Starting Over

Those first two entries were pulled from elsewhere, but I suppose I should start from the beginning. Who knows how long it's going to be before I can actually get an appointment with the woman, and maybe by the time we make it, I won't need it anymore.

My sexual history: I was always interested in sex - I can remember sneaking books off of my parents shelves - Everything you wanted to know but were too afraid to ask about SEX! Some book about a woman using her sexual prowess to basically start to rule Congress. Where babies come from - all of it by the age of ten. It was fascinating to me, and gave me warm giggly goosebumply feelings. I was fascinated with other peoples sexual organs - but mostly in a very - clincal kind of way. My earlist sexual memory was about 4 or so - me and a girlfriend exploring each others parts under the bedsheets during a sleep-over.

Even as I got older (I stopped around 13), and KNEW it was wrong (and oh, the feelings of guilt I carried around over THIS one) I would 'explore' the private bits of the babies I babysat - I don't remember feeling aroused - just - curious. My mother was a nurse, and very blunt about sex. She told me about everything there was to know, and gave me the rundown about everything you could get - diseases & babies - and everything you couldn't get - real love - from sex. She caught me & a 'boyfriend' messing around one day, and promptly took me to the clinic for birth control pills the next day. I was 15. I lost my virginity at 17 - I met the boy at my best friends 16th birthday party. He was my first 'real' boyfriend, and I thought his badboy persona was about the sexiest thing ever. I didn't have sex with him to 'prove' something, or to make him love me (as he was already obsessed) I was just - curious about what the hoopla was about. And after it was over (rather funny - and not at all painful), I remember walking home shrugging my shoulders, trying to figure out what the big deal was.

I had various sexual encounters in high school - had sex in a park (same boy I lost my virginity with) sex in a boyfriends house (the one my mom caught me with - FINALLY actually did the deed), sucked dick in my mom's living room (another bad boy I was desparate to impress), had anal sex (we were out of condoms and he was really horny - needed LOTS of vaseline - and it actually wasn't too bad - he was obsessed with me too) - and all in all - thinking back on it - I'd say I had sexual encounters with definitely 4, maybe 5 boys in the year and a half before I graduated from high school. It was never really something I WANTED - it was just something I did - something I was talked into, something I gave in to.

In college, for the first 3 years or so, I had sex with two boys - one was my boyfriend freshman and junior year (M) - a huge block of a man, sexy as hell but a consistant liar, and the other, who was an absolute sweetie, but had about as much sense (and desire to actually freaking GRADUATE) as a cat has for taking a bath (J). I enjoyed sex, certainly, but I can never remember really - WANTING it. It was more of a path to - companionship, friendship, and despite all my momma had told me, a shortcut to love.

The last two years of college I like to call my 'slutyears'. I went all out - started cheating on M with a man and a woman, having finally decided that I had to stop 'talking' about being bi and figure out if I really was (yes, and still am). I found the wonderful world of the internet - and being in a major metropolitan city, I found PLENTY of people who were interested in a lil sumthin sumthin. Looking back on it, I think I was lost, lonely, suffering from depression and severely stressed, and offering myself sexually was how I got some 'relief' from the constant decision-making of the rest of my life. I joined a 'swing group' that had regular parties, and was actually crowned 'Best Dicksucker of 1999'. I partied like sex was about to be outlawed.

I came to a screeching halt when I picked up a dude at a bus stop, and let him fuck me in an alley way. That was when it hit me that this behavior was unheathly, dangerous, and likely to get me somewhere I really didn't want to be. I slowed down some, but still hung out with the sexual friends I had made in my slutyears - and actually starting dating one - T. I was the other layer of girl bread in her & her husband's swinging life, and as they went through a divorce, we fell in love. With her was the first time I ran into the 'not interested in sex' wall. We were together about six months, and literally, I'd rather clean the bathroom than have sex with her. It wasn't that I didn't love her (I did, but not nearly as much as she loved me) - I just wasn't interested.

We finally broke up - mostly because she, like a lot of lesbians (she finally gave up the bi label after he divorce) wanted to rush into marriage/living together/settling down - and I hadn't even graduated from college yet, and simply wasn't interested. I was actually approaching cheating on her with one of my boyfriends from college (J), and ended up getting pregnant the first time we had sex after I broke up with T.

I was miserable, furious with myself for having unprotected sex (we used a condom, but I wasn't on the pill anymore - dating a girl for 8 months would do that to you), furious at him for being utterly unwilling to even consider being a father, furious at life for sending me such a fucked up curveball. I love children, but then (and even now) was unwilling to have a child until I was ready. I was depressed, sad, and had the worst case of 1st trimester exhaustion ever - on top of the stress of taking senior finals. I had an abortion on Good Friday 2000, at 11w5days - two days before it would have been illegal to terminate, and as I walked out of the clinic, a huge weight lifted off of me - and a very simple, very cautious realization settled on me. EVERY man I had sex with could be the father of my child. Every. Single. One. Pill, sponge, condom, IUD, whatever - it didn't matter. The human race is DESIGNED to procreate, and well, shit happens.

I graduated (barely), got a new job in a new city, and basically ran as far as I could away from everything that I had gone through in the last 6 months. It took me close to a year to totally forgive myself, 3 years to forgive him, and I met the man who I would marry Labor Day, 2000. I hadn't had sex for close to 7 months, and he introduced me to weed, and every scrap of repressed sexual desire sprung out of me. In the first 3 months of our relationship, we had sex almost every which way imaginable - I wouldn't do anal, and I wasn't all that crazy about sucking dick - but the powertrip that I got off of it got me over the power loss that I felt doing it. We had sex almost every night, and I came in wild gushes. We had sex three or four times most weekends, doing nothing but lay in bed, and have sex. That was the last time we had a sexual relationship that fully satisfied him.

We both hated condoms, and after having been declared 'clean', and knowing that we were exclusive, I got on the Pill, and my sex drive literally went through the floor. We almost broke up several times, because I simply wasn't interested in having sex. I cried, we had screaming matches, but we both KNEW that each other was something seriously worth holding onto, and we worked our way through it. I got off the Pill (after a particularily emotionally painful discussion that ended up with me sobbing in the corner of a room), and got an IUD June 2001. Despite all of our troubles - and I guess the clear signs that THIS would be an issue, he asked me to marry him Thanksgiving Day, 2001. I gleefully said yes. We got married a little less than 3 years later, on April Fools Day, 2004.

Our sexual relationship has gone down the hill since. I've actually lost weight (close to 70 pounds), and while he's even more attracted to me, I could go for months - literally - without even once THINKING about having sex.

I'm an imaginative girl, and I've tried to pretend like he's someone else - that's worked once or twice. I've tried to create my own little fantasy inside my head - that's never worked. I've tried to have HIM treat me like a cheap little slut - and I get pissed off because the power in our relationship is too evenly distributed for me to get off on that. We've screamed, cried, threatened to leave, thrown stuff, stopped talking, stopped having sex, read books, watched shows - and 3 months later, I look up, and he's upset because we haven't had sex in 3 weeks.

Finally, (as I wrote in the first entry in this diary) I've caved. I've tried to tell myself that maybe I'm just NOT a sexual person - I love touching, and being touched, and being loving and huggy and physically affectionate - but sex turns me off. I've tried to convince myself that there's something wrong with HIM, not with me. I've tried to defiently ignore his moods, and the fact that to him sex IS love. And - I can't do it anymore. I love him too much to put US through this kind of pain. So I give. I yield. I lay down my pride and my determination - and if that damn triage nurse EVER calls me back - I'm going to start therapy. Because. It just ain't right.

With all that said - I don't think that she'll be able to do anything for me. For once, I hope that a doctor listens to my symptoms and prescribes a pill that just makes me randy. It's not that I don't LIKE sex. It's not that I don't come when we have sex. It's just that - I'm plain not INTERESTED. It's - ugh. It's kinda like cleaning the litter box - something that you KNOW has to be done - but I'll put it off until the stink is just unbearable.