You may remember Goldilocks from this post. As I describe, that first kiss unlocked my Pandora’s box where all of my sexual needs and desires were stored and repressed. What I initially felt with him was something I hadn’t felt in over five years. This incredibly young man 13 years my junior desired me. How could that be? Granted his thick beard and mustache made him look older, logically it didn’t make sense, none of it did. I was a hot mess. Emotionally fucked up. Depressed. Angry. Overweight. Even still this young man desired me? None of it was logical, but there was no denying some sort of connection between us. After the kiss that night, he asked me out for breakfast later that week. Our plans never coalesced, but there was something I felt inside for him. I wasn’t exactly sure what it was, maybe it wasn’t even how I felt for him, but how he made me feel…exciting and electric, dangerous and risqué.
I didn’t know too much about him, and I didn’t care to get to know him any better. From what I found out after our kiss, our mutual friends told me that he was a disaster. He was allegedly a liar, a drama queen, and essentially un-fucking-stable. Looking back, that could be what the attraction was. There was no threat of it ever going anywhere. I didn’t need to worry about dating to him, because that would never happen. I didn’t need to be my normal confident self because I didn’t need to be strong. I could be the insecure hot mess that I was and that was enough.
From time to time, I would see him around town and that sparked even more excitement for me. I realized which places he would go to more often and I began to anticipate seeing him. Anytime I thought I might bump into him (or “bump” into him on purpose), I would feel excited all day (that day) in hopes of seeing him. I would take extra time to get ready, doing my hair just right, putting on make-up, and picking out the perfect outfit. Even though I was still super insecure about my weight (I put on 40 pounds during the end of my marriage), it didn’t matter. That insecurity took the backseat to my excitement and desire for him. My heart (and libido) had been kickstarted after being dead for the past five years.
One night a month or two after our kiss, I ended up running into him at a bar and our groups ended up sticking together for the night. As the night went on and he hung around, I got more and more excited. I knew I wanted to take him home, I knew I wanted to sleep with him. It was almost as if he was a target, and I had to conquer him. He became a goal that I was trying to attain. I tried to play my cards just right that night. And surely, the end of the night came, and he came home with me.
When we got back to my house, we sat on the stools at the breakfast bar for twenty minutes or so talking. Well, he was talking, and I was doing (more of) the listening. I don’t remember much of what he was saying because the whole time I was debating whether or not I should make a move. Eventually, he leaned in and kissed me, and I felt the spark again. It felt like electricity running through my body, down my legs and out of my feet, and out of my arms and fingers. I had that butterflies in your stomach feeling, and I knew I was about to have sex for the first time in over a year, the first time since my divorce.
What happened over the next three hours is a cluster fuck of events. The short version (and I think it’s best to keep it short) was that things started out okay. We ended up moving from the breakfast bar into the bedroom and got undressed. He started to go down on me which I thoroughly enjoyed. I reciprocated and that’s where things began to take a turn down a different path. Now no judgement here, but this young man was into some things sexually that I wasn’t into (Let me preface this with the fact that I consider myself pretty open to new sexual experiences with the end result being pleasure.) However, he really enjoyed pain…the kind that breaks skin, that makes you bleed and hurt. He was a masochist, and all of what turned him on was completely foreign territory. I’d like to think that I would try anything once, but this just wasn’t for me. When I was giving him head, he wanted me to bite his penis, hard. When I didn’t do it hard enough, he asked me to do it again and commanded me to bite down as hard as I could. Internally, I couldn’t commit to actually biting as hard as I could (I didn’t want to bite his dick off!) so I just tried to find an equal medium between what he wanted, and what I felt semi-comfortable doing (and to clarify, all of this was out of my comfort zone). When I did bite him, I could feel his penis get harder in my hands and mouth. It confused me. I always thought biting wasn’t allowed when giving a blow job, but this totally turned him on.
Oral pleasure and pain escalated to sexual intercourse. But without the pain of biting his penis, he had trouble keeping an erection. There were several things he wanted me to do to keep him erect: He wanted me to bite him all over his body until he bruised and bled, to smack him across the face as hard as I could, to scratch him all over his body until he bled, and to shove my biggest dildo up his asshole (which he said he had never done before). This wasn’t my style at all. There were two times he bit me and caused me to bleed. The pain was so intense that I made a fist and hit the wall (I really wanted to hit him). This just wasn’t the first experience back in the sack that I had hoped for. And that’s why I’ll end the actual experience here.
Oddly enough, I didn’t feel weird or awkward. I felt in control which was something I hadn’t felt in my life for a really long time. I was able to tell him what I was and wasn’t comfortable with. And I was able to take a step back and determine that this wasn’t for me. When the sex stopped, he began to talk to me and open up quite a bit about his life. He began talking about problems at home with his family and how he feels like he’s fucked up towards his friends. He told me that sometimes he lies to people for no reason at all and does know why. I felt really sad and bad for him the more the night progressed. It was tragic.
I realized how broken this young man was. I wonder if it’s because he feels so empty inside that he needs the pain because it’s something he can actually feel. The situation reminded me of self-harmers (people that harm themselves to help deal with their emotions). I would see him around town after that and we were amicable toward each other, but we would never sleep together again.
This surely wasn’t the ideal first-time-having-sex-again scenario, but it did help me to turn myself around. I am thankful to this young man because he showed me that it’s okay to be broken. Moreover, that people will accept you if you are broken. And the experience reminded me what it is like to have a crush on someone. It was the smallest details, like putting on makeup, getting excited, and being noticed that kickstarted my heart again. Even though this young man wasn’t for me, I began to believe that maybe there was someone else out there that was.