- August 13th. Monday after work B picked me up for an outing he’d thought up quite a while ago: a public library and Ikea. The town next to ours has a bigger Russian population than ours has; consequently, their library has a larger selection of Russian children’s books. I’d never been there before and neither had B, so off we went to the children’s room. Oh how lovely to see a full row of books in Russian, from colors and animals to Harry Potter. No Dr. Seuss though–that would have been awesome. My brain hurt trying to sound out the words of even the easiest books, and I knew I sounded worse than a first grader learning to read. (It’s been more than a decade since my Russian classes.) So much fun though. We checked out Olivia, the one about the little pig. Unfortunately, the English version was already checked out (in our local library as well). Then we looked at the Russian children’s movies–what an odd collection! Ikea was lots of fun. I had a veggie wrap and we shared chocolate cake and strawberries and whipped cream. We walked around the store until closing announcements at 8pm. B showed me the island unit he wants for his kitchen, and of course we mercilessly judged some hideous lamps and the square sinks with corners that are too hard to clean. All in all, quite a successful outing.
Back at my place we decided he should stay over. I didn’t have work the next day, but had a doctor’s appointment instead. In my room, I told him to think of a question for me. I think this was my way of getting to the personal stuff without asking, “What are you thinking?” His question this time was, “What’s next?” That’s a very good question. One I thought I knew the answer to, but couldn’t say (blush). So I said, “What’s the next question? Since I didn’t answer the first one.” He asked if the ‘nothing below the belt’ rule still stood. My answer was something like, “I don’t know I think so for me it does.” Which was as close as I could get to telling him out loud what I thought should be next. I have mixed feelings about what’s gone on below the belt so far. When B touches me over my clothes, part of me wants to guide his hand, and the other part of me wants to let him know that nothing much is going to happen for me, so he doesn’t have to do that. I feel like it’s going to take more time before I can relax and let things build–and certainly clothing is a barrier, but I’m not ready to remove it. I don’t know what B expects–is he looking for more response from me? Or is he doing it for himself? (In which case, he can go for it as long as he wants.) As I’ve said before, I appreciate his enthusiasm and his attentiveness. I’m just not sure what to do with it yet.
B tried to get an answer to the ‘what’s next’ question. “Do you want to whisper it in my ear?” he teased. No! Somehow this led to me writing on his skin with my fingertip, the same word I’ve been writing (but not saying) since I first stayed over at his place: L-O-V-E. Did I trust that I was really feeling it? Nope. He said he didn’t know what I was writing, and I told him that was the point.
We made out a bit more, and eventually I worked up the courage to move my hand over his crotch. “So,” I said. “This is what’s next. But you have to give me some direction since I don’t know what I’m doing.” He removed his jeans–after asking if I wanted to take them off. I told him he’d have to do that–way too awkward for me. He lay there in his boxers and I put my hand on his hip. And then I refused to move until he told me or showed me what to do. It’s not that I had no idea–I’ve read books and seen movies and watched p.orn (research, you know). But this was real, right now, in my bed. It’s so personal and intimate, and I needed not only permission, but guidance as well. Interestingly, B did not want to give it. He wanted me to just do what I wanted, to explore. While I appreciated his trust and confidence in me, I did not share it. “It’s your body,” I insisted. “You have to give me direction.” Anyone having flashbacks to Judy Blume’s Forever here? Or Norma Klein’s novels? I won’t give a second by second breakdown. I did manage to touch a naked penis. Huzzah. B did eventually close his hand over mine and guide me. We actually looked each other in the eye and talked while I was touching him. That is something I never imagined happening (which I told him later), and it wasn’t as awkward as I would have thought. He let me know I could stop, and I said, “Is that your way of telling me to stop?” “No.” I asked if he wanted me to keep going until he climaxed and he paused and answered, “Not this time.” I was a little surprised it didn’t just happen, as he usually seemed on the verge with very little help. I wondered if he felt the same way I did–that it was suddenly a whole other ballgame when someone else was in control, and that he wasn’t able to fully get into it. I’m sure my clumsy freshman attempts didn’t help.
At one point, he asked what I was thinking. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m grossed out, that I think it’s yucky, but I don’t. What I was thinking was that he was much bigger than I realized. I hadn’t really gotten a full sense of the girth when he was just up against my thigh. I admitted that it would be a tight fit. Good for him, not so much for me. The next day, I researched upgrading my toy. A few years ago, I had chosen a plain, inexpensive “slender model” to start out with, for obvious reasons. Even that I had to work up to being able to use internally, and it’s still not super comfortable. And in comparison, it really is the slender model. After looking online, I just didn’t feel like spending the money, buying more plastic destined for the landfill, that required batteries, no less. In the end, I know we’ll figure it out, and I’d rather practice with the real thing. I’m pretty sure B won’t mind.
- August 14th. In the morning I made eggs and we had tea and fruit and the caramelized onion focaccia bread that he’d made and brought with him the day before. (If he keeps feeding me like this, I’m a goner.) I was wearing his t-shirt, and he sat across from me. I like him in his boxers at my breakfast table. =) I put The Story. of Stuff on for him (happily, the video was preaching to the choir) while I showered and dressed and then he drove me to my doctor’s appointment. It was the longest we’d spent together thus far–almost twenty-four hours.
The appointment was my ‘annual’ physical. (I hadn’t had one in six years.) The timing was very deliberate. I wanted to get things checked out, as part of preparing physically and mentally to take the next steps. The speculum was much easier to take than six years ago, so at least that’s something. A thought recently occurred to me: if my legs and hips/pelvis are so tight because of my CP, is it possible that the muscles of and around the vagina are tighter than is typical as well? I almost asked my doctor, but then I chickened out. Because of the lovely new-patient questionnaire that I’d filled out at my first appointment two months before, my doctor is aware of my rare sexual status. When she asked if there was anything new in my life, I said, “I have a boyfriend now, and we’re totally going to have sex soon.” We talked a bit about birth control and she asked if B had had partners before (“Just one.”) and if he’d been tested. No matter how comfortable with and close you feel to someone, that’s not an easy topic to bring up because it feels like you’re judging your partner and their past partner(s).
My friend (another later-than-typical virgin) picked me up, and when I got in the car I announced that I’d touched a penis. She said she would have given me a high five if she hadn’t been driving. We went and picked up a pint of ice cream and full disclosure followed.
Another novel. Part three to come.