Sex and Pussy: A Journey Through the Decades Part 6

I was in love for the first time in my life.  It wasn't the school girl crush I had on Ron.  It was borderline obsessive and probably would have been obsessive had I not had children to care for.  I wanted to spend every waking moment with him. We sat together in class and he waited for me in between our other classes. I was having the experiences I should have had in high school.  Amber told me what she knew about sex, and it was plenty.  She didn't see sex as an emotional connection.  She saw it as power.  She saw it as a way to get what she wanted. Like me, she had been sexually abused, but we didn't talk much about that yet. Sexual abuse changes you forever, in ways no one else will ever comprehend. Some of the changes are straight out of a book, while others no one could predict.  Amber saw sex as something she could use.  I never once heard her say she actually enjoyed it, nor did I ever hear her term it as "making love." 

I can't remember the first time Gordon and I had sex, but it was the first time in my life I had been made love to.  He was gentle, tender and kind.  He paid attention to me and my body.  It was also the first time a man performed oral sex on me.  I didn't know men did that!  Amber had a lot yet to teach me I suppose, she never said anything about it.  I went with it, but I didn't like it.  He seemed to like it and I acted like it did too.  As I lay in the afterglow, I didn't know what to feel.  I didn't know what I was supposed to feel, but I felt wonderful.  I still didn't know if we were in a relationship, but I wasn't worried about it either.  I was simply happy.  I was opening up sexually in ways I never knew possible.  I doubt Gordon loved me at this point, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but how I felt in that moment. There were to be many more moments like that with Gordon.   

Sex just wasn't any one way with him, like it was with my husband and like it was with Mike.  Mike was always twelve degrees above passionate, no foreplay needed.  I was to learn from Amber this was what was known as "fucking." Well, that explained a lot about my relationship with Mike.   I had no desire to be with him outside of fucking him.   With Gordon, I was vested in him and the blossoming relationship.  I learned to use sex as a tool to get what I wanted from him, and the only thing I wanted was more time.  I loved being with him.  It didn't feel like I was trading or bartering my pussy, I loved his touch, the scent of his body.  I loved him being inside of me and I loved how his hands felt caressing me.  I used sex to spend time with him after he had already said he was busy doing other things.  Gordon was a party boy and I had children.  I couldn't be in his world and still be a good mother.  We both knew the relationship could not lead anywhere, but seemed unable to break up with each other.  I was willing to wait until he got over this phase he was going through. He was fairly fresh out of a divorce himself and I still wasn't legally divorced. Gordon was confused about a lot of things and somehow this made him more attractive to me.  I thought I could be his strength, his anchor, his port in the storm of life.   

The day came when I offered him sex and he said "no."  We had broken up, but I wanted to lure him back in.  I was still desperately in love with him.  I came to realize I was trading much more than my pussy to be with him.  I had begun to trade myself as well.  We had an on again, off again relationship.  I was there whenever he needed me to be, and when he didn't need me, he was with someone else.  This was the first hint my pussy wasn't as magical as I thought it was.  It certainly wasn't enough to keep a man, and as I was finding out, I wasn't enough to keep Gordon.  I thought if I was there enough, if I was good enough, me and my magical pussy would win out in the end.  After all, isn't that what we are taught?  I lived in a fantasy world carefully crafted by romance novels and Disney movies that true love always conquered all.  I was finding out that like abstinence only teachings, there were other lies to be uncovered.  How many more lies about life was I to discover?  How much of my life was built on lies?  I knew Gordon loved me.  He told me and I felt loved by him.  If I was just patient enough, we would be together in the end.  It was a painful lesson to learn.  The balance in the relationship with Gordon was beginning to weigh in as more painful than pleasurable and even a Disney ending couldn't comfort me.   

I became Gordon's shelf pussy.  That didn't feel very good.  He only called me when he wanted it, not to be with me, not because he missed me (though that is what he said) and not because my pussy held some powerful mojo.  I didn't feel like that infamous dirty tissue, I felt used.  I somehow justified allowing myself to be used because I still had a faint glimmer of hope I would have my fairy tale ending.  I wasn't sleeping with anyone else, but one day about a week after we had been together he called me to tell me I had given him crabs.  I was grossed out.  I didn't know such a thing existed!  I assured him he could not have gotten them from me, but he insisted I was the only one he had been with recently.  His new girlfriend Karen had broken up with him about 3 weeks or so prior.  I didn't know anything about crabs, but I was about to.  I shaved every bit of hair off my precious and potentially infested pussy over some white paper, looking for any inhabitants.  There were none.  I then scrubbed it until it was sore, just in case any might be hiding in one of the many flowery folds. Once I got back to school, I looked up crabs in the library to find out it took more than a week for gestation.  It took about three weeks, about the same time period he was with Karen.  Karen had been cheating on him.  I wasted no time telling Gordon, thinking this new information would making him come running back to me.  I was wrong, it didn't.  I still couldn't give him up, and he couldn't seem to let me go, either.  I remember talking to him on the phone, begging for him to just let me go.  I needed him to tell me it was over, tell me he had no feelings for me so I could move on.  He couldn't.  I cried for days.   

During this time, the violence with Ron was growing in frequency, the threats were almost constant.  One day when he was supposed to have the girls, he called me, speaking calmly, rationally.  This was a change.  It gave me hope we could resolve this like adults and move on.  He asked if he could come over, to iron out the details of the divorce.  I agreed.  He had no intention of ironing out anything.  As we were talking, he said "I don't think I could ever take you back now."  I thought this was an odd thing to say, especially since I didn't want him to take me back.  I knew better than to provoke him by saying he disgusted me to the very core of my being, his touch made me want to vomit or that I cringed at the thought of it.  I simply replied "You don't?"  No, he replied.  He walked over closer to me and bent down to kiss me.  I turned away and tried to change the subject, creating some physical distance between us.  He closed in, this time grabbing my arms forcefully so I couldn't back away.  He tried to kiss me again.  Again I turned away.  He didn't stop, pushing me up against the wall. He had me pinned.  He kept kissing me, and I kept turning away, protesting, telling him to stop.  His hands went underneath my blouse, roughly playing with my breasts.  I knew I was in trouble.  At 6'4" to my 5'4", he outweighed me by nearly a hundred pounds.  He already had me pinned against the wall.  I was going to be raped, and I knew it.   

He threw me down on the floor with such force the impact almost made me pass out.  I might have hit my head on the coffee table on the way down, I'm not sure but I had to fight to remain conscious.  I wasn't going to let him take me easily.  He managed to get my jeans off in the skirmish and when he finally did penetrate me I stopped fighting.   It was over.  I lay there as if dead, and it was how I felt, dead.  I finally knew why I had fled to the bathroom crying years earlier.  He had raped me then and many times after that inside of the marriage.  It was the same way I felt now, and there was no other explanation for what was happening. I was being raped.  When he was finished, he told me how no one would want me now.  I was nothing more than a slut and I deserved what I got.  He spat in my face as he zipped up his jeans, then he left me on the floor.  I was unable to get up on my own.   

I don't know how long I lay there, I can't remember having any thoughts.  I existed there in that space, that period which had become frozen in some sort of a time freeze.  There was nothing.  I didn't even bother trying to dress myself, to make myself more comfortable, to change positions, nothing.  There were no tears this time, I was beyond tears.  After a while, I got up and took a bath.  There was no conscious thought about this, either.  My movements were mechanical, as if programmed into my brain, hardwired by centuries of evolution.  I got dressed and went to bed, where I stayed until my children were returned to me.  I can't remember having a single thought the entire time. There was nothing.  I was nothing.  My movements through the rest of the coming days and weeks were mechanical, forced.  There was no single moment when I came back to being something.  It happened slowly, as if in a fog.  It cleared a little each day, and didn't fully dissipate for years after.