Read What You Really Really Want Online

Authors: Jaclyn Friedman

What You Really Really Want (31 page)

BOOK: What You Really Really Want
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Rachel, age twenty, learned about diving in too fast when she tried out a fantasy of hers: sex while high. “I had heard it increased sensation and was generally fun, so I brought it up with my girlfriend,” she remembers.
It was something she had also wanted to try. We ate pot brownies, cuddled, and got to business. I had apparently eaten way too much of the brownie, because I periodically forgot who my girlfriend was and what was happening. I kept thinking she might be the man who sexually assaulted me. We stopped, and luckily I didn't have a full-blown panic attack, but it's not something I've ever wanted to try again.
It's also important to consider
whose
fantasies you're bringing to life. This question goes all the way back to chapters 1 and 3, in which you considered the many influences that have shaped how you think about sexuality and started to adjust them so that they sounded more like you and less like other people's agendas for you. Hopefully you've got that balance much closer to where you want it to be by now, but when it comes to fantasy, it's good to check in. Because the virgin/slut dichotomy is so ingrained in our culture, women with whom the “innocent” label doesn't resonate may believe that the only other valid option for expressing their sexuality is to be as “wild,” sexually speaking, as possible. As I've said before, there's nothing wrong with being sexually wild, as long as you're doing it on your own terms and taking on only the risks you're comfortable with. You don't have to be “up for anything” in order to be loved, or to find a satisfying sex partner. Your satisfaction depends on your developing a specific, authentic sexual identity and finding partners that want you where you are, as opposed to expecting you to fit some kind of porn-fueled fantasy of what a sexual woman should be like. Yet another reason to take it one step at a time when exploring fantasies—you may find out along the way that they don't belong to you in the first place.
You may also find that some fantasies feel great when you're enacting them, but not so good afterward. It's hard to know when or why this will happen. For some, playing with fantasy dynamics that would be toxic if they were “real” can be liberating and satisfying, and for others, these same play dynamics (say, having your lover say humiliating things to you)
may feel hot at the time but can wind up reinforcing the damaging beliefs you have about yourself that you're trying to shed. If you find this to be true, it's important to include that in your risk assessment when considering whether and how to play with that dynamic again.
Dive In:
Write a list of five sexual fantasies that you've never tried in reality. Circle the one that turns you on the most when you think about it and the one that scares you the most. (They may be the same one, or different ones.) Now pick one of the ones you've circled, and write out a plan for trying it with a partner. What would your first step be? If that feels good, what would be the second step? How would you know if you and your partner each wanted to try more, and how would you know when you'd had enough? What are the risks in trying out your fantasy, and how can they be managed or minimized? What are the potential rewards?
DISCLOSING
Do you ever struggle with sharing information with your partner in terms of your sex life? Maybe it's admitting to a fantasy. Or telling them you have an STD. Maybe it's disclosing a trauma history, or your insecurity about being less experienced than your partner expects, or
more
experienced. Perhaps you're a sex worker, or used to be one. Maybe you're transgender. Maybe you have a mental or physical situation that's not readily apparent but will affect the way you have sex. Maybe it's something else entirely.
If this is the case, and you worry that your partner will respond poorly to your disclosure, these questions can be useful and clarifying:
• What are the risks to me if I bring this up? How likely are those risks to happen? Are there ways to reduce those risks?
• What are the risks to me if I don't bring this up before we have sex? How likely are those risks to happen? Are there ways to reduce those risks without telling my partner about this?
• What are the risks to my partner if I don't bring this up before we have sex? How likely are those risks to happen? Are there ways to reduce those risks without telling my partner about this?
• What are the benefits to me if I bring this up before we have sex? What about during? What about after or later? What are the benefits to me if I never bring it up?
Sound familiar? You're basically doing a risk analysis, just as you would for any other risky situation. And don't forget what you already know about risk: Every sexual scenario carries some. The question is, which risks seem like the right ones for you? And how can you minimize them?
In a practical sense, I encourage you to be honest with your partner when it seems possible. Lying is usually wrong, and hiding things can be exhausting. Disclosure gives you the opportunity to learn things about your partner. Do you want to be with someone who responds badly when you've shared something personal and important? On the other hand, if
your partner responds well, it can build trust and intimacy between you, which can make sex better and strengthen your connection—whether it's a long-term affair or a fleeting hookup.
How and when to disclose depends on how urgent and risky the matter is. Unfortunately, those two often go hand in hand. One thing I've had to disclose for a long time is that I'm a survivor of sexual assault. At first, when I was just starting to have sex again after the assault, it was extremely important to me to tell partners about it before we did anything sexual. I felt fragile and volatile; I wanted to start reclaiming my body and sexuality, but I never knew when some small moment or gesture would trigger trauma memories. But at the same time, it was terrifying to tell partners so soon, because how they reacted mattered a lot to me. Today, eighteen years later, it's both less risky and less urgent for me to share.
Dive In:
Write a list of any things about you that you'd prefer your sex partners to know but that are sometimes challenging for you to disclose. Then do a risk assessment on each of them, using the questions above. Be as detailed as you can be. Once you've completed that, write out what you think is the best time and approach to disclose to your partners. Then write a backup plan: If you don't achieve your ideal, for any reason, what's the next-best approach?
UNWANTED PAIN
For some of us, the obstacles to satisfying sex are more physical. Some people experience mild to intense pain when anything is inserted into their vagina. If you've tried vaginal penetration more than once and it just consistently hurts, you may be suffering from one of several very real medical conditions, including vulvodynia or vaginismus. If you suspect this might be the case for you, the first thing you should remember is that vaginal penetration isn't the only way to have sex! Experiment with other ways to please yourself and your lover. In the meantime, seek out medical help, because there are treatments available that can reduce or eliminate your pain. You may have to be persistent—not all doctors are familiar with these conditions or know how to treat them. For a listing of doctors that women have found helpful, as well as other resources, information, and support, I encourage you to check out
www.wyrrw.com/vulvodynia
or the book
Healing Sexual Pain,
by Deborah Coady, MD, and Nancy Fish, MPH.
The other common cause of unwanted physical pain during sex is anal sex. If you're the “enveloping” or “receiving” partner during anal sex and it hurts, one of several things may be amiss:
1.
You're not using enough lube.
There's no such thing as too much lube when it comes to anal sex! But be sure to use a water- or silicone-based lube if you're using a condom—oil-based lube will break down the latex and make it useless as a safer-sex barrier.
2.
You may not be relaxed enough, and/or you may be going too fast.
If you're enthusiastic about trying
anal sex but you find that it hurts, you may need to take it a little slower. Start with one finger, just in the anal opening. Go slowly and gradually, and make sure the penetrating partner backs off any time there's pain. (If your partner won't do that, they may not be a good partner to have anal sex with.) Take your time.
3.
You may be under pressure.
Check in with yourself: Is this something you really want for yourself? Or is this solely your partner's agenda? A good partner won't push you into doing anything you don't want to do and certainly won't encourage you to keep doing anything that causes unwanted pain.
4.
You may have a hemorrhoid (a swollen vein in the anal area) or a tear in the anal lining.
If you suspect this is the case—especially if there's blood—go see your doctor. These are very treatable conditions, as long as you don't exacerbate them with the friction of anal sex.
If you want to learn more about how to have pleasurable and painless anal sex, check out Tristan Taormino's
The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women.
Dive In:
If you're experiencing unwanted pain during sex—even a kind of pain not described here—please use the resources above to get help (including Scarleteen's Find-a-Doc service:
www.wyrrw.com/scarleteenfindadoc
), and keep trying new things until the pain stops. Everyone deserves a sex life free of unwanted pain.
IF YOU'VE BEEN VIOLATED
If someone violates your sexual boundaries, it can feel unspeakably awful. It can also be incredibly confusing if it's someone you trusted enough to have been voluntarily intimate with them. There are entire books about how to recover from sexual violence, including Ellen Bass's
The Courage to Heal
and Staci Haines's
Healing Sex,
but I want to mention a few things here:
 
It's not your fault.
Not if you were wearing something sexy, or were drunk, or were walking alone by yourself at night. Not if you were flirting with someone, or making out with them, or naked, or fooling around. Nothing you do can ever make sexual violence your fault. If someone ignores your protests, or even doesn't care enough to notice that you've stopped enjoying or participating in whatever is happening, it's their fault. Always.
 
Tell someone.
Seriously. Long before you were assaulted, you were taught that girls and women who get assaulted should feel shame. And that shame may discourage you from telling anyone what happened. But you have done nothing to be ashamed of. The person who violated your body should be ashamed, not you. Don't let that misplaced shame keep you from getting the support you need or the justice you deserve.
BOOK: What You Really Really Want
9.14Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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