I learnt the hard way...
...that I am obviously not mentally equipped for casual sex. Which is a shame I am sure, because I don't condemn it at all, I just feel that the fact it has made me feel cheap, used and slutty obviously means I won't be going there again.
Let me fill you in with the details. I wasn't in the best of moods anyway, there was a bit of anger in my house and it always rubs off on the rest of us. I felt really lonely, that I hadn't made the right decision, that I didn't have any friends, etc. So when we went to a house party yesterday evening I just wanted to prove myself wrong. Perhaps I should have stayed in the kitchen whinging with my best guy friend, or mucking about in a lounge with some of my other friends. I just got into my old psychological trap that to find a man would make everything better.
I went outside for a cigarette and a bitch with some of my friends and ended up chatting to a couple of guys who were also there, taking a shine to one in particular. In my opinion he was way too cool and too good looking for me, so perhaps what followed showed how little confidence I have in myself and how pathetically apprieciative I am of anyone who's willing to boost my ego.
The night progressed and I was chatting and flirting with this guy and we ended up in a bedroom just fooling around and he kept on saying the usual male lines, how much he wanted me, how attracted he was to me, how I turned him on, and that he wanted to go a lot further. I totally fell for it, even though deep in my heart I really didnt want to just sleep with a guy I'd only known for about two hours. Still, to cleanse my soul a little, as well as for basic common sense, I encouraged him to use a condom (he was one of those who uses all the excuses under the sun not to wear one), and that we go somewhere a lot more private, seeing as people kept on walking in on us in this bedroom. I guess I felt I could deny how wrong this felt to me if I could shut myself away and do it, rather than unguarded on someone else's bed, where anyone could catch me, and there would be a lot of explaining to do.
We ended up in a bathroom, where the door didn't exactly lock, but we could lean against it, and had sex, although we had to do it in a variety of positions before each of us came. Not to mention the fact I was obviously so unturned on he was hurting me whenever he was inside me. The whole thing just felt totally surreal, like I wasn't there, me having sex with this stranger in the pitch black in a bathroom, with people knocking on the door every two seconds. I couldn't look at him, because the whole thing felt so weird, and like the lowest point of my life. Like an ugly manifestation of my insecurities. Perhaps taking ages to orgasm, even if it wasn't the more explosive type I have with sexual partners I realy cared about, was some sort of punishment. I just felt like a whore. Because the whole act was like the way some who are on the game describe it. Here I was in the pitch black, looking out into space, my mind somewhere else, while this guy just pounded away.
The worst occured afterwards, when we switched the light on and realised I had come on early, and there was literally blood everywhere. Let me tell you, frantically scrubbing blood off every surface whilst chatting nervously about absolutely nothing, because you have absolutely no connection, is the most humbling post-coital slap in the face ever. Not to mention his rowdy friends banging the door down, and almost opening it while I was pulling my clothes on. And the icing on the cake, my housemate, innocently queueing for the loo looking at me in absolute bewilderment as I walk out with this guy behind me. I made a lie about me being sick and him having to help me, but as much as she asked a lot of questions, I could tell she didn't really believe me.
After that I felt so cheap, like everyone was looking at me and knew I was such a slut. There were all the other girls with the guys they know inside out and shag on a regular basis, the one person who they trust and care about, despite not being official. And there was me, giving it up to anyone who so much as said I was gorgeous. I just felt so cheap after that that I just felt temporarily unreal to myself. That all the make up, the little outfit, that wasn't me, it was just a guise. That everyone thought I was easy game, especially when in the remainder of the eveing I was followed around by some drunk lench who kept groping me and leaning in to kiss me.
But I had been given a new type of courage, the courage to say no to something I didn't want to do because I did have a choice, and I was worth something, at least to myself. Rather than my usual prickteasing, I snapped and told him I wasn't interested and asked him to leave me alone. I did get a lot of abuse from him, but everyone came to my defence, and I felt like saying no wasn't so wrong at all. Because what were some meaningless words and gropes worth to me anymore? The fact that people looked after me when he was being held back as he screamed "slut" and "bitch" to me meant a lot more.
As regular readers will know, in terms of life experience I am rather immature. University has been a speeded-up, exaggerated early youth for me. The bastards, the bitches, drinking, sex, drugs. Everything everyone else does from fourteen I was doing at nineteen, ultra fast to catch up with others. Perhaps I am now slowly getting beyond the "my existence is for male satisfaction" phase, the slutty make up and brash outfits. I think last night, rather than being just a cheap mistake, has been an opportunity for me to find out what I really want. To wait for that stable relationship with someone who values me, to work on my friendships not my pulling technique. To be my true self.
Let me fill you in with the details. I wasn't in the best of moods anyway, there was a bit of anger in my house and it always rubs off on the rest of us. I felt really lonely, that I hadn't made the right decision, that I didn't have any friends, etc. So when we went to a house party yesterday evening I just wanted to prove myself wrong. Perhaps I should have stayed in the kitchen whinging with my best guy friend, or mucking about in a lounge with some of my other friends. I just got into my old psychological trap that to find a man would make everything better.
I went outside for a cigarette and a bitch with some of my friends and ended up chatting to a couple of guys who were also there, taking a shine to one in particular. In my opinion he was way too cool and too good looking for me, so perhaps what followed showed how little confidence I have in myself and how pathetically apprieciative I am of anyone who's willing to boost my ego.
The night progressed and I was chatting and flirting with this guy and we ended up in a bedroom just fooling around and he kept on saying the usual male lines, how much he wanted me, how attracted he was to me, how I turned him on, and that he wanted to go a lot further. I totally fell for it, even though deep in my heart I really didnt want to just sleep with a guy I'd only known for about two hours. Still, to cleanse my soul a little, as well as for basic common sense, I encouraged him to use a condom (he was one of those who uses all the excuses under the sun not to wear one), and that we go somewhere a lot more private, seeing as people kept on walking in on us in this bedroom. I guess I felt I could deny how wrong this felt to me if I could shut myself away and do it, rather than unguarded on someone else's bed, where anyone could catch me, and there would be a lot of explaining to do.
We ended up in a bathroom, where the door didn't exactly lock, but we could lean against it, and had sex, although we had to do it in a variety of positions before each of us came. Not to mention the fact I was obviously so unturned on he was hurting me whenever he was inside me. The whole thing just felt totally surreal, like I wasn't there, me having sex with this stranger in the pitch black in a bathroom, with people knocking on the door every two seconds. I couldn't look at him, because the whole thing felt so weird, and like the lowest point of my life. Like an ugly manifestation of my insecurities. Perhaps taking ages to orgasm, even if it wasn't the more explosive type I have with sexual partners I realy cared about, was some sort of punishment. I just felt like a whore. Because the whole act was like the way some who are on the game describe it. Here I was in the pitch black, looking out into space, my mind somewhere else, while this guy just pounded away.
The worst occured afterwards, when we switched the light on and realised I had come on early, and there was literally blood everywhere. Let me tell you, frantically scrubbing blood off every surface whilst chatting nervously about absolutely nothing, because you have absolutely no connection, is the most humbling post-coital slap in the face ever. Not to mention his rowdy friends banging the door down, and almost opening it while I was pulling my clothes on. And the icing on the cake, my housemate, innocently queueing for the loo looking at me in absolute bewilderment as I walk out with this guy behind me. I made a lie about me being sick and him having to help me, but as much as she asked a lot of questions, I could tell she didn't really believe me.
After that I felt so cheap, like everyone was looking at me and knew I was such a slut. There were all the other girls with the guys they know inside out and shag on a regular basis, the one person who they trust and care about, despite not being official. And there was me, giving it up to anyone who so much as said I was gorgeous. I just felt so cheap after that that I just felt temporarily unreal to myself. That all the make up, the little outfit, that wasn't me, it was just a guise. That everyone thought I was easy game, especially when in the remainder of the eveing I was followed around by some drunk lench who kept groping me and leaning in to kiss me.
But I had been given a new type of courage, the courage to say no to something I didn't want to do because I did have a choice, and I was worth something, at least to myself. Rather than my usual prickteasing, I snapped and told him I wasn't interested and asked him to leave me alone. I did get a lot of abuse from him, but everyone came to my defence, and I felt like saying no wasn't so wrong at all. Because what were some meaningless words and gropes worth to me anymore? The fact that people looked after me when he was being held back as he screamed "slut" and "bitch" to me meant a lot more.
As regular readers will know, in terms of life experience I am rather immature. University has been a speeded-up, exaggerated early youth for me. The bastards, the bitches, drinking, sex, drugs. Everything everyone else does from fourteen I was doing at nineteen, ultra fast to catch up with others. Perhaps I am now slowly getting beyond the "my existence is for male satisfaction" phase, the slutty make up and brash outfits. I think last night, rather than being just a cheap mistake, has been an opportunity for me to find out what I really want. To wait for that stable relationship with someone who values me, to work on my friendships not my pulling technique. To be my true self.
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