarves, and teased the crap out of myself. Getting reacquainted with me was exactly what I needed. I hadn’t spent that much time loving myself, without the goal of orgasm, in nearly 20 years.

That one solo date night taught me a valuable lesson I still carry with me years later. Each time I masturbate, I take my eyes off the prize. Masturbation is about so much more than arriving at orgasm. It’s about the journey and truly loving yourself.

Next time you have alone time, don’t immediately zero in on third base like a high school date coping a feel behind the bleachers. Take time to appreciate yourself— your ENTIRE self. You just might find you are the lover you always dreamed of.

I’ve masturbated with the intention of self-pleasure since age 9. It began with careful and thorough study of textbooks and encyclopedia entries on the human reproductive systems. I took my mother’s hand-held mirror so I could admire the handiwork below. Clitoris, labia minora, labia majora, vulva, vagina… beautiful like the petal folds of Georgia O’Keefe’s (my favorite artist at the time- I then moved on to Frida Kahlo) deep violet lilies. At first, it was furtive, but I learned the art of silence.

In spite of my conservative, Evangelical upbringing, I was not ashamed of the time I set aside for myself. Even the learned shame of modesty that came with early-onset puberty didn’t affect my ability to come with the flick of a finger. When my back should have bowed or slouched under the gendered pressures of “respectability” and modesty, it was upright. In fact, I would stand naked in the mirror, mentally complimenting my burgeoning body from my 34C-and-growing breasts to my spreading hips. I would always start by tracing my features on my corporeal terrain, downward, downward to the soft wetness that always weakened my strong thighs and knees. And I would stare myself in the eyes, daring myself to shut them as I approached the brink. I rarely did close my eyes. That’s how I recognized the contraction of my pupils when my clitoris finally became too sensitive to touch.

In my young adulthood, my masturbation habits have been the subject of shy questions from suitors. How often? How long? This time, however, it was not shy. My boyfriend, partner and “first” lay by my side, under the weight of post-fellatio lethargy, when he asked “Can I see you masturbate?” (Neither of us use euphemisms when requesting sex.)

My clitoris quivered at his voice, and my brain sifted memories of his hands pinning me down for orgasms beyond my control (but within my consent). Once, I asked him to give me a back massage, but I got more than that. He squeezed and kneaded my back, using his knee to force me to orgasm not once, not twice, but five times… But, I digress…

I assented, slowly peeling off my cotton boyshorts with the teal-blue lacy trim and opened my legs. I was already slick with arousal. He stirred from his sloth-like state to reposition himself so he could see me pleasure myself. His hazel gaze did not make me self-conscious, nor did his open adoration make me think twice about sharing MY time.

He kissed my thigh, nipping it lightly with his canines. By reflex, my back arched, and my fingers began their journey across my corporeal terrain. First I traced my erect nipples, and then I wandered to the fertile valley in my pelvic region. Ah, but the first contact between fingertip and clitoris- it must be put off for maximum pleasure. I circled and circled in the slick petals around my clitoris. It felt so good I could scarcely breathe, but I remembered to do so when he made eye contact with me. When I could no longer wait, I stroked myself to orgasm. Each orgasm followed a more lackadaisical path, and the sheets became more and more soaked. When I lay still trying to regain clear sight and calm my heart, he broke the silence- “Could you do it again?”

Breathily, I replied, “I could, but I feel like I’ve just had a buffet of delicacies, and I want to savor this.”

He felt the wetness between my thighs and squeezed his newly-erect penis. “You’re lucky, you know.”

I let my head fall back onto the pillow, “I know.”

At the age of four or five, I had discovered that humping my teddy bears, pillows and even my fist not only made my little girl bits feel good but after doing it long enough a calm feeling of relief and peace would soothe me unlike anything else. This was an activity that I would do on rare occasions and always in private (in bed before falling asleep); this changed when I became a latchkey kid.

My parents both worked full time and although they had daycare for my baby brother they couldn’t afford to pay our neighbor that watched him to also watch me after school. At the age of five I was alone at home for several hours each afternoon with nothing but a television with very bad antenna reception to keep me entertained. I quickly found myself with a lot of time to explore my body between the time that the afternoon sitcoms went off and when my parents got back with my little brother. Masturbation became an almost everyday afternoon activity for little Lidia.

I never told anyone about what I did in the afternoons; I didn’t feel any shame for doing it; I knew that this was a private activity. I somehow had an intuitive knowledge that if I told my mother about this wonderful thing that I did to make scared little me forget I was home alone in a scary big world feel better that she would freak out.

I never told anyone until the day that I showed my friend down the street how to make herself feel better by humping her teddy bears. My friend had parents that were going through a divorce and her mother had a lot of different strange men and women in and out of their house. My friend was always anxious and scared so I decided to share with her my very awesome secret for soothing oneself.

Like I said, I knew it was a private activity so I never really showed her by doing it in front of her. First, I tried explaining to her verbally and when she quite didn’t understand I used two teddy bears to simulate the humping. I remember even explaining to her that it was better to use the “snout” of the stuffed animal on the privates instead of the lower part of it. I explained to her that “it” would feel better and work faster that way. So, off I sent her to one side of her bed with one of her stuffed animals and to the other side of the bed I went with another one.

When we were together we would hump stuffed animals in the same room but apart from one another as often as we would play board games or Barbies. Masturbating “together” became a normal part of our play and it also became a part of my friend’s life when we weren’t together. I clearly remember that I taught her this one weekend during the school year and that it was something that we did for many months before we were caught in the act.

One Saturday afternoon the summer after our masturbation play had started there was a huge family party at her house. My parents never let me go to the parties at her house because of all the random people coming and going but this time they had agreed to let me go. I was extremely excited about going to this party because I had never played on a slip-n-slide before and her mom had just gotten the latest greatest one on the market.

After hours of sliding down that long yellow piece of plastic that could never seem to keep enough water on it for us kids to not get at least slightly hurt we went inside. Her older cousin had been hanging out with us all day but she was busy doing something when we decided it was time to go “play” with the stuffed animals in our special way. Her cousin walked in on us, screamed for her mom and aunt and that was the beginning of the end of playing with my friend down the street.

Her mother called my mother. Her mother called the neighbor that could translate for her what she wanted to tell my mother. My mother and her mother through the translator got into a huge argument. After some very tense moments the translator, the neighbor that watched my baby brother, left after telling both mothers that the conversation made her feel uncomfortable.

My mother and her mother kept arguing. My very judgmental mother kept asking me if I had been doing that very nasty thing that they said I had. I felt the rush and heat of shame come over my body when any of the adults looked at me. My friend’s mother kept insisting that I admit to my mother that the little pervert that had damaged her daughter was me. She wanted me to admit that her daughter and nobody else at her house had ever taught me that. I could not do that. My mother kept screaming in Spanish that Americans were dirty, perverted and all so incredibly fucked up. As quickly as things had escalated after we had gotten caught it all ended.

My friend’s mother had resolved to never let me play with her again. My mother had resolved to never let me play with my friend again. The neighbor that took care of my little brother never treated me the same again.

I had learned on a hot afternoon in Miami that masturbation was something that adults thought was very wrong… at least for kids to do. I had learned that my mother thought masturbation was it was something shameful, dirty and forbidden. I no longer thought it was something that just made me feel good and soothed me… I know knew that it was something sexual.

For weeks my mother kept a watchful eye on my every move. I learned how to become better at hiding my masturbation from my parents. When I realized that my mother was always checking my stuffed animals and pillows for “something” I learned to accommodate my needs by using bunched up towels or my fist instead. I also made it my quest to never get caught or be shamed about that again.

Yet, as often as she could my mother would remind me that “it” wasn’t something that good little girls did. In fact she told me that it was only something that little girls that had been abused did. She insisted that my little friend had a rough life with so many men and women in and out of her lesbian slutty mother’s life – that one of those adults most have taught her that awful thing that I should forget all about.

Since I knew I had taught my friend all about that wonderful thing that always made me feel better I decided at that young age that EVERYTHING my mother had said and would ever say about anything sexual was wrong! I didn’t know why my mom thought so negatively about something I loved so much but if humping myself to my happy place was what bad girls did I never wanted to be a good girl.

Getting caught in the act of masturbating then being shamed for it didn’t make me stop masturbating, it forced me to decide between what I thought and knew felt was right and what the adult that I should have been able to trust said was right.

Ultimately, I decided to keep having private parties that soothed me and connected me with the joy within me no matter what anyone else thought and I think my sex life turned out all the better for it.

© Lidia-Anain May 3, 2012 ~ All Rights Reserved.

I didn’t make this phrase up myself but I have lived by it since as long as I can remember. This saying comes from Betty Dodson one of my heroes. Betty Dodson liberated masturbation almost forty years ago and she is still doing work to assure that masturbation is celebrated for what it is…

Masturbation IS the foundation of human sexuality!

I don’t think enough people celebrate or realize the importance of masturbation and how crucial it is for having a healthy, knowledgeable and empowered sex life. While to some National Masturbation Month might be a silly “made up” holiday for me it is an opportunity to bring attention to one of the best things we can do for ourselves as humans.

My purpose as a sex educator is to help adults have information that will help them create and enjoy healthy mindful sex, love, joy in their lives… the best way to do this is by making sure that adults embrace masturbation as the best way to learn about their own sexual responsiveness.

For me this month, is all about celebrating the art of masturbation.

Today’s lesson is about toys for jilling off. I bring to you the grandmother of masturbation Betty Dodson with Carlin Ross talking about their favorite sex life accessories.

Betty Dodson with Carlin Ross on Toys for Jilling Off

I have a lot of articles planned for you this month but if you have any questions that you would like to ask me about masturbation please send them my way.

© Lidia-Anain May 2, 2012 ~ All Rights Reserved.

Time to start jilling and jacking off like mad!

Yes, May is National Masturbation Month but if you didn’t know you aren’t the only one because many Americans aren’t aware about it either. If you’d like to find out about how May became National Masturbation Month there is an article here that explains how it all came about (no pun intended).

Today, I bring to you videos and more information from one of my favorite fellow sex educators, Jayme Waxman, that will help those of you with male parts improve your jacking off.

Jamye Waxman on Toys for Boys…

This weekend after I presented with two others about polyisoprene condoms, I had the pleasure of watching Jamye and another sex educator give an energizing and detailed presentation on the topic of toys for boys. Their presentation focused on the pros and cons of the Cobra Libre, the Man Eater by Big Teaze and the Screaming O Vibrating Ring.

Jamye explained that the Cobra Libre is a waterproof, rechargeable vibrating masturbation sleeve, manufactured by Fun Factory. She detailed that it has dips and ridges on the inside of the sleeve that add stimulation to the frenulum of the penis, while two independently vibrating motors provide a variety of pulsation and massaging sensations. Jamye did mention that although the Cobra Libre is a great masturbation sleeve it will not fit the head of every penis out there.

You can watch Jamye ‘s previous reviews of the other two sex toys for men that the presentation focused on right here.

Jamye Waxman reviews the Man Eater…

Jamye Waxman reviews the Screaming O Vibrating Ring…

You can read more of Jamye’s recommendations for sex toys for men here. And just because Jamye is a woman unafraid of helping men figure out what kind of sex toys are best for them for jacking off, don’t assume she’s not also an authority about women’s pleasure. Jamye has written a whole book on women and masturbation! Her book, Getting Off, is for any woman who wants to know how to get herself off, and for anyone interested in learning a little more about the wide world of masturbation.

Jamye is one of the most awesome people I’ve met this year and she’s a wealth of knowledge when it comes to all things sexuality. Whether she’s teaching about love and relationships or masturbation and sex toys she really knows her topics. There are many reasons why I am a fan of Jamye but one of my favorite reasons to love her is that she lives by a truth that every woman should incorporate into her living…

poor is the woman whose pleasure depends on the permission of others

She has this truth tatted on her and she is teaching people everywhere how to live by it with each podcast she records, every book she authors, each film she makes and every workshop she teaches.

I hope that this post has encouraged those of you not already familiar with Jamye Waxman to learn more about her and her empowering work. Her website, her Facebook fan page and her Twitter page (@jamye) are great ways to connect with Jamye.

Tomorrow I will bring to you an article about toys for jilling off but until then you can read my post: what’s better than bacon? masturbation!

I wish all of you a very pleasurable May filled with tons of self-loving!

© Lidia-Anain May 1, 2012 ~ All Rights Reserved.

This story is about how a guy I did not know had sex with me without my permission and I didn’t say anything.

In this post you’ll get to read about how I felt and approached sex after.

***

victim?! survivor?! neither!?

 A little over sixteen years ago, I had an experience that I carried with me for a very long time before I finally processed it.

I had taken a shower after he raped me but as my tears ran down my body cleaning my body better than soap and water ever could, my mind decided to put the experience into that secret place so that I could forget and move on. After that shower, I never thought about what happened, I never considered myself a victim, I much less would have thought of myself as a survivor. I didn’t want to think about it; I wanted to get back to being the sexual woman that had never had a bad sexual experience not even in her worst relationship.

It wasn’t until a little over a year ago, when someone commented on a piece I wrote about choking and rough sex that I realized how my mind had chosen to process this experience that from what I knew most women would react differently to. When the person left the comment she said that as someone that was a survivor of sexual abuse that she didn’t understand how women could enjoy rough sex my response to her comment reactivated the memory of this experience.

“I have never been sexually abused.” I responded to her comment.

After I read my response, in black and white on my website, a voice inside of me spoke up and said, “You have been sexually abused but you just don’t want to admit you were raped.”

For months, I kept having conversations with myself about many things. I kept questioning everything I knew and everything I had defined for myself. What is and isn’t rape? What is and isn’t consent?! What is and isn’t self-defense?!

What was my experience since it was different than everything I had personally learned and knew about rape? Was my reaction to the experience appropriate? Was it okay for me to not consider myself a rape victim or rape survivor? Could I still be a sex-positive feminist if I had defined my experience and reacted unlike anyone I knew?

I always find answers when I am not looking for them; the Universe always knows how to reveal healing to me when I need it. Six months ago, I was reading Betty Dodson’s memoir, there in her book was the first clue I needed to enable my healing.

“Although I was never physically attacked, I did have to deal with a few bad tempered jerks like most women do. One time I had sex with a guy to diffuse his anger rather than to risk getting beat up. Choosing this kind of self-defense would never occur to a sexually repressed woman, who either freezes with fear or screams until she’s silenced. Many a clever woman has outsmarted a potential rapist, but we rarely hear about them. Our society, along with Hollywood, prefers to view women as sexual victims.” – from Betty Dodson’s My Romantic Love Wars.

Although, I had frozen when I first woke up and found him fucking me without my consent; I had made a choice; one that I figured was the best form of defense for me at that time in that apartment on that day. A part of me did want to fight and scream but a more powerful part of me reasoned that it was safer, faster and smarter to just allow him to finish so that I wouldn’t endure more harm.

I didn’t want the experience to escalate or to turn into the ugly rape scenes that my mother insisted would happen to me if I didn’t act like a “good girl” or if I did one of many things that would invite men to rape me. In that moment as I was making that choice, I definitely wasn’t making that decision as a sexually liberated woman outsmarting an asshole with impulse control issues that was committing a crime of opportunity but I knew with every ounce of me that I was defending myself by just letting him finish raping me without screaming or fighting back.

I decided sometime after that first shower after he had his way with me and today to give myself permission to assign whatever vocabulary and definitions to my experience that feel right for me. You might call me a rape victim. You might call me a survivor. You might call me neither and just think that I was a girl that drank too much and got what she deserved. You might even think the same way that I do – that I am a woman that had an unwanted non-consensual sexual experience with a man that she did not know and that after having a long shower and cry about it she picked up her sexual agency right where she had kept it all along.

But you know what? It really doesn’t matter what others think about my experience because we each have the permission to recover in our own ways and our responses to traumatic experiences are all as different as our fingerprints. The amount of time it takes us to process these experiences is also unique and mine took longer than most and that is also perfectly normal for me.

What happened that night had bothered me for sixteen years but telling this story, no matter how afraid I was to tell it, has been especially healing. I am no longer ashamed of this because the man that loves me most now knows that I was victimized and used by another man. I was changed forever by this experience but I can’t think of one of those changes being as a negative thing. A man easily walked away after raping me, probably without any remorse much less knowing how deeply he violated my mind and body but I survived it.

I am not a victim. I am not a survivor. I am a sexually liberated sex-positive woman that explores, defines and celebrates her own sexuality as best as she can – then and now!

© Lidia-Anain May 1, 2012 ~ All Rights Reserved.

This story is about how a guy I did not know had sex with me without my permission and I didn’t say anything.

In this post you’ll get to read about how I woke up from a drunken stupor to find an unknown man having non-consensual sex with me, what I did about it and what happened immediately after.

All names except my own have been changed.

***

non-consensual sex

I had gone to sleep with my head resting on a friend’s shoulder and I had woken up on a strange couch with an even stranger man with his penis inside of me. Of course a man that doesn’t care enough to wake up the woman he wants to have sex with to ask if she wants it too wouldn’t take the time to pull panties off. It had been a combination of panties rubbing on my inner labia and pain in my vagina that had woken me up.

At first I thought I was having an awful nightmare and I tried to tell myself to wake up. I did wake up more but the nightmare wasn’t going away. There he still was on top of me, inside of me and thrusting away. I pulled up as much as I could to look around him and I saw that there were three other men and some woman I didn’t know not too far from us on another couch. I could hear the T.V. they were watching. I could also hear Jasmine’s voice, giggles and moans in the distance.

At first when I woke up I thought about fighting him but it was after I saw other people in the room (especially other men) that I decided to not fight. I had no idea where I was, who these people were and no idea what they would do to me if I fought this man.

Everything in my body wanted to fight. Everything in my body told me to fight so I could get free, run out the door and call for help. Everything in my body told me to scratch his face, dig my nails into his eyes then begin punching with all the strength I could muster. Everything said fight but in the back of my mind as quickly as the screams to fight had started I heard a voice telling me to just be still.

Just be still. Don’t move. He’ll finish soon.

I looked him in the eyes as tears slowly started to roll down the side of my face. The bastard smiled. I looked away. Into a black pleather couch I stared as he continued to push himself in and out of my vagina that offered him absolutely no welcome. The harder he thrust the more it hurt – internally and externally. My panties felt like they were now rubbing my inner labia raw. The condom he had on felt like it was setting my vagina on fire. The tip of his penis hitting my cervix causing cramps. But I wasn’t fighting him how I wanted to.

It was on a dirty pleather couch in an unknown apartment with an audience of four that I was raped. A man I didn’t know had been having non-consensual sex with me while I slept. Somewhere between falling asleep in the car and waking up to him – he had made the choice to fuck the really drunk girl. For reasons unknown to me he had somehow thought that me being passed out drunk was permission to have sex with me. When I had woken up I knew I was being raped but as I stared into the worn pleather without fighting back I wasn’t sure anymore about what rape was.

I hadn’t been chased down a dark alley by an unknown assailant with a gun forced to the ground and raped by him. I hadn’t been on a date with a guy I liked that had decided he had waited long enough for sex then forced himself onto me and raped by him. I hadn’t been at a party had too many drinks then decided to have fun with some guy that then invited his boys in on the fun and raped by them. This wasn’t anything like any rape scenario that I had ever been taught or heard of. Besides women that are raped fight back?! Don’t they?!

Was it rape if I had decided to not fight back? Was it rape if I had decided to be still until he finished? Was the decision to not fight a form of consent?

It was on a dirty pleather couch in an unknown apartment with an audience of four that my perception of rape changed forever. It was there that I cried quietly, waited for him to finish and hoped that nobody else thought or attempted to be the next one. It was there that I felt him climax as my vagina felt like it had been scorched by a dry heat. It was there that the torment finally ended. It was there that I half watched all cried as the audience and my rapist played video games into the early morning hours until one by one they went into bedrooms or left out the apartment. It was there that I waited for Jasmine and for it to be time to go home. Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait too long.

At around daybreak Jasmine and her male friend from the club emerged with him. I quickly sat up. He thanked me for the fun, said his goodbyes to them and left. Jasmine giggled. Her male friend grabbed his keys. I looked for my shoes but couldn’t find them. Jasmine told me my heels were in the car. We left that apartment. I asked if we were headed to the dorms.

“Where else would we go at almost seven in the morning silly?” Jasmine asked rhetorically.

I wanted to say awful things to her. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. But most of all I wanted to go home and shower. So I kept my mouth shut and I didn’t fight. Again.

This story continues here.

© Lidia-Anain March 23, 2012 ~ All Rights Reserved.

This story has been haunting me again since.

This story is about how a guy I did not know had sex with me without my permission and I didn’t say anything.

What happened that night has bothered me always but it especially hurts that I am still afraid to tell this story. I am so ashamed of this that I haven’t even been able to tell the man that loves me most that another man used me, changed me forever and easily walked away probably without any remorse much less knowing how deeply he violated my mind and body.

This story will not include an intellectual analysis of rape. In fact it is the opposite of that. This story is my account of what happened the night when I felt that a piece of my sexuality was stolen from me. Forever. It is the story of what happened before and how I found myself in a situation that led to the rape, it is the story of what happened during, how I felt and approached sex after.

It is a long story which I’ve decided to break up into a few posts. In this post you’ll get to read about the events that lead up to the situation.

All names except my own have been changed.

***

clubbing with friends

A little over sixteen years ago, I went clubbing on a Friday night with my friend Jasmine that was a furious drinker, that kept putting us in bad situations and that I had almost lost all trust in. I went because I liked dancing, she had promised that like me she would only have a drink or two that night and because another friend was the one that would be doing the driving.

We had so much fun just barely tipsy giggling and dancing for the first couple of hours. Jasmine asked if we wanted one last beer each. Cristina said yes and because I felt that the situation was safe I also said yes. When Jasmine brought the beers back she returned with this guy she had hooked up with a few times and his friends. Suddenly, the mood changed as she danced happily with him while encouraging us to get to know his friends. Cristina and I didn’t want anything to do with any of his friends.

We left the dance floor, sat at the bar, finished our beers, had several more while chatting and dancing. At one point we barely would finish one before we would start the next one. We had surpassed tipsy. We were drunk but still with it enough that we knew we needed to take a cab back home. We were making plans for that when Jasmine approached with shots for us. We had those and a couple more. I was done. So done that I had to go to the restroom thinking that I had to vomit.

My stomach felt so awful. This was still a very new feeling to me. Foreign in fact because I had only drank that much once before. Since that first time I had gotten completely drunk I had been so afraid of a hangover that I made sure to never have more than two drinks. My head was spinning but I couldn’t vomit so I headed back to the front of the club where we had promised to meet so we could grab a cab. When I got there I only saw Jasmine with that guy and his friends. He handed her two drinks and she handed one to me.

“Come on Lidia, let’s have one last drink with the guys before we go.” Jasmine urged.

I sighed, pleaded that we should find Cristina so we could go and said I was already too drunk from drinking too much.

“Well one more drink won’t hurt if you’re already wasted! One last drink and we will go.” Jasmine urged one last time.

I thought that the sooner I finished that drink the sooner we would be headed home and away from those guys – I chugged the drink.

The guys walked with us as we headed out of the club; I kept asking Jasmine where Cristina was. Jasmine kept avoiding my question. When we got outside Jasmine’s dude kissed her and told her to wait right there that he was going to get the car.

It quickly became apparent that Cristina had already left with a group of girls that were all taking a cab back to the dorms. Jasmine had told her that she would get me home since the cab was already going to be pretty tight. What Jasmine hadn’t told her was how we would be getting home or when.

I should have called myself a cab instead of getting into a car with a friend that I knew I couldn’t trust and a group of men I didn’t know. I should have but the thought of being really drunk and standing outside of a club waiting for a cab all alone was even scarier. I figured that safest fastest way home was going with my friend and without thinking much more I squeezed into the front passenger’s seat next to her.

“We will be there soon, Lidia. Get some rest.” Jasmine whispered into my ear.

I rested my head on her shoulder thinking that everything would be alright and I fell asleep. I slept peacefully. So peacefully that I did not know where I had been taken, where I was sleeping or anything else.

I slept peacefully until I woke up with a man I didn’t know on top of me and inside of me.

I was foggy. This couldn’t be happening I told myself. This couldn’t be happening? Where was I? Who was he? This couldn’t be happening!

But it was. And even though I was still drunk, completely disoriented and now feeling even more ill than I had before – I knew this was rape.

I knew this was rape and I was very afraid of how it would end.

This story continues here.

© Lidia-Anain March 22, 2012 ~ All Rights Reserved.

We would say that we forgave one another, we would make an attempt to move forward yet we would still not feel healed, we wouldn’t completely move forward and nothing would be resolved. It was as if one event started to make the relationship go sour, we forgave yet an unspoken baby elephant became the third member of our relationship, then time, bad choices, revenge, and each disappointment fed that elephant until eventually we became so used to feeding it that we stopped nourishing our love. The elephant sitting between us was huge; what was left of our love was tiny and starving.

This happens to many couples even though the circumstances that caused them and the new problems we face are different. It is so easy to have our perfect love crush us, pull the rug from underneath us, terribly disappoint us and/or completely destroy our trust. When that happens we often look back wondering was I intoxicated by romantic love so much that I did not see this person clearly but you did see them; it was that time had not yet given them enough opportunity to fail you. Almost everyone we love from parents and siblings to spouses and children to friends and business associates will disappoint us if given enough time and opportunity.

We know that people aren’t perfect and that they will at one time or another do something that causes us to hurt but why can’t we forgive when they do?

After all the hurt in my relationship I had to learn that to truly move forward forgiveness was about more than saying it or wanting it to be true. Giving someone another chance involves accepting that the person you love and have created a life with is capable of disappointing you again.

Many of us after forgiving repeat to ourselves and to the person we forgave that they can’t ever do X, Y or Z again because we won’t stand for it and will leave if they do – which doesn’t go with forgiveness. If you forgave them then you don’t need to set ultimatums or remind them in that way about what you won’t tolerate.

Some of us after we forgive are so afraid of our partners disappointing us again that we enable them and set them up for further failure. Enabling someone is a never ending exhausting task that leads to disappointment in the one you love – which doesn’t go with forgiveness. If you forgave them then you don’t need to enable them by doing exhaustive work to cover up your partner’s shortcomings so that you don’t hurt when you see them.

If you want to forgive someone you have to let go of the fear of being hurt or disappointed again – this takes work and communication but first you must forgive and want forgiveness for the right reasons then finally for forgiveness to heal you’ll both have to surrender. 

Forgiveness is recreating a foundation then building a home for your love knowing that you’re constructing on an area that is susceptible to natural disasters and inclement weather. In the future something might shake your love, attack it or attempt to wash it away again but if you do the work and communicate you’ll be so strong that you’ll be able to manage through most things together.

The right reasons to forgive and want forgiveness…

The person forgiving has to want to forgive their partner out of love and desire to be with that person because they want to have them in their life.

Make it absolutely clear what you are forgiving your partner for – don’t leave room for doubt about what hurt you, disappointed you or how they fell short. If you are forgiving someone because you can’t afford to leave them, because you don’t want to break up your family or because you are afraid that you won’t find love with someone else you aren’t forgiving. Yes, often all of these things will be behind our desire to forgive but excuses shouldn’t be our primary motivation. You have to want to forgive because even though this person hurt or disappointed you, you still laugh with this person, you still see them as the one you want a future with and you still do love them.

The person being forgiven has to understand what all they have been forgiven for and understand what their partner needs to be able to be able to trust them fully in the future.

Seeking forgiveness should be done for no other reason than truly regretting their actions and wanting to continue to create a future with the person they’ve hurt or disappointed. Accepting forgiveness means understanding what exactly it is that they are being forgiven for and doing their best to prevent putting their partner into similar painful situations. A clean slate is granted to people that are willing change their behavior that lead to the hurt. Those being forgiven have to want to change for themselves not just to regain entry into their partner’s life again. Being forgiven doesn’t come without expectations – there is work that must be done.

The work and communication forgiveness takes…

Reestablishing needs – No matter who did the forgiving in the relationship both of your needs have to be met; as a couple you’ll have to communicate what you need and want as individuals from the relationship. You should begin working on how these needs and wants can be met and how you can support one another so that your relationship can be mutually beneficial again. Talking about needs and wants creates a set of expectations that you have for your relationship – you’re partners after all so you should have goals.

Checking in – You can’t just forgive, reestablish needs/wants, set expectations and move on because as time passes circumstances change and you change as people, so you’ll need to check in with one another. Relationships that work consist of people that hold one another accountable about their agreements by checking in with one another before the other person has fallen below the mark. You also check in as you see yourself changing, as you start noticing that you might need to alter your agreements, and anytime that you feel that your partner and you might not be on the same page anymore. Checking in is vital for preventing disappointment and hurt.

After you’ve done all of that you’ll have to be strong enough to surrender…

So that joy, love, and sex can unite you once again.

Too often when couples are getting over the feuding  and the hurt intimacy and sex are withheld and used as weapons. This really is the worst thing you can do to someone you love and have forgiven. Affection and sex are vital for bonding people, for sharing vulnerability and for healing that it isn’t something you should wait to start working on until things are ideal again.

But unfortunately, when one person was so hurt and they’ve said that they’d forgiven but as a couple they aren’t doing the work to really move forward sex becomes a bargaining tool. I’ll have sex with you if and when you behave how I want and only how I want. No! It can’t work that way. Keep working and communicating until the work is really getting done and as you are doing those burn down that wall you put up around your heart when you felt hurt.

You are strong enough to surrender to the sex, love and intimacy that united you in the first place. And you must…because there’s no reason to stay together if you can’t forgive and then surrender.

If you are working on your needs/wants and communicating I’m sure that affection, love, intimacy and sex will help get you through the rough times together. I’m sure because I’m speaking from experience.

© Lidia-Anain March 9, 2012 ~ All Rights Reserved.