There Was A Boy In My Bed

I said I was going to write more often, no matter how I felt about it. So here I am again. I’m writing.
Is it appropriate to talk about sex in blogging? Not necessarily explicit details, but just the experience itself? Because I think I’m going to.

Um, a few weeks ago the one guy I’ve befriended from Bumble FINALLY came over to my house! I was ecstatic, and so nervous at the same time. I really kind of like this guy. Like he’s a really super cool person, and someone I want to know for a long time.

Some friends are closer than others, he says.

Texts had been getting a bit more suggestive and risqué. I knew that something was going to happen, and soon.

The whole time as I’ve been getting to know this particular guy, I have been battling the purity culture ingrained in me. I am inexperienced. I can connect emotionally in a heartbeat. I am really good at developing and maintaining the emotional side of a relationship with someone. The physical side? Mmmmmmm...not so much. I have no idea what I’m doing (until now, but we’ll get to that in a bit). I have been constantly overthinking every single movement beyond a hug. I have been incredibly guarded because I had convinced myself that I didn’t know how to cuddle, or give bottom pats, or anything else.
I have also been deathly afraid of touching someone, and being rejected. I have spent a fair amount of time over the last few years of my life avoiding rejection. Because that shit hurts, yo. A whole fucking lot
So I’ve been really hesitant to touch this guy because I don’t want to be rejected by him. At all. Quite the opposite. Even though I have wanted to touch him soooo many gahtdamb times. I also didn’t know what his boundaries were (I think I know now). Oh, sure, there are times I KNEW he wanted to snuggle/cuddle. Bottom pats. But I was too afraid to do anything because of that gahtdamb rejection fear. Also, purity culture.
Purity culture told me it was not really okay to touch. Touch leads to intimacy, arousal, making out, and eventually sex. Touch was really something you saved until you were married. For. Serious. This was my plan, up until around 4 or 5 years ago. But before several months ago, there hadn’t really been anyone on my radar. Then enters dude.
Antyway, to get back to the night that he came over. As we have gotten to know each other more, I have been taking toddler steps to push past my touch issues. It has been like my own form of exposure therapy. (I sometimes wonder if he can see how hard I am thinking about things sometimes before I say something or do something. I know he notices the hesitancy. But he hasn’t been pushy, and I really appreciate that. I should probably talk about this with him at some point, right?) We vegged out on the floor, watching movies, dude fell asleep, and I kept drinking my White Russians while leaning against him while he slept. I kind of knew he was going to stay the night. We didn’t explicitly talk about it, but it was kind of an understanding. He moved from the floor to the couch. We talked for a bit. I did a few test touches like leaning my head back on his leg, touching him here and there while we talked. Then as he was getting sleepy I asked if he was going to sleep on the couch (loveseat, really). Him: I dunno. Me: Ugh! That’s dumb. I have a bed. Him: I’ve slept on a love seat before (enter the amount of time because I forgot). Me: Go get in my bed. Him: (Goes in and flops down on the bed). My bed with pink sheets!
I did my nightly shutting down of the house, and then crawled into bed beside him. I was the big spoon off and on all night! It was nice. Um, a thing did happen, but not an all the way thing. Just a thing, and I’ll leave it at that. Again, it was nice.
I completely pushed past most of the barriers that were set up by purity culture and fear. Most. Not all (yet. We’re getting to that). I. Fucking. Loved. Sleeping. Next. To. Someone. Never in a millions YEARS did I think I would enjoy that so much. But I did.
What also surprised me was that I was really okay. I didn’t feel very self-conscious like society told me I (a fat person) should feel about my body. I was in a tank top and nearly sheer shorts! I have flabby arms. I just did not care. I was so comfortable with myself, and with the dude. It shocked the hell out of me. Like shouldn’t I have felt guilty and ashamed? Because I was with someone I’m not married to. Because I liked it. Because I’m fat. Because of a whole host of other things? No. I shouldn’t be.
That dude staying the night was like the wrecking ball busting down nearly the rest of purity culture’s walls. I didn’t think it would be all of them...but little did I know that it probably was all of them. Ever since that night I have been one THIRSTY bitch. Like THIRSTY. It was like one dude being in my bed unleashed a dragon. Or what’s a better analogy for that. I like the dragon image though. So whatever.
Fast forward to this week/weekend. I’ve been on cloud nine all week. On a whim, I decided to rent me a car, and take my ass, solo, up to Omaha. It was awesome. That was Saturday. On Sunday I started talking to this other guy. It got hot pretty quickly, and I decided to keep my rental for one more day so I could possibly go on a date with him because I just really wanted to meet him. I didn’t hear back until I had already been to the aquarium, and then Trader Joe’s. I always have to stop at TJ’s. So as I’m getting into my bomb-ass little Ford Fiesta hatchback rental, I see that I missed a call from this person. I called him back, and agreed to go over to his house. Something I never do. But I was like fuck it. I’m living life, man.
So I go over, probably against my better judgement, but boy got me feeling some sort of way earlier in the day. I did try to honor my rule, but it was all over as soon as he pulled my legs into his lap, and rubbed my leg from my knee to my foot. (Woo!). I knew it too. He thought I was sexy. I was into the making out and cuddling. (Y’all, I mother fucking kissed for the first time, and I cuddled). Yes, that was my first makeout session. It wasn’t bad at all. I was a little awkward, but I was just going with it. We made it to his bed. We weren’t originally going to go all the way, but I couldn’t wait. We had sex. It was like an out of body experience, but I was also fully fucking present. I was soooooo okay with what was going on, and I enjoyed the fuck out of it. Immensely. So much so, I went stupid for like half an hour afterwards, and was basically high on what just happened. WOW, y’all. Writing this down...I still can’t believe it. I’m so proud of myself.

See, but it all started with the boy in my bed a few weeks ago. I knew that this barrier had broken down, and I couldn’t wait to try going all the way. It was successful, and I am so happy. As I was doing the thing with the boy on Sunday, I was saying goodbye to the last tendrils of purity culture and shame that were still attached to me. No. More. It’s not welcome any longer.
In fact, while browsing through Twitter earlier, I saw a purity culture analogy post talking about people (most likely women) being like an orange with all the juice squeezed out. It’s like useless afterwards. Basically garbage. I went off. I told that person Fuck that bullshit, and the shame.
I feel no shame, and I feel no guilt. Why do I keep talking about that? Because that’s what this was supposed to feel like according to everything I was taught. It’s just not there.
I now know what I want, how to ask for it, how to make a move, how to give affection, and receive affection. I’m okay with it. Like I needed this. Even if I don’t see Sunday’s guy again, it was a great experience, and one I won’t forget.

I’m okay, y’all. I did IT!

Oh yeah, this was kind of my first time having sex...I guess that would have been worth mentioning. But not in the hymen-intact technical sense. Hell, I’ve been masturbating for years. I have a few buzzy things. So there’s that.

Antyway, so this has been another adventure in dating post purity culture, post shame, post guilt, and fully embracing myself. I’m not as afraid of rejection either. I am figuring out that not even trying to touch someone, or get intimate with them, is not good for me anymore. It means I’m basically rejecting myself out of my fear of rejection from someone else. But I’m doing the damage.

That’s the thing though. Sometimes we just need to get out of our own gahtdamb way, and live our fucking lives. Be who we want to be, and are supposed to be. Embrace ourselves. This is what I’m trying to do.
Thank you, boy who was in my bed. You don’t necessarily know what you have done, but that’s okay. You might get to experience the result though. Hopefully.