Sunday, December 6, 2009

Sexual Ickiness

When you're new to sex, you don't understand that sex can be sticky, funky, smelly, nasty and just plain icky. You think it's going to be like a 1938 black-and-white movie – all rushing waterfalls and blasts of steam and heaving bosoms and breathtaking beauty.

Not so with Number Two and me.

The first nasty icky came about two days after our first sexual encounter. I was in his tiny closet of a bathroom taking a pee and when I wiped, out slid the condom we had used on our first date.

Having an active imagination, my first thought was that toxic plastic had been trapped inside me for two days, polluting my privates with germs and carcinogens. My second thought was that I might be pregnant or AIDS-ridden. And my third thought was, why didn't he tell me the condom slipped off and why did he leave it to rot inside my body?

I never asked Number Two for an answer. I never mentioned it to him. I just flushed the condom away and left the unanswered question to rot and fester in my own mind. Because asking it would have forced me to confront the unconfrontable: that my new boyfriend, who I desperately wanted to love, didn't give a good god damn about my well-being.

Things were moving too fast and going too well for me to start asking questions or making demands. Within three days of sleeping together, I already had keys to his apartment. I was spending an inordinate amount of time with him and basking in the glow of us "going together."

Losing my virginity to Latin Muslim had been an unromantic, push-and-shove, grunt-once-and-we're-done affair that hadn't left me feeling much in the way of enjoyment. Number Two was an improvement, more playful, more experimental, more sexually arousing.

So one night, after round one, I was hungry for more and started instigating round two. Only instead of happily obliging or playfully putting me off, Number Two glared at me and declared that I was like an Eveready battery, I always wanted more.

That word, Eveready, reverberated around and around in my skull like the dirty, pus-filled accusation it was.

I was a nympho.

I drained men dry.

Something was wrong with me.

I was not normal.

I was an Eveready, and Eveready was not a compliment.

This second instance of sexual ickiness led to the third and worst one: Number Two liked the sexual position most associated with male homosexuality, and I didn't know how to just say no. So on top of being an Eveready, I was also apparently really nasty, because I was doing nasty things that nice girls just didn't do.

We didn't talk about sodomy, just like we didn't talk about the mystery of the missing condom.

It became yet another internal injury left to clot and bleed, until many months later, when I threw it up in his face in a cloud of volcanic rage.

(Number Two Diaries Part 2 of 8: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 | Lessons Learned Parts 1-3: 1 2 3)

7 comments:

Retromus-ik said...

I've never heard, actually, of the condom getting "stuck" in the vagina for that long anyway. Sounds pretty scary. I'm glad your body pushed it out.

Bri said...

You're back!

There's something about sexual "clots" that when left to stew turn into the most unbelievable kind of rage and venom.

I have a few clots from a while back...no one to spit them out at though. squer

dirtygirl said...

Aw, honey girl, that sounds awful. The things we put up with, keep our mouths shut about when we should be screaming and flailing our arms. The way we let men shame us for having desires at all.

You slept with him on your first date. Danger, Danger, Warning Will Robinson. I cannot count the men I've slept with on a first date (actually, I can, I keep a list), but looking back...well, you really don't know a person after just a few hours. Can't tell if they're trustworthy or nice or going to stick around.

Of course, I've had my share of condom slips, tears, midstream surreptitious removals and downright refusals- but these days I'm only letting nice get up in there and it takes a while to figure out who is and who is not cooch worthy....

terminal101 said...

omg! what if the condom never just slipped out? Couldnt you have been really sick from it being in there? Yea, your par5tner should have told you that detail!

I love your entries!

Donna said...

But with the right, loving man it could have been all good. To be a "nympho" could have been a mutual respect for enjoyable sex. What's up with the name calling? I don't go for the judgmental and selfish attitude some men have. Jerk.

Sofia said...

Oh yeah, I had the same thing happen to me. I had sex with my boyfriend and when I didnt find the condom later, I thought it was strange, but my bedroom is kind of messy so it's easy for things to get lost in there. Apparently it's also easy for things to get lost in my vagina, because that's where the condom came out of two days later when I was peeing. I was kind of freaked out, but I guess its not that dangerous.

Louisa said...

This has happened to me too, on two occasions a piece of condom has come out later. The boy really didn't notice and neither did I! It came out about a week later on the first time!

Your blog is so moving and fascinating, I have been reading for hours, so sorry for all that has happened to you. You are an amazing writer, you really should write a book xx

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