Love Me: The Manoir

It Wasn't Quite How I Imagined It Would Go

For someone who had obsessed about sex her whole life, when I actually started having it I received a reality check. I didn't enjoy sex. I didn't really enjoy the foreplay either. In fact, sex was boring and painful for me.

But I didn't know how to say this to Andrew who wanted to fuck all the time. Three times in one day once. However, I didn't see this as a problem. I wanted to make him feel good, I liked making him feel good. I'd fake my moans, endure painfully long foreplay to make him feel like he'd given me some pleasure.

I have distinct memories of being in doggy position with a blank look on my face, barely flinching at the sound of skin slapping and the rough grip on my hips. This was what I had always wanted, this is what I had told him I wanted. But I didn't like any of it.

I still haven't really worked out why I bled every single time after having sex with Andrew, but it became so common place that it stopped concerning me. I would go through the motions and cuddle him after, listening to all the parts of me and the sex we had which he enjoyed.

I would tell everyone that I enjoyed being so close to him. To feel his sweat against mine, the sound of his heavy breathing in my ear, the way he would kiss me so gently before he finished.

I told him once in a fit of sexting while he was on holiday for a couple of weeks that I wanted him to use me like a sex toy. At the time I thought this notion was incredibly sexy. I look back and realise that this was the way I viewed myself.

I was an object for people to use whenever they wanted regardless if I wanted to. And no one but myself allowed it to get that way.

I grew to hate how rough the sex had become, but didn't really know how to stop it. More often than not it would be loving and sweet, but occasionally I would find myself in pain. I had painted this image my whole life that I was the type of girl who like rough sex, and yet I didn't even like sex at all.

But I didn't know how to tell him that. I didn't know how to admit even to myself that I didn't enjoy sex. The idea that people could get pleasure from it was beyond me. But it was my way of keeping him close to me. I was giving him the thing that no other girl had given him.

I liked being the girl who knew a lot about sex. I liked not being a virgin even if I didn't enjoy the sex. It was like I had unlocked the final steps of teenagedom.

At the time I saw this as an accomplishment. Now I just think it's quite sad.