So here’s another weird story.
There is this male at my work—he is an International Student from the same country my parents are from but he is very far from a typical international student from our country. He is not a FOB. He’s pretty caught up with our culture. He has normalized himself to Western life. Yeah, there is a small accent but it’s so minuscule and even kind of sweet.
This kid and I have been bonding a lot and we were supposed to go jump into a lake as part of some stupid tradition in our university. I ended up not doing it, neither of us wanted to, but then he began sending me messages like “do you have roommates” “how many” “do you have a TV” and through my short answers he was leading himself into the question of “oh, do you have netflix? wanna hang out?” So yeah, this guy was down for sleeping with me but after he backed himself into that corner he stopped asking questions and I didn’t proceed by inviting him over. (BTW, he ended up jumping in the lake without me. Asshole.)
After this occurrence I began thinking again about sleeping with someone. Yes, ever since the end of October I have been really craving sex—okay, I’m almost always craving sex but I meant I was ready to have sex with someone who was not Bo. I had told my two good friends about it and they laughed at how thirsty I was. I have never done anything with anyone who is not Bo. Since this is a private blog, I’m just going to write about my sexual experiences with Bo and my sexual history in general.
I grew up conservative and knew I was never supposed to date, and as I fell in love with Bo in high school I tried so hard to resist that which I knew I didn’t want to resist. I told him he couldn’t kiss me. We would cuddle and shit so it was pretty stupid of me to say that but I think we secretly enjoyed the over dramatization of our lives (I know we did). One night, when I had snuck out and we were cuddling in his backseat, Bo worked up the guts and just made out with me. IT WAS FUCKING WONDERFUL!!!!!!!!!! Why didn’t I do that shit sooner? We moved quickly. Bo had a large penis. I knew it right away even though, well it was my first penis. God, I loved it. It was snuggly and warm and reflexed to the left—cute as fuck. Did not fit. Ouch. I am a small person.
I was mature enough for sex. I was responsible enough for sex. We both were. We had communication. He were open about what we wanted and didn’t want. We were very cautious about protection. We were mature. We were careful. We loved each other and were doing it for that reason. But, I still wasn’t ready for it. I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t ready. Once I realized how high his sex drive was I slowly became terrified. My own sexuality had been shamed my whole life and so I was afraid of that as well. If my parents found out I would be ruined. I was a slut, I thought. For the years after it all ended (my relationship with Bo) there were so many reasons I would try to find for the failure, I remember for a time I truly thought it was sex that did it. Sex had ruined us. We should have never had sex. He should have never kissed me. His high sex drive ruined everything.
(I have a high sex drive too, just didn’t acknowledge it).
We were pretty perfect together in bed though, I will say that. And phone sex? We are both experts.
Eventually when we started fucking again this past summer, it really wasn’t as great. He was more forceful and pushy. It was amazing to be in his arms but I had to work to get him to slow down. I gave some amazing BJ’s—by the way, I am great at those. Just fantastic. It’s weird because I had only been with him but I just knew I was.
In the past summer Bo totally got himself in—it wasn’t like he hadn’t put himself inside of me before but nothing like that. It never really worked because frankly, he was so large and I was so small. We also never had an ideal location with a lot of space, privacy, and ability to make me feel comfortable and not tense. The first time he actually fucked me—of course it hurt. The second time it hurt. The third time it hurt. I told one of my best buds about it and he was pretty angry about it…but then again he hated Bo’s guts. Bo had just said that ladies do kind of get the short end of the stick. My friend told me it shouldn’t be feeling that way—Bo was doing it wrong. Well, he was. I was just naive and I didn’t want to lose him and so I didn’t speak up. I knew my friend was right but I just kept myself quiet.
Here’s when I finally worked up the guts to tell Bo the sex was terrible. Our makeout wasn’t that great. I was frustrated because Bo would touch me and things, but NEVER go down on me!!!! It is especially hard because my antidepressants lower my libido and so I need A LOT or warming up. I remember when we were first in love he gushed about how much he loved it, but he never even mentioned trying it in the recent year. In fact, one time I did point in a joke-y manner over text that hey, he hadn’t gone down on me, and he never addressed it. Anyway, I was intimidated as fuck by horny Bo. I would say that he was beautiful and sexy (he is) and he would never say any of it back. At the end of it, he would just play on his phone and act like it was a funny joke. My self esteem and energy was draining at that point. I would try to have a conversation but he would snapchat with his friends or just show me pictures of his friends or cute girls who were his friends. I pretended to be interested. I went home and cried for the rest of the night. I tried to tell myself he didn’t realize what he was doing. The thing that made it so worse was, we were so sexually compatible before, he had said I was better than the other girls he’s tried, and I didn’t really realize that Bo was just as inexperienced as I was and my mind had exaggerated the extent of his sexscapades, so I was broken by it all. I felt so inferior as a human being. The sex was painful that night. I pretended to enjoy it. He didn’t want to touch me after. I was sitting there in tears but I was talking in a balanced voice (or not talking at all) and he didn’t look up and see me or even look at me to notice. When I went home I knew I had to do something. I sent him a text about how I didn’t like it and I had been pretending and how it hadn’t been going well. I knew a text was shitty but I was just scared and it was late. I would talk to him the next day. He said okay, he would remember that next time.
That was the last time I talked to Bo. He cut me off after that. I decided I never wanted to have sex again anyway, because masturbation is beautiful. No man was ever again going to be able to give me an orgasm. I had to do it myself. And it was way better. Sexual desire is a need that must be fulfilled just like eating or sleeping, and masturbation was the way to go.
I masturbated a lot as a child and leading up to meeting Bo and I always felt a twinge of guilt because I had been told it was wrong and my mom had even caught on before and it was embarrassing af. I read that you would die from too much masturbation. Even after I realized there was nothing wrong and at the least God would rather have us do that than sleep around out of wedlock, I still always felt gross after it was done. Not anymore. I love masturbating. I don’t do it every day or it ruins it. But it is extremely healthy. It has matured me. I never wanted to have sex again.
Eventually I talked to Bo in the first week of the new school year and asked why he cut me off. It was because, as he wrote in a text message, “he was tired of hearing how terrible he was at everything.” I was in pieces for week. I was convinced I had been a devil bitch. I wasn’t sure how to respond. I told him I hated him and loved him at the same time anyway but I had no control over my words so now I believe that the last thing I have left him with is “I hate you.” I don’t hate Bo. Fuck, it hurts even to write about this all. I cried myself to sleep every single night. I was the worst. I was a terrible person. I didn’t deserve life. I would never get this guy back. He was dating one of those cute girls he had showed me a picture of and swore he didn’t have feelings for. I had seen it coming but it hurt so bad. I was a piece of shit that deserved to be treated like shit by me.
I recovered from that. This whole school year has been hard. It was weeks of crying, then those weeks of sleeping, then those weeks of physical stress, then that panic attack a couple weeks ago, and now back here, in libido, afraid of what to do or where I’m going.
Let’s tie this back around. Sleeping with my friend from work. I talked to my best bud, the same one from earlier who is still my best bud, and he said if I wanted to do it I should. I wanted to. I started fantasizing about it. I started fantasizing about Bo again too which sucked. I had told myself I wasn’t having sex again but man, the physical intimacy was what I really missed. Being with someone else. Yes, no one else was going to get me off, but I wanted to feel another body against mine. I am bisexual and I’ve never been with another woman either—was it really that great of an idea for me to just have said I’m never having sex? I have to say that all the guilt, shame, and fear of sex and my sexuality have really come a long way. I was terrified of sleeping with a stranger and thought I would never do it but I didn’t see shame in it anymore. I didn’t feel afraid or I didn’t feel the weight of the world at having to hide this from my parents. I WAS NOT THE ONLY SECOND GEN DESI KID DOING THIS SHIT. It took me so long to wrap my head around this. To decide I wasn’t going to hell.
I haven’t been sleeping well at all. A few nights ago I was thinking about sex and the kid from work and all that stuff. I think I wanted to sleep with him because there would at least be some kind of emotional connection and I knew he didn’t want a relationship and I don’t want to put anyone through the hell of dealing with me or the stress and guilt from hiding it from my parents, aka the center of my universe and reason I’m not dead. (There’s another guy I’ve also really wanted to be with, but I’ll leave the story of that fucker for another time). I was lonely that night. I wanted to cuddle with someone. That was it. Just be held.
So I redownloaded Tinder, it was probably past 1am. I first downloaded Tinder when I let go of Bo at the end of the last school year and my desi homegirl growing up would send me funny conversations from it all the time so I had to have it. Tinder really is designed to be like a game. As a female on the app you have a huge advantage. I made fun of it a lot at the beginning and have since understood and accept that it is a very legitimate way to meet people.
I was being pretty generous with my right swipes. Whenever I got a match I sent a message that said “let’s cuddle.” I think 10 went out. I got a reply from a kid named Aaron, who didn’t even begin with the flirting—nope, he was down, he would come get me. Yeah, he went back and forth for a little, and I had a good vibe about it, but I thought in my head: “yeah, I’m not REALLY going to do this.”
Well, I did it. He knew I was very close to flaking on him. It was not awkward when I met him. No, he was totally chill and so was I. Aaron is a great cuddler. He’s a player, a real asshole, but I think that’s a facade behind insecurities and deeper things he wants to share with the world, and his sex drive has just overpowered everything. He does stand up, and I asked him what he talks about and he said “banging.” So I’m with a guy much more experienced than me. I told him this. I even told him I had depression. He was really sweet. We made out. Not as good as Bo. But everything else was great. His penis, probably a normal size, and oh my gosh how much better it was inside of me. I had a new favorite penis—one that actually fit me. I’m not going to say the sex was totally comfortable, because I am still new at this all. In fact, I felt like I was gonna pee and I knew he was probably hitting my bladder or curved the wrong way or something. But it was still great. I had the energy to keep going. It was just great. I can keep gushing.
I had come to his place with a duffel bag and didn’t realize right away I had just invited myself over and that it wasn’t a normal thing to do, but I went along with it and he was fine. I got him to talk to me a lot about personal things. He said he wouldn’t cuddle me in the night, but nope, I got him to do that too. He said he doesn’t usually do that, and maybe he was lying to make me feel special, but I don’t even give a shit. I am lucky. I am one lucky gal. Lucky as shit. My “one night stand” rocked. I was totally safe. Sex was pretty great. Guy was sweet. And hot. And for whatever reason, I never freaked out, I went along just fine. He called me nugget. It was cute as shit. In the morning we did it again. It wasn’t awkward in the morning either, like a friend had said it would be. I wanted to make breakfast but I had to go to work and he dropped me off. Luckily, my one coworker who jumped in the lake wasn’t there to complicate my feelings.
I feel so freed. Aaron is the first person I have slept with since Bo. God I feel great and so proud of myself. This has been such a great moment in my life. I can’t wait to share it with my best bud when he has a moment. I can’t put into words how happy I am by the whole thing. I hope I see this guy again before I leave for winter break—I mean, we followed each other on Instagram and have each other’s cell, so that’s something, right?
At least one victory has been made in this terrible, depressing span of four months. Thanks, Aaron from Tinder.