Glitter. Real Stories About Sexual Desire From Real Women (12 page)

Unintentional

Kailynn

I am a wannabe celesbian, blogger, educator and a sassily natural ginger working her way through grad school.

I'm twenty-two years old, going on fifty-eight. I have old-fashioned values and, despite my growing up in the ‘90s and coming of age in the past five to ten years, I've exploded with sexuality in the past few years with the mentality of a fifty-year-old. I can be found at
GingerSass.com
and @THEGingerSass.

I am a very sexual being. I was a late bloomer (I didn’t sleep with anyone until my sophomore year of college), but I certainly indulged in the art of self pleasure during my teen years! My first sexual partner was a girlfriend I had on and off through half of college. We had a very explosive sexual relationship and I spent most of the first year of our relationship exploring all sorts of sexual pleasures with her. I guess you could say, on paper, I’m not very experienced. However, I’ve tried enough things in the realm of the sex and kink worlds to have a lot more knowledge than most of my friends. I suppose that’s why it shocks people when they realize that I’ve been celibate for over a year.

I didn’t set out to spend over a year celibate. The last time I had sex, it was May 25
th
, 2011. I only remember the date because it was the day after my dog’s birthday. Like many episodes o
f
The L Wor
d
, I was broken up with my ex but still sleeping with her. (Hey, women are complicated - even more complicated when they’re dating or attracted to each other.) There was something familiar and sweet about sleeping together that day, but it also proved something to me: I wasn’t attracted to her anymore. There wasn’t any spark between us, and the sex was mediocre at best. I left her house with an oddly peaceful feeling, and also knowing that whatever was happening between us had to end.

Fast forward to today. I’ve gone on quite a few dates, but I haven’t slept with anyone. A lot of people (and friends) my age seem to find it easy to sleep with new people on a regular basis, but I just can’t seem to do that. Past mistakes have helped me to learn that I want to believe that I’m old fashioned. I want to wine and dine for a bit before hitting the sack. I want to have an emotional connection with someone I’m intimate with. I don’t want to rush into things. Rushing into things in the past has only led to unhappiness.

My year of unintentional celibacy has taught me the importance of loving myself before loving anyone else. I’ve reconnected with myself in ways that weren’t possible when I was coupled off. For a while, I was even feeling empowered and proud of my body and the curves associated with it. I didn’t feel the need to impress anyone with my body. I didn’t feel judged and ugly when I gained a few pounds. Would it be a good idea for me to shed a few pounds? Surely, but not for anyone else
:
for me and my own health. 

In an odd turn of events, at the same time that I’ve gained pride in my body, I’ve also become ashamed of it. I’ve recently lost weight from being constantly busy, but I also have a lot of emotional and physical scars from my past that have given me the sense of insecurity I’ve never experienced before. I have stretch marks that I gained from a bout of illness mixed with depression after a friend’s death, and I have a few physical scars from, well, bad decisions and being too caught up in lust to allow myself to be treated well. Despite all this, I’m starting to love myself (as a person) again. Maybe eventually I’ll be able to allow myself and others to love my body as well.

I masturbate. A lot. It’s become a daily ritual, and, honestly, I don’t get as much pleasure from it as I used to. I’m at a sexual low while being at a personal high. I don’t worry about what others think of my body because nobody else is seeing it. My blog has let me form connections with brilliant, sexy women who send me free sex toys and queer porn, and that has definitely added to my celibacy. Free toys are very fun ways for rediscovering who you are and what you enjoy.

Celibacy has taught me to take the time to love and appreciate my friends and the small things in life. If a relationship came into my life right now, would I be happy? Sure. Would I give up my celibacy? Probably. Until then, I’m perfectly happy to be celibate and at peace with myself and my vibes.

Plus, I’m saving a lot of money on lube. 

Inexperienced, Not Stupid

Firefly Sub
 

I'm a thirty-year-old (born in 1982) dog groomer who hates her job, but does it because the money is good and she loves dogs. Had to drop out of college because the government wouldn't give me a loan, and I had a mortgage to pay. I've had to do pretty much anything but what I've wanted to do (like most, I'm sure). I can be found at @Firefly_Sub.

I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t thinking about sex.

I was about four when I started masturbating. Whenever I would spend the night at my grandmother’s house, I would think to myself, “Oh! I can do that thing tonight!” I didn’t know what I was doing, not really, but I loved it. I loved the tingly feeling that would explode all over my body.

Growing up an only child, I learned a lot about kissing and other “dirty” things from my best friend and neighbor who had older brothers, and was allowed to watch anything on TV. And I mean anything. I couldn’t wait to experience a French kiss, or make out with a boy. I was six, and already dreaming about that one special guy who would turn all of my fantasies into reality.

By the time puberty hit, I had my sexual life mapped out. I planned to lose my virginity around seventeen. I was petrified of pregnancy and STDs, so in my head I knew that the lucky boy would be wearing a condom, and I would be on birth control. You can never be too careful, right?

By the time I actually was seventeen, I was a depressed, suicidal mess with no friends, especially no boyfriends, a mother who had moved away to live in another country, and a broke father who couldn’t afford new clothes for me. Not that I ever asked for them. I was an overweight girl in a skinny world. There were no plus size stores in my teenage years, so clothes shopping was a nightmare for me.

At twenty-one, I figured that it would happen sooner or later. Some people are late bloomers. I noticed men looking at me, but I had no self-esteem. And I would have died before making the first move. If no one asked me out, it was fine. Someday my prince would come. I firmly believed it.

Twenty-two came, then twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five…

My first kiss happened when I was twenty-four. If you had told me as a child that I would have to wait twenty-four years for a kiss, I would have laughed in your face. Everyone told me I was pretty. There was no way I would be waiting around like a loser for so long.

My first sexual experience happened last year: my twenty-ninth year on Earth. It was nothing more than kissing, him teasing and pleasuring my breasts, and me cautiously rubbing his penis through his jeans. When he asked me to spend the night, I froze. What was I supposed to do? I liked this guy; I had thought we were just friends. He asked me over to watch a movie, and now he wanted sex? As I was laying on my back looking up at him, I nervously let him know that I was a virgin, and, though I liked him, I wouldn’t be having sex with him. At least not that night. He took the news well, and we talked about the whys of my situation, and my nonexistent sexual history. I went home, and I never heard from him again. I would text just to say hi, and nothing. He’d send maybe a word here or there, but no more friendship, no more anything. I didn’t know what I had done so wrong, but I wasn’t in love with him. I liked him as a friend, so I chalked it up as experience and moved on.

A few months later, I met a man via Twitter who told me I was perfect. He wanted to spend time with me, get to know me. We texted each other constantly, and arranged a meeting on a weekend when I wasn’t working. We met for lunch, and he came back with me to my apartment. He had known I was a virgin, and as far as sex goes, we did everything but penetration. He gave me my first experiences with oral, giving and receiving, touching an erect and unclothed penis, fingering, feeling another body pressed against mine while naked. It was eye-opening. I loved it, but I didn’t love him. To be honest, I didn’t even like him all that much, but I was so desperate to feel.

And I felt like a moron two weeks later when I found out he was married.

I had had my suspicions, but to have it confirmed made me feel like a complete idiot. A couple of weeks later, a new guy I had been texting also turned out to be married as well.

I’ve become very open about my virginity in the past few months. It is what it is, and I’m not ashamed of it. It’s the responses that I can’t stand. The ones that I hate are the responses from women. They look at me like a freak. Tell me that they can “get me popped.” Look at me in pity. My favorite line I’ve gotten was, “I wish I was still a virgin.” I looked at her in disbelief and said, “No, you don’t.”

The men have a completely different reaction. I will never hear from them again, or they become fascinated by me. It’s like they see my hymen as a novelty, a prize that they can win.

I’ve had more men than I can remember tell me they want to be my first. If I was naïve and twenty, I would be honored. I would feel so wanted and amazing. But as I’m a virgin at thirty, I see life a little differently.

I’m not a stupid girl, but I am inexperienced. People seem to get the two very confused.

I hate my virginity. It makes me frustrated. I hate that I can’t go out and find someone for a one night stand because this membrane and my paralyzing fear of the first time pain is in my way of pleasure. I hate that people look at me differently when they find out. I hate that most people my age are married, and having children, and I’ve never even had a boyfriend. I hate that men a couple years older than me are becoming tired of their marriages, and are looking for fun, and I’m there. I’m available, and I’m offering something they haven’t had in a long time, if ever. I hate the women who think they’re helping by offering me a man who will fuck me. I hate even more the women who look at me with pity in their eyes. I hate the feeling that I’m disappointing my mother. She was married and pregnant with me at my age, and though I’ve never wanted that in my life, I feel like I’m doing so many things wrong.

I know it will happen someday, but it’s been hard realizing that my prince isn’t on his way. My prince is probably out there married to another woman who hasn’t led a life governed by fear.

At Least We Tried

Alicia Wolfe

Wine connoisseur with an amazing rack and a dog of an ex-husband. She leads a pretty normal life as a number cruncher, wife and mom/slave to three cats.

A former BFF (geography and life experience have caused us to drift apart a bit) and I used to discuss sexuality on a fairly regular basis. There were several reasons for this:

–
    
We were both married to army men. Our men were not homophobic themselves, but the issue seemed to come up a lot in that crowd.

–
    
We both have nice racks. Seriously, on New Year's Eve several of the aforementioned army men (to whom we were not married) paid us to flash our boobs. We all agreed it was both money well-spent and well-earned.

–
    
The subject is simply fascinating.

It was her idea to view it as a spectrum and I quickly saw she was right. Most people are somewhere on either end of the spectrum: either solidly homosexual or solidly heterosexual. And there are the bisexuals smack in the middle. We came to the conclusion, however, that women tend to be closer to the center than men. We are simply more open to experimentation within our own sex.

Perhaps it's because breasts are beautiful and penises are...not so much. I am heterosexual, but I really appreciate a nice rack.

All these discussions also revealed a secret: she wasn't sure if she had ever had an orgasm. Now, we all know that anyone who isn't sure about it definitel
y
hasn’
t
, so I took her to the toy store and helped her pick out her first vibrator.

It turns out I was right. She hadn't ever had an orgasm before. It took a vibrator, not a man, for her to learn that.

And so, when our husbands were deployed, and mine wanted a divorce, and hers sent her some bizarre letter from halfway around the world about how he wasn't sure if he wanted to continue the marriage, we experimented.

We were drunk and emotional about our respective husbands and thought that maybe everything would just be easier if we ditched men all together and made our own couple. We were both sex-starved with no men around and she had only recently discovered how enjoyable it could be.

So one night it just happened.

It was kind of like my first time all over again in some ways. The lights were definitel
y
of
f
. We were completely under the covers. There was a fair amount of fumbling around.

But kissing is easily transferable and we were both rather excited. I spent a lot of time kissing, nuzzling and sucking those glorious boobies of hers while I fingered her. As enjoyable as it all was, I just couldn't bring myself to go downtown.

But that didn't stop her from trying it on me.

It was very enjoyable at first. Probably because we were so sex-starved. And attention-starved. Everything fel
t
s
o
good at first. But after a little while it just...fizzled. For both of us. It turns out that neither of us was as far to the middle of that spectrum as we previously thought.

But hey, at least we tried.