Tag Archives: sexual health

December 13, 2010 · 10:36 am

My first thoughts on sex

I get nervous about sex. In fact, I’ve always been nervous about sex. And why? Well I’m not so sure. I was never abused, never pressured into something I didn’t want to do, never had the ‘fear of god’ put into me if I wanted to discuss it.

That is the thing though – I never did really discuss it. I think I was given a couple of books, but never the birds and the bees talk. I don’t know why. My parent’s are somwhat ‘liberal’ and we aren’t religious. When my boyfriend came to stay it was me, not them, who thought it better that he stay in the spare bedroom.

I first had sex when I was 20 and it was in a bathroom stall on the platform of the tube station in London. My choice (albeit drunken) but still my choice. We weren’t dating at the time, but had been previously and I just wanted to ‘get it over with.’ Not very romantic, but at least I loved the guy. To be 100% honest I’m not even sure if we really ‘did it’ and the only reason I say this is because, although uncomfortable, there was no blood – even marginal and I’m pretty sure there should have been blood.

Fast forward a couple of years. The second ‘first’ time I had sex was with my long-term boyfriend. Again, the first time was drunken (not optimal) and I have a sneaky suspicion I did it to remove any doubt of him going back to his “F%*k buddy” for want of a better word. I don’t recall there being any blood on the sheets then either, but the following morning, after I got up there was a sudden “whoosh” and my pants were drenched. I freaked and the problem was I didn’t know the guy well enough at the time to talk to him about it so I raced to the bathroom and spoke to my digsmate who calmed me down.

Sex with the above boy was ‘alright.’ I can probably count the number of ‘great’ times on one hand. We broke up after two years, although should have done so about a year and a half in. I lost interest in having sex with him – probably because I realised we were never going to be long-term (I was leaving this University town and he was going to stay there.)

My emotions were so closely tied with me wanting to have sex that after a year and a half, knowing we didn’t have a future, I pulled away and sex became uncomfortable, something I dreaded and thought of as a chore. This is not great when you are supposed to be in your ‘prime’ and wanting to rip one another’s clothes off!

Since said boy above I have not had sex. Oh, but I’ve thought about it – on many an occassion. But now I’m scared. I’m scared it’s going to continue to be uncomfortable for me, I’m scared that I’m going to forget what to do and I’m scared it’ll be a F*&k up and I’ll never enjoy it.

My doctor, however, assures me not. In fact, she mentioned that I probably just tense more because on top of being nervous I’m now worried it’s going to be uncomfortable – she in fact advcoated that when I am in a long term, healthy relationship again I should lock myself up with this new man for extended periods of time to ‘get used to sex.’ Who knows when this will happen though as pickings are scant!

I want to enjoy sex, I’m desperate to in fact, but I’m so nervous to just let myself go. My thoughts at the moment are to go and buy myself a ‘toy’ and get used to my body again – perhaps then I won’t be so closed off and nervous and altogether just plain scared.

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December 2, 2010 · 8:09 am

My first HIV test

I am quite an open person. I generally don’t have what one would term ‘secrets’ and if I do, then a good number of my closest friends probably know about it. I’m also a relatively responsible person. I don’t drink and drive; I pay all my bills on time; people can rely on me. Then why, you should ask yourself, was I quite happy to have unprotected sex without a condom?

Oh, I thought I was still being ‘responsible’ as this was my long-term boyfriend and I just figured he would be negative. Did I ask him? No. It did not even cross my mind, until a couple weeks, maybe one or two months later.

I was going out that evening, and he was staying in. I went to go and see him and he said “I have something to tell you.” He sat me down and told me he had gone to the doctor and he had had an HIV/AIDS test. I didn’t say anything, I just looked at him. He asked “well, aren’t you going to ask me the result?” I can’t remember what I answered, I suppose ‘yes’. I just remember thinking “you bastard…you sick, mean, asshole. You put me at risk when you yourself never knew.” Perhaps this was the beginning of the end of our relationship? I can’t be sure.

He told me “negative”. I breathed a sigh of relief and went out with my friends. I didn’t shout at him, I didn’t even say anything. I just went out and got drunk, horrendously drunk. What I remember thinking at the time, and have carried around with me since, is that there is a 3 month window period. Stupid, stupid me I kept telling myself.

The reason? My boyfriend had been with a number of ‘questionable’ girls for want of a better word prior to myself. And hey, if he didn’t feel the need to use a condom with me, why would it have been any different with them? Stupid, stupid me. I decided that I should wait and go and get tested after 3 months myself, so as to ensure no false-negatives. Well those 3 months came and went, they turned into 6 months, then 12, then 2 years, and then 3…now almost 4 years.

I think I told one, maybe 2 or 3 people during this period and 2 of those are very recent – the last month in fact.

During this time my boyfriend and I ended. We just moved in different worlds. We barely even talk anymore. I have not been with anyone since. Why still bring him up you ask? Well I was thinking about him today, thinking about what I would say to him if I was HIV positive.

I went for the test.

I was Negative.

Such relief. I wanted to cry for that naive, young girl who so trustingly gave her all to someone who didn’t deserve it, who abused her trust in fact; cry for that girl who knew how to do everything correctly, but didn’t; cry for that girl who had spent months and years agonising over going for a simple test, and when finding out, feeling like a weight had been lifted. I wanted to cry, but instead, I smiled.

Finally, I knew my status.

Do you know yours?

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September 15, 2010 · 12:48 pm

The First Time Someone Touched My Vagina

I’d always been aware of my vagina as a growing girl in spite of the few words available in isiXhosa to refer to it in a pleasant way—usisi, inhenhenhe,ikuku,umphantsi. It was functional insofar as my menstrual cycle and all other biological functions and I was happy with that. It took a boy’s curious hands to help me understand what my vagina is really about.

I was in my early teens and had been experimenting with boys in a mickey mouse kind of way, kisses and maybe touching of breasts but nothing below the waistline or anything that involved taking clothes off. In Grade 9, our Bible Education teacher at school went through the whole process and implications of exploring sexuality with boys. It was never overtly communicated, but the message was that we should never let boys use us for their gratification because males are physical and females are emotional and that is how we respond to sex. The prospect of ever enjoying what happens between a boy and a girl was simply not an option lest one should risk being labelled as “loose”(the question of homosexuality wasn’t even addressed).

It was also in my early teens that I had a chronic case of what my friends and I called “The disease to please”. Symptoms of this illness meant that the girl (me) was incapable of asserting herself at the advances of boys so any boy that showed an interest in me and made advances on me was bound to get the answer he was looking for. There had been a radical shift from the primary school girl who had been labelled as “playing hard to get” and I can’t explain how this happened. Partly curiosity and partly searching for some attention at that point in my life. This also meant I was a very early bloomer in relation to some of my friends.

I had heard about people talking of “being fingered” (in the crudest form), but no-one went into the details of how and when etc. So when the encounter happened with the boy I was somewhat shocked and unprepared. It seems dirty describing the process but dare I say, it was somewhat a pleasant surprise. The feeling of being touched and enjoying the experience meant I was one of “those girls”. I don’t remember if the boy was my “official boyfriend” or not at the time, we had met at a rugby match and I thought he was cute so I gave him my number. He called and whenever we went out we ended up kissing. He didn’t talk much which is why I’m not sure if he was my boyfriend or not.

The next step from kissing to touching was not communicated, it just happened. While we were kissing his hands managed to find their way to my vagina and I remember sitting in a position that made it easy for him to venture “down there”(reference from Vagina Monologues). Later he ventured to kissing my vagina, an even more pleasant surprise. I never realised that my vagina, that had been so insignificant before these encounters, had the possibility of evoking a good feeling. I had never been scared of what was “down there”, but the experience with this boy (and a few others later down the line) meant that I became acquainted with the silence around sexuality: the prospect that it is not infact dirty, but something that can be enjoyable.

The somewhat unsettling part about these experiences is that when girls “let” boys touch them it is a bad thing which means one is a bad girl. Seeing as I didn’t want to be a bad girl for the rest of my teenage years, my experiences with being touched were short lived and I soon learned to restrain myself, mostly by not being with boys (now men) I find remotely attractive lest they should venture “down there” and release a flood of emotion and sensations and this is taking a lot of work undoing because the reality is, I am a woman  with desires that I shouldn’t be afraid of.

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