I always hear about how differently men and women perceive sex.
For men, it is, presumably, just a moment of intense pleasure.
For women, it’s a long and intense act of emotional bonding. When men reach orgasm, they want to lie down quietly for a few minutes. When women reach orgasm, they want to cuddle with their partners and feel their bodies against each other. Men seem to want just the physical aspect, while women want emotional gain.
I seem to be the odd one out of these stereotypes. For me, sex was something beyond intimacy. It’s incredibly pleasing to me – but not because of the pleasure of my orgasm or the pleasure of emotional reciprocity.
Instead, I find sex pleasing because of only one thing: touch.
It’s why the term “making love” always bothered me. I never saw sex as a form of love – at the heart of it, sex is for physical purposes. Sex without love is pretty much what I was doing.
I’ve been trying to understand what it is about me and my experiences that led me to become so intensely infatuated with feeling a man’s body intertwined with my own. I feel a deep comfort when I am in that moment of touching. Another human’s touch against my skin made me so incredibly happy.
After going through intensive therapy and rehabilitation during this time in my life, I learned of the things that were missing during my childhood that were essential to my development. What I missed out on, I chose to regain through sex.
I became addicted to it – so addicted that if a guy would bail on me, I’d suffer immense anger and distress. Being denied sex when I really wanted it felt like being rejected from heaven. Because sex became my heaven. It became my outlet. It became my personal escape mechanism from any pain or hurt.
Sex, to me, symbolized the feeling of being desired, wanted – and that is why I could not go a few days without it. I needed to feel wanted. It was a drug that had to be taken or else I would feel lonely, depressed, and aching for someone or something to consume me. At this point of addiction in my life, I had to sleep with someone in order to feel happy.
I became obsessed with feeling a man’s body against mine. We didn’t even have to be naked for me to feel that wantedness. We could be covered from head to toe, but as long as he was embracing me, I felt secure. Later, I realized I was longing for feelings of security. This security was forged happiness, one I soon understood to be incomplete. The “happiness” was just a fleeting and instant gratification.
Whenever I had sex, I knew something was missing. I knew I was being desired, but for no other reason than for what my physical body could give. It was for nothing more than my flesh. I was not being wanted for my mind, my heart, my feelings. And that always left a void in me.
I remember when I was desired in that way. When I was called beautiful, endearing, and amazing – without having been touched by a man. This was the void that was missing – and I was taking it out on sexual interaction.
Sex is blinding and it is misleading. It can become like heroin – you feel empty when it is not there, and a relief of anxiety when it is there.