Friend warning: There’s a handful of friends who know I’m writing this blog. For the sake of their possibly delicate constitutions, this is a chance to NOT read this post. Some people are squeamish when defining what they consider to be “too much information” regarding their friends’ sex lives. 🙂
I often wondered if I could qualify for special compensation to claim back my virginity?
Immediately after being assaulted, there was simply no desire for intimate contact with another person. None. Nada. Zip.
Unsurprisingly, for the first six months after, the idea didn’t even cross my mind.
Yet, I’m someone with an incredibly high sex drive. Always have been. Often, I’ve had more interest in sex than my boyfriend or lover.
There was a point where my natural desire for intimacy resurfaced. But I still had no interest in letting a man anywhere near me.
At the same time, I longed for gentle, comforting human contact. I desperately wanted to be hugged and kissed. To have my hair caressed. And not just by friends, but a lover. I desired that closeness, the bonding, the affection and care that comes with such a relationship.
There’s a theory that if you go without sex for long enough, your libido eventually goes away. But that never happened in my case.
According to my therapist, the assault created some fatal flaws in my self-confidence/self-esteem. But like many women, they were never that crash hot for me in the first place.
I also felt incredibly unattractive post-assault. I suppose that’s the depression and shame colouring my view, as I’ve been assured that’s not the case. What I wanted… I also could not want.
Obviously, there were other issues including the ability to trust. Although the assault was physical and not sexual, because Andre and I had been intimate that kind of messed up that area of my life as well. I mean, getting naked, sharing energy, bodily fluids and so on with another person requires a decent level of trust, right? And how could I trust myself let alone another person?
So on one hand (no pun intended!), I needed and desired sex, love, tenderness. On the other, no man had the secret password that would grant entry through the castle walls.
Quite the quandary.
To cope with this bizarre situation, I sought out the company of ‘safe men’. Mostly men at my work that I get along well with, who are in committed relationships. There’s nothing wrong with forming a little crush on men who are taken, right? I mean, I didn’t want or expect anything. It never went beyond a little office flirting. They are strong men with integrity I could hang out with, and feel good around. Feel safe.
They ofcourse, never knew they played this role for me. Most of them still don’t.
But it wasn’t enough. Neither was masturbation. Or toys. Eventually, everything lost its allure, but I was still incredibly horny with no effective outlet.
Initially I could control it, ignore it. Whilst much of the raw emotion was floating around, I had plenty to keep me busy.
Then the unanswered call of my libido grew louder and more insistent. But still I did nothing.
There was a time when I decided I should perhaps consider dating again. So I jumped online (nice way to try and control the situation) to meet a few guys. But it wasn’t the right time. The whole thing badly spooked me, despite the harmlessness of a couple of dates and one or two kisses being all that occurred.
I recall wondering if I could proposition past lovers to ‘help me out’. I was vibrantly aware that my desire for sex was as much about feeling safe as it was about the physical act. I wanted (and still want) someone in my life who will help me through this tricky aspect of my recovery.
I don’t know if I have the right to want this of another person, but I do. Actually, I can’t even imagine the sort of person who would be capable of this work. They would need a rare combination of qualities – awareness, intelligence, sensitivity to both emotional and energetic shifts, the ability to demonstrate a lot of love and care. And most of all, they must be 1000% trustworthy.
It was two years and four months between ‘drinks’ – terribly analogy I know! It was November/December last year, and I thought I was ready. I thought I’d met someone with the above-mentioned qualities. But ofcourse, like everything in my skewed, post-assault world, my judgement of other people is also impaired. And he wasn’t.
Like all good horror stories, I didn’t realise that particular fact until it was too late. We had sex twice. The sex wasn’t even that good. Perhaps I’ve just been spoiled in the past with really, really great sex? Fuck, I don’t know!
I’ll talk more about this encounter in another post. But basically, he was emotionally vacant. Wait, let me revise that and instead say ‘emotionally bankrupt’.
My involvement with him, and the turgid events surrounding that time triggered a new episode of depression.
Its own way, that was a blessing. Because this time, the depression showed up mostly as physical pain, as discussed elsewhere on here. I thought there was something seriously wrong with me. There were other symptoms ofcourse, but it was the pain that led me through a series of events out of the fog. Towards my practices, my therapist, and the birth of this blog to name but a few recent changes.
So, I can’t possibly feel anger towards this man I was briefly involved with. I see that situation and that person as just a messenger. And the message was: its time to get your shit together girl!
My Guru says: That which is your weakest point will eventually lead to your liberation.
Perhaps for me my weakest point is sex, because I remain hornier than all get out. Sigh!