The first time I’ve had sex was with my second boyfriend. I was 21. Yah, call me an early bird. By then, all my curiosity and anxiety had seriously been building up inside of me. One says that one never forgets one’s first time. Well, I must be the exception because I really don’t remember. No, I wasn’t drunk or anything; I simply don’t remember. All I do know is that I loved it. Boy, did I love it! Still, I couldn’t help but feel ashamed for liking it. I felt dirty, and sex was dirty, and there were new smells and tastes, and there was sweat and unknown fluids. Obviously, mom had been right; it was dirty and nothing for a sweet, gentle girl. I was in a complete rupture between my feelings and my ethics. Luckily, there was always the risk of getting pregnant, and my boyfriend had strong convictions that sex with a condom wasn’t doing it for him. He wanted me to go on the pill, which eventually I did. And again, mom was right: These hormones were heavy! I gained weight, I lost my natural body signals, I was in mood swings or rather in deep depression, and additionally, I began to detest my boyfriend’s scent. He seriously made me sick. Kissing him started to gross me out. Needless to say, I didn’t need any contraceptives any longer; there was no way for him to get close to me. I really was disgusted. But I still liked him and linked my mood swings, huge breasts, and non-lust to the pill and plainly dumped it in the bin. Instead of being happy, my boyfriend was upset, and even more so when I told him I was not doing my homework. Yah, let’s talk about ‘homework’…

Because I didn’t get an orgasm and had told him that I had never gotten one – remember, I was 21… – he assigned me to do some homework, meaning I should start touching myself and learn how I needed to be done. Of course, I had touched myself well before my boyfriend had told me to, but it never was firecrackers, and so I had stopped. It just didn’t work for me. Besides, I did not miss anything. I was just annoyed that people, he, expected me to, and being pushed definitely did not work for me. You can probably tell that this relationship ended soon.

Years passed. With more lovers I’d been, and the threat of becoming pregnant seized. With my last boyfriend, I actually had this notion, ‘Yah, I could become pregnant now. I would love to become pregnant with his baby, raise a child, and have a family.’ The heavy curtain that long had sealed the fun from sex was finally drawn.

By then, I had rekindled my ‘self-education.’ I was tired of constantly explaining and apologizing and wanted to know if I simply was one of those women who never orgasmed.