The Story

I have attended two plays in the last year that dealt with heavy issues like women's sexuality, violence, coercion, etc. These plays were based on women's stories and their pain, and they have affected me deeply.

I thought I didn't have any stories. Not any good stories. By good, I mean really bad, traumatic, worthy-of-sharing, stories. I told myself that nothing really bad ever happened to me. So many have had it so much worse. I was never molested. I've never been physically forced to have sex. I've never been really beaten up by a partner. I told myself that anything "bad" that happened to me, that I couldn't let go, was just me feeling sorry for myself. That I was just being melodramatic.

When I tell stories, I put a spin on them. I make them funny. I end with a joke, or I make them into something else. I gloss over the meat. I gloss over the pain. I avoid the discomfort. Mine or otherwise.

I tell stories that are caricatures of stories. I like these stories, and they have their place.

But I want to try telling other stories. I want to tell the truth. The uncomfortable truth.

I can start with a story I've never told. I have told little pieces to a few people, but I have never told the whole story. To anyone. 

I had just started college at ASU. I had a friend, a crush really, who lived across town. We'll call him K. K was recently sober after a short romance with crystal meth. He had been attending Narcotics Anonymous (NA) meetings. 

He was really cute. We'd met at band camp (how cliche!), made out a few times (even more cliche!), and I'd visited him in Phoenix once or twice before moving down there for college. 

I picked him up on the other side of town after an NA meeting. He invited me over to a friend's house. I was disappointed, because I really liked K and had hoped we could just go out and do something together, even if it was just coffee. I'd thought this would be just us doing something, but I guess not. He and his buddies were going to drink LOTS of coffee and stay up all night, because this was the closest thing they had to a good buzz. The rush from all the coffee and the sleep deprivation was kind of like being high. There was an actual term for it, but I don't remember what it was. I wish I could remember. Forgetting that little term, and the degree to which this forgetting bothers me, is such a microcosm for the rest of the story.

At that time, I had a sort of relationship with a guy we'll call P. I'd hooked up with him (in other words, had a two-night stand with him) right before I moved to Phoenix and we were maybe going to see each other or whatever, but we weren't officially dating. Or at least I didn't think so. I figured he wasn't interested in an actual relationship with me.

After the two-night stand with P, I had been reflecting on my casual sexual encounters over the past few years. Those are stories for another time, but I was kind of concerned that I was a sex addict. I now know that really, I wouldn't have met the criteria. Not even close. But it was a hot term at that time and I really wanted some kind of label for myself and my dysfunction. Sex addiction was kind of glamorous, as opposed to a more accurate label like "child of alcoholic starved for male attention". I mentioned this to K--that I thought I might have a problem with sex. He suggested that I go to NA meetings or AA meetings or whatever, and the program was still the same.

We arrived at his friend's house--we'll call him D for douchebag because I don't remember his real name and douchebag is appropriate--and the coffee consumption began. I didn't drink much of it. D encouraged me to drink more, but I didn't. I'll return to this point later. 

We ended up watching some porn. The me I am now is confused about how this could have seemed like a normal activity, but I was not the me I am now.

I should clarify that at that time in my life, third-wave feminist (though I didn't call myself a feminist) that I was, I had watched porn with friends before. We were young adults. It was taboo. We were liberated. We liked to show that we were so cool we could watch porn and it was no big deal. I had watched porn with my best friend (and roommate) and sometimes we had other friends there and no, we didn't end up making out and we didn't have orgies and it was just...watching porn. Because we were old enough to rent it now! And we were cool. 

But these guys didn't know this. This hadn't been discussed. It was just, hey let's watch some porn, and I was so cool that I said sure. Whatever. Maybe D even asked if I was okay with it, and I of course said yes.

I should also clarify, before you read further, that this night did not end in some kind gang bang or forced sex.

This was 15 years ago. I'm sorry, 16 years ago, so my memory is kind of fuzzy. I was sitting in a dark living room, in a room with three young men. I wasn't sitting next to any of them so I must have been in a different chair. Trying to not react. Trying to be cool. You would think that I would be like, I'm out of here. But I didn't do that. Because I prided myself on being "one of the guys". Most of my close friends in high school, except my very best friend, were guys. I didn't trust women--girls had caused me so much pain throughout my childhood that I was really distrustful of them. Men, on the other hand...they didn't, generally, have the same finesse in being able to destroy you by using your friendships against you. They lacked the same power of social ostracism. By and large, I'd never even had a guy start rumors about me, even those I'd had sex with. They were friends, sometimes sexual partners, but our relationships were pretty straightforward. In my mind, I was just being one of the guys. I knew from other conversations with adolescent boys that sometimes, they watched porn together. Is this normal? I don't know. Maybe I just grew up in some fucked up hick corner of the universe.

So, back to the porn. Or the circle jerk. Like I said, the details are fuzzy, but I could swear it was a circle jerk. Maybe they just talked about circle jerk. I think D actually brought it up and asked if I knew what it was, and if I minded if either he or they beat off. I don't think they all did, because I think I would have REALLY noticed or tried to NOT NOTICE if K had whipped out his dick. So it was probably D and maybe the other guy who I haven't assigned an initial to. I could have said, hey I really have to get going but that seemed like so much effort. It seemed like it would have been a monumentally impossible task to actually get up out of the chair I was in and walk out of the room.

At some point, it's early morning, and I'm fucking tired. I don't know if I said I was tired and heading home, or if I actually asked if there was somewhere I could lay down. The guy who lived there, D for dickhead or douchebag or whatever else you want to say about him, offered that I could sleep in his parents bed. It was his parents house and they were out of town. Awesome, I think, I have a bed to myself. They were still up watching heavy metal videos or something equally obnoxious, and D specifically said that I could close the door and it would be quiet and I could have privacy. What a nice guy, I thought. I figured I could sleep for a few hours, and then head back an hour across town. Looking back, I probably said I was heading home and then he offered, but this may be revisionist history.

I'm almost asleep. D comes in and lays down. This is weird, I think, but he doesn't try anything. At first. I don't know how it started. I didn't like this guy. I wasn't attracted to this guy. 

Oh my god, I just remembered how it started. He was actually laying in bed beating off. I was just trying to ignore it. I was trying to pretend I was asleep. I don't know how I got involved, aside from being in the bed in the first place. SO STUPID. I WAS SO STUPID.

I know that I resisted. I'm pretty sure that he started touching me, stroking me, and I just tried to pretend I was asleep. Then it was let's just kiss. It's likely that I was asked to "help him out". I felt so tired. My head was so foggy. I didn't really want to. I wanted to sleep. I hoped that I could just do enough to get by so he would leave me alone so I could sleep. I said no to each increased advance. I know I said no. I said it more than once. He just kept persisting. I could have gotten up and left, but I knew that the other guys were in the house. I was so embarrassed. They knew I'd gone up to sleep. How could I tell them I was leaving because your friend won't leave me alone? Did they know he was up here? Did they all just think I was easy? Was that why I was here in the first place?

And it seemed like so much effort. Seemed like it was so much easier to just let him kiss me for a few minutes and then maybe he would go away. I was so naive. I was so tired. I couldn't make myself get out of the bed. I could not get out of the bed. I was so

DRUGGED?

It took me years to consider that possibility, because any time I did, I told myself I'd just been tired and lazy and easy anyway and that I was just trying to find an excuse. But seriously, this was not the first time I'd been up all night and I'd never had so much trouble functioning. I wonder now if that's why he kept trying to get me to drink more coffee. I wonder now if they were all in on it. I wonder now if K told them I was a "sex addict".

And I'd been trying to turn a new leaf. I'd told myself I wasn't going to fuck someone for the sake of fucking someone any more. I told him this, in fact. I told him that I thought I had a problem with sex, and didn't want to have sex with someone I'd just met. That's why I kept saying no, I really can't. And then it ended with him begging over and over to eat me out. And I kept saying no. But he "just wanted to go down on me to pleasure me". It was all about me. We didn't need to have sex. It wouldn't be sex. And finally I just said whatever. 

What happened next is kind of foggy. I think I faked an orgasm, and then he wanted to hold me, and I was kind of disgusted, but I just wanted to go to sleep. I'm 97% sure that this is what happened.

When I woke up next, K was in the bed. He was awake. I think he smiled at me. He might have then rolled over and gone to sleep. Was he in the bed because he hoped to get lucky? If he was, he didn't try anything. At least, I don't remember him trying anything. I mean, this is the guy that I would have kind of liked to try something. I had a crush on him, remember? Did he hope I would try something? I have a vague memory that I asked where D was, and K said he'd gone to work. Maybe he was simply in the bed because he was tired and it was a place to sleep now that D was gone.

I don't remember how I left. I don't remember if K was asleep or awake. I think he did roll over, with his back to me, and when he fell asleep I left. I was ashamed. I, of course, assumed that D had told K everything. In retrospect, I don't think he told him anything.

At the time, I felt victorious because I hadn't banged the guy. In my mind, this was a victory because I hadn't given in to fucking someone for the sake of fucking someone. Even though I felt sick about the whole thing, I had WON. Right?

I said that I never told whole story. I want to tell you about what happened the first time I told part of  the story. P--the two-night stand I assumed would never really follow up with me--came to visit me. I told him that I'd made out someone. I just wanted to be honest if we were going to become a thing. He was kind of annoyed, but I told him that I hadn't thought I'd actually hear from him again. I didn't tell him everything else. Long story short, P ended up being my boyfriend. This led to a whole host of poor decisions in that first year of college, culminating in me dropping out, moving to the woods, getting pregnant while doing a lot of drugs, begging my mother to rescue me, and me having an abortion. My stories about P are stories for another time. Except this one.

About 6 months after the D incident, I had horrible abdominal pains. I went to the emergency room. I had a nasty virus and they gave me painkillers. GOOOOOD painkillers. P and me and our roommate were drinking hard liquor. Because I had far less sense than I have now.

I don't know how the hell it came up. I don't know if it was a slip. I don't know if it was a confession. I think it may have actually been a "hey, I love you so much, and there's only one thing I have hidden from you and I want you to know about it" scenario. Somehow, the conversation turned to the fact that D had gone down on me. 

P was furious. 

It was one thing to have "made out" with D, but THIS. THIS!

Of course, I'd never told him I'd been potentially drugged. I didn't tell him I'd been coerced. I didn't tell him that this was either borderline date rape or outright date rape. These were terms I didn't have words for back then. Remember, I'd walked away from the D situation feeling VICTORIOUS. As if.

So P said he would never do that on me/for me/to me again. I know now that this is classic abusive behavior. Withholding affection. At the time, I apologized. I cried. I pleaded. I felt like I was a horrible person. I should have told you. I thought I told you. It doesn't matter. What's the difference? It's in the past. I'm so sorry.

  

I don't know exactly what I said. All I knew is that someone who I (naively) thought I would spend my life with was taking away something. Forever. Because I was bad. Because I was a slut.

Fast forward a few weeks later. P had been out of town for a week. When he returned, we were making out, leading up to sex. He said he had a really special surprise gift for me. I thought it might be an engagement ring. Instead, he started to go down on me.

Instead of feeling happy, I just felt sick. Dirty. Manipulated. Insulted. And then I pushed all those feelings away, hid my disappointment, and fucked him anyway.

I ran into K about 18 months later. P and I had broken up long before then, and I'd moved on to an even more abusive relationship. K looked great when I saw him. Sober. Healthy. Kind. I could tell he really was doing well. 

We chatted for a few minutes. I asked him if he was still friends with D. I think I wanted to tell him what happened, or try to figure out if he knew. He said D was serving time in jail for raping a girl. I could tell from the rest of our conversation that he didn't know what happened. I don't think he told his friends that night that I was a "sex addict". I don't think, if I was drugged, that he knew about it. I think that he was a genuinely good guy.

And I wished then that I had told him, either that night or soon thereafter. And I felt bad because maybe if I'd said something, someone else would not have been raped. And selfishly, I also felt relieved. If D had "really" raped some other woman, maybe it wasn't all my fault after all.

I know that what he did was wrong, but I still feel so ashamed. So dirty. Ashamed that I just sat there while they watched porn. Ashamed that I didn't leave. Ashamed that I tried to sleep there. Ashamed that I didn't leave when D came upstairs. Ashamed that I gave in because it was easier than not giving in. I don't know if I was actually drugged with something, and it shouldn't really matter. I said no. Just because he didn't have to hold me down doesn't make it okay. I tell myself that thinking I might have been drugged is just a way to let myself off the hook. Off the hook for what? I know, rationally, that I should not feel ashamed, but I do.

And the worst part. THE WORST part, was not the night with D. It was the way P treated me. As if him giving back affection that should have never been withheld was a "gift". A GIFT. And even though I knew that it wasn't right, I let him give this "gift" to me. I accepted it. And now, even though I know that he was an asshole, I feel so embarrassed. I don''t want to tell anyone because it will show that I was so stupid. That I am dirty. That I was a slut. That I am a bad person. That I am dishonest. You will say that I had it coming. I got what I deserved.

But even if you think all these things, I still have to tell this story. And other stories. They are eating me alive from the inside out.

I don't want your sympathy. I don't want you to tell me that none of it was my fault, because I know I won't believe you.

I want you to know this, and still be my friend anyway. I want to know that you think no less of me.

October

We were at the Red River zoo on this day, and I thought this summed up autumn in North Dakota perfectly.

Sex...what they want to know

I am teaching Introduction to Psychology this semester. I allot extra time to talk about sex, sexual motivation, and sexual orientation. I leave a drop box at the back of the classroom so students can submit questions anonymously. Where else can they ask? Most of the kids students in the course are in their first year of college--it's the first time they are away from home, with more freedom than they've ever experienced. I think it's really important to inform them about sex.

What kinds of questions did I get this year? I have tried to answer them here to the best of my knowledge, but if you know more about something, please chime in. I will be editing my answers for the class.

• Why do guys like it doggy style so much?
• I don't know how to answer this. Have you considered asking one of them? I know a lot of women who like it too, myself included.
• What is the best time to have sex if you want to get pregnant?
• Did you pay attention in health class? Wait, did you even have sex ed in high school? There's a good chance the answer is no, or that you had a version of sex ed that was "don't do it until you're married". I'm gonna go find some charts and graphs for class.
• What is a G-spot and where is it?
• Is it okay to start having sex without a condom, then add one before ejaculation/half-way through?
• This is a perfect example of why I want you to submit questions. You are headed for disaster.
• What causes whiskey dick? How can they prevent it?
• I think the cause, and solution, are implied in the term.
• Is it more fun to have sex when you're high?
• High on what? I would like to answer your question, but I don't remember. Just kidding. Sort of.
• Is there something wrong if a female doesn't orgasm during sex?
• "Wrong"? I'm not a fan of that word. Do you mean physically wrong? Probably not. Does she ever orgasm? Is she bothered by not having orgasms during sex? Does she orgasm through masturbation? Many women have trouble achieving orgasm during intercourse, but can still orgasm through masturbation. Very few women orgasm with only vaginal stimulation--most require some sort of clitoral stimulation.
• Does size matter?
• Size of what? Heh. 
• For gay men, why is it more pleasurable to have the penis go in the anus instead of the vagina?
• Maybe because they don't have vaginas? I think you are asking why they prefer anuses instead of vaginas? I think it more about preferring men, as whole people, rather than a particular body part. Also, not all gay men are into anal sex.
• Can you get pregnant on your period?
• Yes.
• How have casual sexual relationships undermined the future relationships of today's youth and young adults? Does casual sex affect the monogamy of a relationship later in an individual's life?
• You're religious, aren't you? I don't know how to answer this. Are you asking whether people who have casual sex will later cheat because they had casual sex? A better question would relate to intimacy. If someone only likes casual sex, they probably have problems with intimacy. Those problems with intimacy are what will likely cause problems later. And I'm not sure that young adults today are particularly casual about their sex, from a really broad historical perspective.
• Why do men wake up with an erection?
• REM sleep causes genital arousal in men and women. Women just don't get erections.
• How does one treat orgasmic disorders?
• This is a big question. For most women, they need to find the clitoris.
• Why are animals more influenced by sex hormones than humans?
•  Are they more influenced, or do we fool ourselves? We probably seem less affected because we have TVs.
• What does sex feel like?
•  Depends on how you define sex and who you do it with.
• If a guy ejaculates in a hot tub, can the girl get pregnant?
• Not likely, but I like Glee too.
• Is penis curvature normal?
• Mostly.
• What is the average penis size?
• I get this question every year.
• Are there any taboos left?
• Depends on who you ask.
• Are there areas of sexuality that we don't know about?
• I'm sure there are.
• Is it true that you can't get pregnant if you have sex in water?
• No.
• Can masturbation ruin your sex life?
• I certainly hope not. I think the consensus is that it helps.
• What is the average age to lose your virginity?
• Depends on the culture. In the United States it's around 17, but there are ethnic/cultural variations. In Japan, it's closer to 22.
• When do kids become curious about sex?
• Define sex. Kids are curious about everything.
• What sort of "sexual" behavior do young kids exhibit?
•  I don't know if it's "sexual", but they will stimulate their genitals at about the same age that they disover them.
• What happens if you bleed after sex?
• If it's just a little blood, nothing. If it's a lot of blood, you might want to call your health care provider.
• What if the condom gets stuck?
• Define "stuck". Stuck inside? Pull it out. Hopefully there is no semen in it yet.
• Is the pill dangerous?
• I don't take it. But I also birthed at home and selectively vaccinate. Generally, I don't trust doctors except in emergencies and I don't like messing around with my body chemistry.
• What are the first signs of pregnancy?
• A missed period is usually the first sign.

These are the questions that 18-22 year old college students in North Dakota most want to know.

Collard Greens!

We still have a lot of Halloween candy left, because I dole it out slowly--a couple of pieces a day. I'm actually considering stashing some away for his Christmas stocking...Our neighborhood apparently takes Halloween very seriously, as evidenced by the ridiculous pile of loot he received from 20 minutes of trick-or-treating.

But I digress.

The boy is star-of-the-week at school this week, which means that I was asked to pull together something starry, like family pictures, for the wall. Does anyone have printed pictures just lying around the house any more? Of course, they sent the letter home last Friday, and because I just threw the pile of papers in the back of my car, I didn't notice it until Sunday night. Bah.

Dear Preschool,

If I had time to pull something starry together, I wouldn't be paying you to take care of my child all day.

Sincerely,
Works-too-much

Seriously, though, I was excited about this, but disappointed because we could have discussed this ALL WEEKEND if I'd actually looked at the stuff they sent home on Friday. We could have made a PLAN and he could have helped me pick out pictures and it would have been nice quality time for us.

I found a few pictures and asked the boy to pick out three favorite books for show-and-tell.

I picked him up from school Monday afternoon, and he was excited that Teacher V. had read his books to the WHOLE CLASS and Teacher V. wanted to know where I got one of the books so she could get it for the classroom.

I asked boy what he wanted to take for show-and-tell on Wednesday. He wanted to take Eddy, our iguana. I explained that we couldn't do that, and suggested that he take in a picture of Eddy, along with a bag of collard greens to show the class what she eats. He was excited about this idea.

Tuesday night, I printed a picture of Eddy and put some collard greens in a bag and told the boy that everything was ready for school. I had been talking with him all day about what Eddy eats so that he would remember that the leaves are called collard greens.

I asked boy if he would like one of his Halloween candies since he had finished dinner and it was almost shower time (he prefers showers to baths). He sifted through the bowl, and said what is this? while holding up a pack of RAINBOW!!! Twizzlers (I would have been much more excited about Twizzlers as a child had they come in multiple colors).

I said, those are Twizzlers.

No, they are not. They are like the bad guy in Candy Land.

Any Candy Land experts out there? No? Well, lucky for you--I AM. I am an expert in Candy Land because I have been forced lucky enough to play it over and over and over again. For those of you who may not be such experts, when you land on a licorice space, you get stuck for a turn.

Oh, they are licorice! You're right--they ARE like Candy Land.

Of course, this meant that we had to play a game of Candy Land before he went to the shower. We played the game. He beat me, and I noticed he had one Twizzler left. I told him to eat his Twizzler because it was shower time. It was a green twizzler.

He picked it up, held it up in the air like a sword, and said,

Dun-duh-na! (bugle horn sound). This is green! It is a COLLARD green!

And then he giggled like crazy at his own joke. Just like mommy does. Just like mommy's daddy does. It runs in the family, and if you don't find it as funny as we do, we'll gladly repeat it twice more so that you are given additional opportunities to laugh at us...

I kind of like having boy around. A mirror.

NaBloPoMo here we go, now with inappropriate fart jokes

I recognize I am already two days late, but by golly, I need some kind of inspiration to actually sit down and write here.

I will break my long hiatus with a simple story that illustrates life with an 3.5 year-old-boy.

Yesterday morning, I played a Care Bears movie on my computer so that I could lay in bed awhile longer while boy watched the movie. When the movie was over, I suggested that we go eat breakfast.

Boy: No, we have to hide under the covers. Get under the covers, mommy.

Me: Okay, but why are we hiding?

Boy: Because there are monsters outside.

Me: Oh, no. Monsters? What will we do?

Boy: It's okay. The Mighty Shark is here. He will protect us. Go outside Mighty Shark.

Boy lifts covers so the Mighty Shark can get outside. 

Me: What is he doing out there?

Boy: He is eating all of the monsters. 

Boy lifts covers.

Boy: Come back inside Mighty Shark. Mommy, the Mighty Shark eated all the monsters!

Me: Phew, what a relief.

Boy (in stage whisper): Mighty Shark, pull mine finger.

Mighty Shark (performed by boy): Okay. Doodleootleoot! (sound effect to indicate said finger pulling) 

Boy: PPPPHfffffffTTTTTT (fart noise).

At which point, I laughed so hard that I cried.

Fast forward to later that day, approximately 11:45PM. Boy is asleep in our bed. Hyrum and I climb into bed, and I proceed to tell him about the events of the day, and as I begin recounting the Mighty Shark fart story, I can hardly get the words out because I am laughing so hard. At some point, boy wakes up and hears me telling the story, and of course takes advantage of this opportunity to illustrate more fart noises.

For the next 15 minutes, the three of lie in bed, giggling hysterically, because every time the giggles died down, someone (not ME, of course...okay I'm lying...I was totally one of the instigators) would make a new fart noise. The BOY was the one who finally said it was time to sleep, and instituted the Quiet Game.

This is not what I envisioned parenting would be like. It's so much better.