So, this week has been very anal intensive with my writings. The reason is because last week I went over to Mr. Texas’ house (yes, we’re back together) and we had drinks and hot tub time. We had already discussed no sex, because I tore from the prior weekend’s sexfest and needed to heal up for a few days.
“No penetration,” he said, shaking my hand but negotiating for making out.
I didn’t want to make out. Our making out always ended in sex. But I shook hands on our tentative deal. And we made out in amidst the chilly fall air and heat of the water. His finger went to roam around my anus, and when he attempted to insert a bit, I commented that we needed lube.
“So let’s get lube then,” he stated, holding out a hand to help me out of the hot tub.
I should’ve known the bed is not a good place to go when avoiding sex.
In bed, he used a generous amount of lube and fingered me to an anal orgasm – a rarity and one that I was shocked that I experienced. As he nibbled on my neck, he whispered that it was too bad that we decided we didn’t want to try anal sex, because it was the perfect opportunity to try it.
He had a point; I had just orgasmed anally from fingering, I wondered if I could from sex. I felt terrified, but tried to sort out the emotion and felt that maybe it was because the one and only time before that was so horrible.
Shouldn’t I get over that experience?
“Yes, we should, but it requires a lot of lube.”
“We should what?”
“What is it?” The clarification of consent was crucial to him, it seemed, after my sharing of the last experience.
The problem with a man who just began inserting a finger, and wasn’t educated on it, was he immediately pushed himself in after applying a lot of lube (or at least it felt that way).
I jumped up and away from him, complaining of how badly it hurt.
He apologized profusely, felt terrible about hurting me. He said he was barely in, and I needed to relax.
I laid back down on my stomach and was willing to give it another try.
…And he moved slowly the second go round, telling me to breathe and relax.
…And it hurt, but it may have been from the first attempt.
…And I should have worked up to sex, instead of barely getting any anal stimulation and going from a finger thinking I could do more.
…And I was getting over my anal issue, dammit, so I breathed and willed myself to relax and he stroked in and out until it was just a dull uncomfortable.*
He slid out too far by mistake, and in looking down, saw a mess, so we stopped there.
Not the most successful, but for me, it was an uphill mental battle far more than anything physical.
I don’t know if I’ll try anal sex again, but I’m hoping to no longer feel sick to my stomach terrified of it.
And I cried, goodness how I cried after we were done.
…I didn’t want him to view me as disgusting (he had stated when we first started dating that he viewed anal sex as disgusting) and I was messy. Would he leave me (and was that a remnant feeling that my ex left me with)? What if he didn’t like the experience and I forever hurt his chances of liking it because I was a wimp with how badly it hurt?
…And I cried because I was overcoming the last time; the memory flooded back in great waves and threatened to drown me in the panic.
Mr. Texas pulled me into a shower where he held me for a long time before washing us up, before holding me again, before pulling us out and drying us off. He pulled me into bed and held me until I was strong enough to hold my composure.
He thanked me for allowing us both to experience anal sex for the first time together.
And I was grateful he put that spin on it (even knowing the experience I was overcoming), because he was right, it was the first time.
Because I felt like I wanted to experience anal sex, and that made all the difference.
*It may have felt good had not the first slide-in hurt so badly; a fact that I am pondering a lot.