It’s Okay If You Change Your Mind and Say No

This is a sex story.

I was on my knees. Not in a sexy way, more in the “how did my life choices bring me here” way. I could feel the cold of the marble.

Two hours earlier, I had felt powerful, playful. Yet now, his touch didn’t give me that electric, teasing shiver. It simply repelled me.

I don’t belong here.
This is not where I’m supposed to be.

My body whispering, “babe, get out.”
Would I ever escape?

Look, I need you to understand something before we continue: sometimes I get on my knees for men knowing full well my mouth is not the place for their dick.

To explain it, I need to talk about seesaws.

I have no idea how I survived childhood.
My mom doesn’t either.

One day at the park, I fell hard on one of those seesaws that go up and down and make you feel invincible right before they crush you.

By the time I was a teenager, I never understood my friends’ fear of losing their virginity.
Because I was pretty sure mine had already been broken that day in the park.

So when the moment came, I lost my virginity without the fear that usually comes with that moment, (and without the desire that should probably define it too.)

It was just something I was supposed to do.

I had sexual desires.
A boy had noticed me.
And since I’ve never been good at math, I figured two plus two made four.

Except, I forgot to include one number in that equation.

I didn’t actually want him.

It was terrible.

His proportions were not meant to take anyone’s virginity, not even someone whose hymen had already been broken by an accident in a park.

Still, I didn’t like it.
But he did.

And that was the only thing that mattered to me at the time.

First times set the rules for the rest of your life.

That day, my rule was born:
I didn’t want to have sex with men.
I wanted men to want to have sex with me.

Then one day, something shifted.

And it had nothing to do with sex.
It was a TV show.

A friend recommended it.
Watching something someone recommends is, to me, one of the purest acts of love.

“The main character reminds me of you,” she said.

So I watched it.

The show was about a girl in her twenties living a normal life.
No sci-fi.
No drama.
Just a girl who doesn’t know what she wants.
(But is very sure of what she doesn’t.)

Five minutes in, the protagonist was making out with a boy; tension, heat, music, and then he slid his hand to the back of her head, doing the classic push-down move. You know the one.

She stopped.

She looked at him.

And she said, “I don’t want to.” Then she put her clothes back on and left.

She actually left.

I paused the episode in shock.

I almost called my friend to tell her I was watching science fiction.
Because unless the show took place in a parallel universe, or I must be living in another one.

Women can do that?

In all my sexual encounters, I had always felt like getting dressed.
Leaving.
Meeting another day.

Why hadn’t I done it?
Why wasn’t I her?

I felt like I had failed my friend.

And myself.

I’m not that person.
But I want to be.

(Jumping now to the recent present)

Last week I was dancing with a guy.
He leaned in to kiss me.
And suddenly I felt the feeling. I don’t want this.

So I stepped back.
Shook my head.

“What’s wrong? Don’t you want me to kiss you?”

“No,” I said. “Apparently, I just wanted you to want to kiss me.”

Yesterday, that would’ve been enough.

But today, I’ve realized something.
There’s a huge gap between wanting.
And wanting to be wanted.

I know I’m not that girl yet. But for the first time, I’m not kneeling, I’m learning to stand.

Girls, if this hits home, I get it. Seriously, I’ve never met a woman who hasn’t felt this way. It’s not your fault, we were just following the rules we were given. But now? We get to put ourselves first. Share whatever you want in the comments, this is a safe space <3