the first time i had sex, it was four am.

he woke me with a squeeze,
a hug with meaning.

Please. Let me fuck you.



wave of obligation.

anxious ripping, adjustments.
toppled on top.
pulled my legs just so.

Hold them there.

consent is sexy

grapple for a pillow, cover my face with it.

Keep your legs where I put them.

muscles straining.

in. out.


internal mutters.

consent is sexy

soft whimpers from the pillow i bite into.

Keep it down.

pleasure? in a way i have never felt.

do i like this? do i want this now?


pins me down.
pushes harder.

Goddammit, keep your legs still.


legs twitching.
positions I never had to hold.
internal confusion.

It feels good, right? Tell me you like it.


laying on the sheets,
arms grasping for something
head turned away,
covered by the pillow.



eyes closed.
heavy panting.
more thrusting.
my body has shut down.

shift my legs.

i don’t want this.


consent is sexy,

this isn’t sex.

the first time i had sex,
wasn’t sex.

it wasn’t rape,

i don’t blame myself,
i didn’t want him yet wanted it over with.
– the stigma.
i didnt blame him.
not at that time.

it was rape,

because even though i said yes at first,
i didn’t know what i wanted.
because he continued when i vocalized opposition.

it wasn’t rape,

because i had told him the night before that i wanted it,
– he just didn’t know i didn’t want it with him

it was rape.

he was horny.
i was half asleep.
but he was horny. and I was half asleep.

consent is sexy, and that wasn’t consent.

the first time i had sex, i have never been happier.


i trusted him.
he admired me
my brain
my experiences
my body.


there was something.
an emotional connection.
a sense of respect.


we spoke about it before.

in the middle of kissing, he felt me tense up.
lay next to me
held me,
talked to me,
asked me to be open.

I shared with him my previous.
he was quiet, listening.

That was rape.
Have you talked about it before?

he cared.

continuously reinforced my intelligence.
told me I was smart.
that I was going to be someone. successful.
he was captivated by me.
treated my body like a fortress.
made me want in ways i never knew.

i was always told that sex was something different.

life changing.
that after sex, i would never be the same.
to save myself,
to bleed for the one.

emotional connections, they were shameful to me.
why would i want to be into anyone?
my body would shut down without my knowing it.

sleeping with someone, it was a way

to claim myself as an individual –
not one controlled by society.
to find my agency,
the one i found constantly stripped from me,

to combat the subconscious claims that affected me
the ones that made me shut down.

the first time i had sex, it was consensual.

we were both awake,

the first time I had sex, it didn’t hurt.

because sex doesn’t have to hurt.
because the hymen doesn’t actually break.
because the woman isn’t always supposed to bleed.
because i have never been so turned on before.
because sex is the consensual turning on of both.

the first time i had sex, it didn’t hurt.

because i had thought about it beforehand.
because i trusted him.
because i was ready.
because we both wanted each other.

the first time i had sex, i wasn’t a virgin.

because virginity is one of many ways society controls me.
to tell me my worth.
to assume that i am pure.

the first time i had sex wasn’t magical.

there was no romantic dinner.
there was no slow tuned music playing in my head.
it was not seamless, flawless, magical.
it was human.

i remember one time.

we were cuddling, and it hit me.
this was doomed.
all my life I avoided this: feelings.physicality.caring.
what was the point of feeling something for someone that couldn’t be?


we care for each other, trust each other with parts of ourselves even we ourselves cannot fully grasp.
different walks of life, yet a thread of similarities and a mutual respect and trust.
i have never felt so at ease with myself, with who i am, who i want to be.
we care for each other, trust each other.
yet, we are not enough to be more.

i had sex because i wanted it.

i trusted him and wanted it with him.
and so i did.

and it felt so good.

  • Anonymous

    Anonymous writes, no matter what, and tells their story regardless of the circumstances.