Blog

“I was at a pajama party last night, and my buddy woke me up by stroking my boobs and kissing me,” she admitted, “and I enjoyed it!”
I finally realized what the term “arousal” meant. My thoughts were racing through my head with all the possibilities.
The thought occurred to me, “I hope something like that would happen to me during a slumber party.”

 

I was a shy thirteen-year-old who had developed a habit of sneaking into my parents’ bedroom and reading their pornographic magazines every time they left the house during the course of the previous two years.

 

 

 

 

She was a nameless, faceless girl that I met on the internet and had precisely two discussions with in the course of a year. She went by the pseudonym “Hotpants,” and she claimed to be eleven years old, or at the very least she wrote in a manner appropriate for her age. I believe the fact was that she was actually a forty-year-old inner tube salesperson from Ohio, but I took her at her word and assumed the best.
Hotpants had just provoked the awareness that I had a very strong desire to have the same thing happen to me when she confessed to a slumber party fondling from a female friend. I found myself sitting in class, taking notes on the other females in the class.
They may be classified as either very boy crazy or absolutely ignorant. A make-out session at a sleep party did not seem to be an obvious choice for anybody.

 

I scoured the internet for tips on how to discern whether a female is eager to have sexual intercourse with you, but I came up against the fact that same-sex relationships are fraught with societal danger. Propose the incorrect female, or, in the worst case scenario, merely tell the truth to the wrong person and then become the target of a smear campaign. I was already having difficulty establishing friends; I didn’t need to put myself in a position where I may become a social outcast.

 

 

 

 

When I was younger, I kept my fantasies to myself, only expressing them to odd individuals I met on AOL chat rooms who claimed to be my age but were almost certainly not.
As time went on, I became more and more socially distant, even among my own gender. In addition to my disinterest in clothes and makeup, the fact that I couldn’t sit in a group of girls without having fantasies about a lesbian group sex porn erupting made me feel even more awkward than I already did. I was terrified of becoming close friends with a girl because I knew that eventually I would start crushing on them and want to get them into bed made me feel even more awkward.

 

A bunch of social misfits, geeky youngsters who were primarily male and extremely Christian, was where I ended up. Not only was it uncool to be slightly non-straight, but it was also uncool to think about sex at all.
I wasn’t totally convinced by the rationale of abstinence at the time. In my early adolescence, I consumed Scarleteen.com and assimilated a certain amount of sex-positivity despite my concerns about social acceptance and the fact that my peers appeared to believe abstinence was the only way forward. I had a different perspective.

 

I gave up my virginity when I was sixteen to the first person who approached me. A fourteen-year-old long-haired Wiccan kid with an alcoholic mother who would ground him for looking at the dog in the wrong way, who spent most of his time at his best friend’s home down the street. He was my boyfriend for a month, and it cost me around four months of my social life since my friends refused to talk to me because I dared to date someone.

 

At seventeen, I was keen to get more integrated into my buddy network. I declared my faith in God and began attending church services with my pals. My ambition to be a “nice girl” who did things “the right way” was thwarted by my new commitment, which forced me to begin leading a double life.

 

 

 

 

 

I had relationships with others and slept with them, but I kept everything under wraps. I had fun with folks who were either outside of my buddy network or who, at the very least, had the good sense to keep their mouths shut while I was among them. Due to the fact that I did not make any promises, I was not able to maintain a monogamous relationship.

 

It wasn’t long after I started college that I began seeing the guy who would later become my ex-husband, and it wasn’t long before I decided I’d had enough of keeping my activities hidden and went public with the fact that he was in fact my boyfriend. At that time, I had gotten tired of the manipulation and was starting to understand that these folks were not really my friends.
As a result of my continued enslavement to the church, I exchanged the manipulative group of friends from my teenage years for a group of equally manipulative adults who, in retrospect, seemed oddly interested in our sex lives and in the name of Christ were trying to persuade us that we should get married or that we should end our relationship.

 

 

 

 

This went on for a while until the pastor of the church chose to express his displeasure with my blogging habit, and we came to the conclusion that we didn’t need a church that felt the need to critique every move we made any longer. Not being constrained by religious regulations or criticism, we were suddenly free to experiment…which is exactly what we did.

 

 

 

 

 

Except for the time being, I found myself in a situation that I did not really want to be in.
The thought of threesomes and group sex was quite appealing to my ex, and although I wasn’t opposed to the idea, I wasn’t in favor of it as well. It was something I wanted to take my time with. He made the case that this was probably the only way I’d ever end up in bed with a female in my life. 

 

 

 

 

He eventually selected a female he believed would make an excellent candidate and set up a date for the three of us. She seemed pleasant, but I wasn’t drawn to her in any way.
He then proceeded to drive us around to other places to get us intoxicated, and then recommended that we travel as a threesome on the way home. Because the notion that I’d never otherwise sleep with a female invaded my mind, I said yes, with the condition that there would be no penetration between them, which was broken during the first three minutes of the act.

 

The occasion was a melancholy one. On one hand, the intercourse was enjoyable. On the other hand, I hadn’t really wanted to do this in the first place, and I had a desired boundary breached. I concentrated on the bright aspects of my life and kept the terrible aspects locked inside. I was so torn over the subject that I couldn’t locate my own point of view.

 

We felt it would be wonderful to move live together a few months later, so we decided to get engaged and he moved in with me at my parents’ home. Our sex life had taken a nosedive, which I attributed to the fact that we were sharing a bedroom with my parents, who were watching television. He kept bringing up how he wanted to fuck the female from the threesome, and I was certain it was the root of the problem.

 

My Sex Addiction Story 4 pajama party

 

We tied the knot. We finally got our own place. We were always at odds about sex. He was adamant about not having it, despite the fact that it would cause our internet connection to become clogged with porn. Despite the fact that I have no moral objections to porn, I found myself feeling tricked in some way. 

 

As soon as we started having sex, he started bringing up how much he wanted to fist fuck the female from the threesome. Because of how I felt, I’d find myself yelling at him on certain days. Other days, I simply absorbed it: finding out a way to get away with being so despicable that your own spouse can’t have sex with you without thinking of someone else.
We decided to open our marriage after a friend suggested it. If your marriage isn’t strong enough to begin with, adding other individuals will just serve to exacerbate the situation. However, for a small while, we were happy.

 

 

 

 

And I was finding individuals to sleep with who were, quite honestly, much greater lovers than he was. However, it was unequal: I had a far easier time finding external lovers than he did, and on the few occasions when he did, I erupted in wrath and chased them away.

 

After that, we relocated to New York City, and our relationship went into a downward spiral that was irreversible. He hated the city and refused to go to work there. I developed a drinking problem as a result of feeling even more underappreciated. In my one-year stay in the Big Apple, I finally got the courage to express my dissatisfaction with the situation and my frustration with being treated like garbage. I was fed up with attempting to salvage something that was never intended to be.

 

 

 

 

I’m not claiming I was blameless, but I had finally discovered my own voice. I had finally found out how to express myself clearly.
I met my present partner five days after my ex-husband returned to the country from which he had fled. It has been a continual challenge for us to be honest with each other about what we want, whether it is in the bedroom or outside of it.

 

 He tells me all the time how lovely I am, and I continually remind him of how fortunate I am to have him as a partner.
Things aren’t perfect, but we do our best to work through our difficulties, even when they are difficult.
We have a long way to go on this adventure. I’m relieved that it has only just started.