“the first time i was naked in front of a man…”

The first time I was naked in front of a man, I had already realized Im a lesbian, but I felt that I couldn’t be certain unless I had a viscerally bad reaction to being intimate with a man. And I didn’t, but every action felt robotically planned; kiss, clothes off, kiss, touch dick, kiss, tell him I didn’t want to have sex. Each action was leading up to the sex I was supposed to give him.


Being intimate with a woman, I found that mutual pleasure was finally central and there was no end goal to constitute actions as sex or not sex. Anything was sex if I felt like it was. Or it wasn’t sex because I cared less about if it was or wasn’t.

The first time a girl went down on me, I felt like I could say I’d had sex for the first time. But I then realized that I’d had better orgasms from fingering, (and likely the best orgasms done by myself). So maybe that was sex too? It felt revolutionary to realize that sex is not one action but a series of motions to connecting me with another human and myself. Sex meant getting what made me feel best and giving what made her feel best. There was no stopping halfway through or because there was no finish line.

No one told me I get to define sex for myself. Sex was sex, and sex is sex. I decide, she decides, they decide. It’s sex if we want it to be.