I do not want to have sex

Trigger warning: This blog mentions rape.

I have been single for 5 years now. Initially, I felt like a prude. Was I doing something wrong? Clearly, something was wrong with me because everyone else around me had seamlessly hopped onto the bandwagon of casual relationships. It was frustrating every time I spoke to a boy and I was expected to ‘perform’ sexually for ‘him’; skipping the part where I get to know him enough to trust him. It was even more exasperating because my friends (with good intentions, of course) would push me to have these casual, ‘fun’ experiences. After all, everyone was getting some!

But I couldn’t articulate my anxieties. I couldn’t explain why I just could not let anyone touch me. After years of punishing myself for feeling reluctant towards touch and intimacy, and a year of intense therapy, I finally have the words to put my feelings and experiences into words.

I was raped by my caretaker when I was five. Repeatedly. However, the worst part was not that he got away; but that he gave me issues with safety and intimacy that have lasted all my life. I became averse to touch. Anytime someone came too close to me, I would get physically and emotionally jittery. I didn’t sit too close to anyone, didn’t stand too close; I didn’t even let my loved ones hug me or kiss me. My friends called me the touch-me-not plant in college. Well, I couldn’t blame them, I hated being touched in any way. Intimacy of any kind triggered me.

Soon though, I fell in love. I had my first relationship ever. I trusted him blindly. He understood me and did not judge me. He made me feel comfortable. Intimacy felt easy with him. Unfortunately, we broke up. I felt rejected and went back into my cocoon. My body built on this rejection and reinforced my deep-rooted belief that I am not going to be safe in sexual and intimate spaces. The feeling of danger that my body felt, manifested in the form of a stress reaction on my inner thighs. My skin there became so dry.

My body just said ‘no’; no to intimacy of any kind because I started feeling like I could never trust anyone with feeling safe in intimate spaces again. However, the unkindness of other people who triggered this response was not as harsh as the unkindness I showed to myself. I refused to treat my dry skin. I think somewhere, deep down, I felt like I deserved it; that it was my fault. Or maybe I was too scared to let anyone in again.

Before 2020, I wouldn’t even touch myself. I felt unattractive. I thought nobody would like me with this dry weird-looking patch on my body; but we are carnal beings. So my curiosity about my sexuality and my burgeoning sexual needs and desires led me to finally explore my body. It felt liberating. I didn’t know my body could feel such ecstasy. I didn’t know I could experience joy in being intimate with my body; but with every touch and orgasm, I started feeling whole again. Nonetheless, I still did not feel safe enough to meet people.

Last year, I decided enough is enough. I went to therapy to unpack my baggage and started visiting a doctor to understand what the fuck was happening to my skin. After months of medication, therapy, and prioritising my own pleasure, my body healed about 95%. My skin has started feeling normal. But it is not quite there yet. Years of neglect will take some time to heal, I guess.

Recently, I met someone. He said that he was attracted to me and that he kept thinking about having good, hot sex with me. We spoke about our fantasies and we made out a few times. The feeling of safety returned in his presence. But every time he talked about touching my vulva or kissing my inner thighs my sexual brakes were activated.

I would have a breakdown before we met every single time. The space between our meetups was filled with how I could tell him about what was happening with my body. He could touch me down there. He could kiss me too. We could have sex. But I was afraid. My skin was different. My imperfect body made me want to run away from sexual intimacy and sex. The fear of rejection and feeling threatened in intimate spaces crept up again. Running away and slipping back into my cocoon felt easier.

Nevertheless, I do not want to shut my body down again. I am only trying to protect myself. I am trying to accept myself with my flaws and let go of things I cannot control. But hopefully one day, I will have really good, hot sex with someone and feel whole again not because ‘they’ have accepted me but because ‘I’ would have wholly and completely accepted myself. Till then, I do not want to have sex.