Untangling the Web of Sex and Power

Honesty and vulnerability reveal the hard truths that can either build or destroy relationships.

Sexuality is a funny thing. How we view ourselves, our partners, and the experience of connecting to another in this intimate physical way is complicated. We are bombarded with messages our entire life about who we should be, what is “proper,” and allowable in these shared private spaces. When all those messages intertwine with our own desires, wants, and needs, often what is left is a long list of “thou shalt not's” and the full measure of shame to accompany the assault on our humanness.

We get to take all of our stuff and try to combine it with a partner who likely brings at least as much stuff into the shared relationship. It gets messy and complicated very quickly. Satisfaction and fulfillment become pipe dreams best left to fantasy and porn reels. But neither of those are real either, so many of us remain lost and hopeless in finding joy and fulfillment in our sexual connections.

In my own life, sex was never discussed in my home. My introduction to “womanhood” was my mother throwing a box of maxi pads in the bathroom the day I started my period and telling me not to get pregnant. Honestly, at 13 years old, I had no idea how to even get pregnant or prevent it.

Due to the undiagnosed and ongoing mental illness of my mother, physical affection was bad and even hugs from my father were worthy of a scowl. I grew up almost completely without physical touch in my life and without the warmth and affection one may generally expect in a family. So, in terms of family of origin issues with my sexuality, there have been hefty therapist bills over many years to work through at least some of the damage.

Figuring sex out on my own was not always easy.

The deprivation of physical affection left me needy and willing to tolerate lots of things that I shouldn’t in the name of meeting my own needs. I enjoyed the physical affection of my first “real” boyfriend. We did all the exploration that is typical in high school.

He was a hopeless romantic and he adored me. He wanted to go “all the way.” I am more grateful as an adult that he had been taught about consent and we had a conversation about sex and where we both wanted to be. I gave a firm “no” which he understood and respected. However, when I unleashed all the judgment about his desires and wants that was a step too far. He ended things not too long after the heated discussion.

At the time, I thought he was rejecting me because I wouldn’t put out for him. Later it became clear that he was rejecting my negative attitudes and the awful way I spoke to and belittled him when he was truly being respectful.

The next guy I dated, I actually cared very little about. Being with him was a matter of convenience. The whole time I was dating him, I was also seeing someone else. My extra guy knew about my boyfriend and my boyfriend knew about my extra guy but understood he wasn’t a threat. This is where my first signs of polyamorous leanings showed. My extra guy and I were very physically involved but did not have penetrative sex, but basically, everything else was on the table.

Early summer of my senior year of high school, my extra guy moved back to New England and my boyfriend was more than happy to elevate our physical relationship. The week after graduation, I lost my virginity to him in a completely unremarkable way.

It was as if the glass ceiling had broken. I was no longer “saving myself” for some unknown in the future and since I was now “naughty” it gave me a license to do what I wanted with whomever I wanted whenever I wanted to do it. Three weeks later, I slept with his best friend and five weeks later there were a few more names on my list of conquests.

When you take a girl who feels powerless, who desperately needs physical touch and connection, and turn her loose with her newfound power of sex and availability, there is no shortage of options.

For most of the next several years, sex was on my terms.

I made the mistake of trying to establish something real with a couple of guys I cared a bit more about and ended up lonely and desperate — both feelings I despise. My sexuality was a tool that allowed me to get what I wanted. I liked sex. I liked the function and play. I loved having friends with benefits. I liked the power and control I felt in sexual spaces. I did not care what others thought of me and was honest about who I was and what I wanted in these relationships.

Several of my partners had girlfriends that left them unfulfilled, but I knew what they needed and how to satisfy them and that was a complete power trip for me. Most of my sexual escapades were fully hedonistic during this time. It was almost never about the relationship or connection but about the physical release and satisfaction.

I often hear the examples of women trading sex for love. That’s not really how I experienced this season in my life. Sex was power and enjoyed the high of pursuing and conquering. Some of the boyfriends knew I had multiple partners at the same time; others didn’t. Some found out and didn’t care, but for others, it was a complication too far.

Though I had numerous lovers, none of them really had me. The sex was fun and often pleasurable but my soul was nowhere to be found. In many instances, it was almost transactional. I did not mind these arrangements. In fact, I savored the opportunity to set my own course.

I didn’t really know there could be more to sex.

I had no understanding or expectations of emotional or spiritual connections in those areas. Until the day Peter entered the picture as the first person to ever bring the emotional connection into the sexual arena for me.

He was intentional, thoughtful, and shockingly interested in my satisfaction and fulfillment at least as much or even more than his own. We talked about sex but not in the ways I was accustomed to the conversation going. It was about wants and desires. It was about boundaries. He wanted my heart. Our sexual space was completely different because of that.

He was the first man that I was ever vulnerable with in any way. Baby steps at first but I experienced the real connection that sex could bring in that relationship. For a season, he was my only relationship. It was such a change for me. I didn’t need to hide from him and I didn’t want anyone else. I was happily monogamous by my own choice for the first time ever.

Even though I still struggled to be completely real with him, he was gentle and created the safest place that my heart had found. Then one day he walked in and ended it completely out of the blue. No warning shots, no fights, no disagreements. He was just done. He shattered my heart. It was over as quickly as it started. I was too much. We were too much. He didn’t have time. I could not be his priority. All that I had learned about connection and sex suddenly became more ammunition for my fear and helped fortify the carefully structured fortress around my heart.

Over the next couple of years, I grappled with many issues, my sexuality part and parcel with all the other struggles of a twenty-something. I dated collections of guys and a couple of girls never letting any of them near my heart but my body was once again fair game. The sex was rougher, the play was a bit harder, and my pleasure became a driving force in the experience.

Sex became the balm to soothe my broken heart. I did not want anyone to see my heart. But there was this really nice guy… we shared a lot of similarities in our background and he wanted to know me. He was not interested in a sexual relationship with me. In fact, in his late twenties, he was a virgin by his own choice. Sex was sacred to him and was only allowed in marriage but he never judged me even though he saw the layers of my life and relationships.

We had been friends for several years and he had even been the keeper of my secrets when he found me out in a compromising position with a partner who wasn’t the guy I was dating. Imagine my surprise when we started dating and eventually got engaged and married a year or two later.

At the beginning of our marriage, the sex was good. Our physical relationship was never something he wanted to talk about but it was a reasonable part of our marriage. Everyone thought I had finally “settled down” and could be faithful and proper the way a good woman needs to be in order to be acceptable in parts of our society.

Fast forward through two decades of growth and all the changes life can bring.

I find myself in a sexless marriage where my life partner sees no reason for physical connection. No touching, no cuddling, no kissing, no hand-holding, nothing. We have a child so “what is the point of any of those exhausting gymnastics.” He actually said that one time. I did not hide my dismay that somehow he believed that could be true in a shared life with me.

There is no desire and no passion from him. I’ve read all the books, had all the conversations, begged, pleaded, bargained, petitioned, written letters, cried rivers, tried to seduce him, and anything else to fix this. But he doesn’t see it as broken so there is no interest or intent to change.

For years I beat myself up for the state of my martial bedroom. Self-esteem and body image issues made it easy to feel like a complete failure. I hated my body and I loathed my reflection in the mirror. I was ashamed, afraid, and lonely beyond measure. I tried to fix it and with each attempt to reach out and connect the rejection further confirmed the accuracy of my worthlessness and shame.

All of these experiences brought me to a new understanding of my sexuality. As I began to work on my healing and what I’m starting to call the “Great Reckoning” of my own soul, my identity as a woman and how that intersects my sexuality became a part of that exploration. As I began to understand how my past has created my current experience and relationships, I became intentional in trying to figure out who I am and what I want in this part of my life.

There has been no shortage of baggage and painful junk and lies built into my heart from the trauma in my life. What I have discovered is that I have my own power and the beauty of choice in this area. I enjoy sex and sexual expression. Physical connection is an important part of how I love those closest to me. After lengthy discussions with my husband, it was clear that this was an area that we were not going to reach a compromise. We decided to open our marriage in a “don’t ask, don’t tell” arrangement where I am free to have my needs met in other relationships. He is just not interested in knowing or hearing about it. I also have learned how choice plays into the struggles in my marriage and have released my spouse to love me however he sees fit, with or without a physical component.

This has brought healing and an openness to both my heart and our marriage. There is still much to learn but I am grateful to be in a place that my life is a better reflection of who I am and that I have found healing and wholeness in my sexuality. Sexual expression truly is a gift and to be in a healthier place to both give and receive has been amazing.

So, now I have a husband and a boyfriend. My boyfriend welcomes me — all of me — with open arms and acceptance. He is kind and thoughtful to me in every context. He gives me the freedom to explore and unpack all the junk around my sexual needs without judgment. My marriage is better because I am not asking my spouse to meet needs he has no interest in meeting. Our home has less conflict and has much more peace.

There is still learning that needs to happen as I am continuing to explore my sexuality. I have learned that I hold the power of choice and that makes all the difference.

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