Sex/Orgasms Survivors

Saw a boat on a movie. Just now.

Trying to distract myself, but then I saw the boat.

It had a fly bridge. Something I would not have known if not for my years with Gary. God we had great times on that boat. At least it seemed. Most memorable for me......

We started delving into sexuality and my sexual dissociation - with the help of his therapist, Dorica - and we started talking about it, openly, honestly.

Truth is, we went to Selden's creek (May be Seldon's creek) and tied up there. That night, I remember was so awkward. We were always so awkward alone. Unable to be together without some kind of cerebral stimulation or some task to do.

There was never quiet. Never motionlessness or simpleness. Always something happening. Being alone, wasn't something we did well.

But that night, on Seldon's Creek (Selden's Creek?), I decided to try - try - to be sexually present, unlike times in the past. You see, Gary had a piercing stare when he made love and it frightened me, as well as the noises he made. Probably part of why I dissociated.

But this night, I decided I would try - try to stay present.

This night, he was different. He was far more gentle than times passed. He had touched my face and talked to me. Talked with me. We sat on the bunk and talked and he kissed me and was tender. There were things he did that were still uncomfortable for me, but I let them go, continued gripping as tightly as I could to that strand of present moment.

We made love on Selden's creek (or however it's spelled) and I remember a vision I had. I've actually drawn it, and I described it to Dorica afterwards.

I drew it and entitled it "Orgasm" because I couldn't describe it. I  could only draw it. Still, talking with Dorica afterwards, she said she was interested in seeing what would come of the drawing.

In the boat that night, as I tried - for the first time ever in my life - to stay present, I experienced something I never had. Darkness. A white, dangling package, surrounded by darkness, held by a tiny string.

The implication - at least in my mind is that even as I felt the physical sensation of orgasm, I was alone. He was not there with me. And for me, what is orgasm anyway? Something I discovered on my own, on the gossip of other girls in a group home, hundreds of miles away, via the shower massage. Something they laughed, joked and teased about. Orgasm is bad, ugly, dirty.

Yet here I was on this boat, tied to a beautiful tree, on this beautiful creek with this man I loved trying so desperately to hold onto that moment. Trying to assign some different meaning to something that brought nothing but filth to my mind.

Enjoy sex? Really? Me? How horrid! Still, it was different, and I had questions bouncing around in my head. "Is this what it is supposed to be? Should I have felt that? Should I feel this?"

Anyway, I tried. I desperately tried to overcome decades of sexual dissociation. Tried to lie to myself. Told myself those awkward or "dirty" moments were all in my head and this man - Gary - truly loved me. He did, after all, touch my face. He did these things.... he did other things that I didn't want him to do, but true to my nature (and training), I allowed him to do because they're things a man needs to do, right? I let those slide out of my psyche, attributing my discomfort to my own issues.

He'd done nothing wrong.

When it was over, we left, went south on the Connecticut River and headed to Sag Harbor. It was a windy night. We spent the night together, again alone. It was nice, but nerve-wracking because we were out on anchor and the wind was unforgiving. I cooked dinner for him - a special dinner: Tuna steaks with all the fixings and we ate in the cockpit of the boat.

A goose came to visit and many pictures were taken.

I wore a summer dress. Strapless. Teal. Comfortable. Nothing underneath.

Nearby, two or three boats floated - also on anchor - and I, still trying to make sense of our night on Seldon's Creek, was torn and confused. Did he love me? His eery glare at the time of his orgasms (and during sex) did not change that night, even if other things did. It was as if my brain was on tumble, in a dryer, and everything was mixing up. I kept seeing that image, that haunting picture and wondering: Is this what it is like?

After dinner, he thought it appropriate to have sex there, in the cockpit, under the lights, clearly visible to nearby boats, should they want to watch. I went along. The sand in the paint of the side decks dug into my naked breasts but I held my breath and took what I had to take. It was making him happy, right?

In those moments, I was nothing more than a street whore, serving the same purpose I always had: Pleasing a man. Doing whatever he wanted. I owed him. He was not tender. He was not loving. He was not gentle. He almost seemed proud that he had a slut like me on his boat who would fuck him right there in front of everyone. A slut with no dignity, no self-control, nothing.

And, I suppose, at that moment I did not. I had none of those things. I was nothing. Nothing but a ragged piece of ass that could cook a good meal and screw afterwards, in front of whoever wanted to watch.

There was no white box that night. No question of whether or not this is the way it's supposed to be.

I knew it wasn't.

Fucking me amid a bunch of other boats and boaters, in the lighted cockpit, me, doing all the things he expected, was not romantic nor healing - which was the purpose of my therapy at the time. Sexual healing. He'd even read small portions of the small steps that had to be taken to reach sexual health yet.....

When it was over, I did as always: Pretended it was great. I loved it. Despite the lack of tenderness. No kisses, no kindness. Just that all-present awkwardness we shared and - thank God - I could not see his penetrating stare.

In 15 minutes, everything from Seldon's creek vanished.

Everything except the drawing.