I haven’t had sex in nearly two years. In fact, at the ripe old age of 26, I’ve never once had “good” sex and am pretty sure that it may just be a folk tale. I’ll answer the simple questions first. Yes, my last “relationship” was a tough one for me, and it took quite a bit to get over. I, like my non-sex-seeking male counter parts, prefer monogamy; that’s not to say I find anything wrong with people who actively express their sexuality. In fact, I appreciate it, and regularly read sex journalist, mostly in what must seem like a masochistic tendency. It’s not that I don’t want to be sexually active, it’s just I’ve always found it difficult to actually be sexually active.
I was sexually abused at a young age, and didn’t seek counseling until much later in life. I was embarrassed and afraid and ashamed. I’m reminded all too often of how physically weak I am compared to men. For the most part, I did what most girls in my situation do and became overly sexually active, as a way to justify it, or at least be able to say I wanted it this time. It wasn’t until after I sought counsel that I truly began understanding the self-destructive path I was creating for myself: one of insanity. The cyclical nature of depression and low-self esteem is the hardest routine to break, but I like to think I’ve become successful at it. Others may argue I’ve simply regressed and can no longer understand the difference between consensual sex and self-destructive sex. Clearly I disagree with this statement: I’m a busy girl not actively seeking commitment.
For the most part I’ve had a string of short-lived, particularly awkward relationships. I’ve been dumped and I’ve done the dumping. Shortly after I felt confident in myself from reconstructing my “bad” behaviors I began dating and have been unsuccessfully doing so ever since. There’s no success story here. I’m not a Lifetime movie because as much as I’ve improved socially and self-respect-wise, I’m a twelve-year-old girl when it comes to sex and relationships. Unlike so many of my millennial contemporaries I often feel like I’m missing out on a feminist awakening.
Casual sex is just not in the cards for me. I cannot do that without regressing into other behaviors. Despite the fact that I’m overly jealous of all my girlfriends, who have fun, story worthy encounters I resort to other more PG stories.
I have often felt that things might be different, and that I could have real meaningful relationships with women, because I am not as afraid of them. In many ways I’ve overcome my fear, but it will always be there, lingering in the back of my mind, hanging on: my younger self-clinging to my leg. Many sexually abused women end up in same sex relationships, and for a while I thought I might experiment in that arena. I’ve gone to the gay clubs. I’ve made fabulous friends.
The only problem with me attempting to have a romantic relationship with a woman is: I’m really not sexually attracted to women.
It’s become clear to me, that even though I’m longing for a real romantic connection I cannot force it to happen. As much as I wish that I could love some of my girl friends as more than friends, they just don’t do it for me. Many of them are really beautiful girls, but I’m always looking at the really beautiful boys; especially the really beautiful boy butts. If sexuality were a choice, I’d have the choice to have sex with women; or at least try it. Certainly everyone can determine whether or not they think a person, regardless of gender, is attractive. We are an extremely visual, sexualized country, that fact is obvious. However, when it comes to who you really want to have sex with, the interest has to be there.
I, like many girls in my situation, have a lot to improve upon if I want to join society and fuck like a normal human being. At least for now, I can rest assured, that I am comfortable with my sexuality. Knowing what you want is half the battle; realizing that you know what you want it is just one tiny step further.