by Wendy Jones
He was the first man I actively chose to have a sexual relationship with. And I couldn’t satisfy him, because I couldn’t take him, no matter how much I loved him. It was really painful physically as my womb had been damaged and tilted backwards from what happened as a child. I had pelvic inflammatory disease caused by the sexual abuse, but no one ever questioned why.
He was my best friend for years and during our friendship/relationship he stopped and had relationships with other people and that was fine, and I did too. Then when he realised I was having relationships with women he was so shocked, he was horrified – he felt that he couldn’t compete. I found having relationships with women much easier, much better for me, but I still love men. I never saw myself as a lesbian. I wouldn’t call myself a lesbian – I love men. But as I discovered sex and my sexuality, I found men unsatisfying.
We didn’t have sex for eight months from June to February – then on Valentine’s Day 1991, I remember cooking a Valentine’s meal and making it really pleasant and then I got pregnant, after not having sex for eight months. I was like: ‘Oh. My. God. What have I done?’ I didn’t want to get pregnant. No, no. But he wanted me to be pregnant so we went to counselling to work out whether or not we could work. I thought I could make him promise that I wouldn’t be a single parent, which he promised, and then the trust came. I never wanted to be a single parent, having been the product of a broken relationship.
He would go to the local antenatal classes in Balham; I’d wait outside: I couldn’t cope with these women who were perfect and pregnant. For seven months it was painful being pregnant. I lost weight, I felt as if I had a leech inside of me, it didn’t feel like something was growing that was positive – I didn’t feel any of that. I did not enjoy any of it. I booked my termination at St George’s Hospital and attended three counselling sessions prior to it but he wanted this baby more than I did, more than anything, and I didn’t have the heart not to do it.
During the pregnancy he wouldn’t touch me in case I miscarried again. I’d lost a child: the child was with him. I’d miscarried because my womb was tilted in the wrong way. But I wanted to have wild sex and I felt the most sexual I’d ever felt. A friend of mine offered to have sex with me at the time and I said, ‘Are you mad?’ I couldn’t believe he would say this, and, you know, I really wish I had! But I was being Miss Goody Two-Shoes and thinking, ‘I can’t possibly do that. How can I have sex with somebody else when I’m pregnant?’ But it was what I wanted more than anything. I probably masturbated more when I was pregnant than at any other time in my life because I really felt sexy. I wanted to feel desired and I wasn’t. I wanted to be touched and touched so deeply, to have penetration – but he – you know – was absolutely terrified in case I came and miscarried.
We went on and had the child and within a year he’d had an affair with somebody and that level of betrayal hit me like a bolt from the past – the deceit, the broken promises, the abuse of trust. He really tried to be supportive but I was just waiting for him to do what he was going to do and he did – he had an affair. Everything I feared he might do he did. It was almost as if I’d focused so much on what I didn’t want that I created it. I didn’t want to be a single parent, and what did I do? I became a single parent.
What I did eventually was I joined a women’s group. It was a bit of an awakening for me. I was the only black woman and I was the youngest but the women’s group was an opportunity to talk about sex and intimacy that I’d never had with my friends, my mum, the women in my life; it wasn’t something they spoke about. I learned a lot with those women in that group. I was so prudey about stuff; I’d listen and think, ‘Oh, that’s not very nice,’ and, ‘How can you do that?’ There was a sixty-year-old white woman and I really admired her. Some of the things she said I thought, ‘I want to be like you, fully self-expressed sexually and emotionally and I don’t want to hurt anybody but I want to be accepted for who I am and what I need.’
Through doing the homework, going into sex shops, looking at pornography from a different perspective and letting go of the prudishness I had, I learned about my own sexuality, and how to pleasure myself – and it wasn’t dirty, it wasn’t disgusting to think about satisfying my sexual desire. What I found out about fantasy is that it’s normal; that it’s healthy, and that there was a space where I could talk about it and I hadn’t known where that space was – because it’s taboo in certain circles.
We talked about our fantasies in the group and I began to share them with friends outside of the group. A lot of women think talking about fantasies is talking about male fantasies and they would talk about their partner’s fantasy of them: what their partners wanted. But I was like, ‘No, what about you? What do you want? This is what I want.’ And it became normal that I could talk about fantasies with certain people. Even today I need to remember that I should probably interview any lover I have in the future because they need to like feet, they need to have strong hands, and they need to want to massage me. They need to want to touch me.
I used to have a fantasy about having sex with more than one person at the same time. It would be with a man and a woman and it would be equal. Then I would tussle with the idea; how can it possibly be equal? Or I’d have a fantasy where two people would be pleasuring me. I used to think that would be so selfish if I took all the pleasure. Then I had a relationship with a woman in Amsterdam who did not allow me to touch her intimately. Her body was very boyish and I’ve always been very voluptuous – this is the biggest I’ve ever been – I’ve always had boobs. I was really fit and I attracted a particular type of person. She would pleasure me. It was amazing. It was her sexual fantasy that she was living out. She would talk about the things she would like to do, talk about the things her friends did, and so it goes on and on and on, all these different fantasies. It was almost like I was benefiting from all the fantasies she’d had, that she’d shared with others. But she wouldn’t let me pleasure her. I used to think that was so weird. It went on for five years. Sometimes now I miss that I could just be and she would enjoy thoroughly pleasuring me. It was totally one-way. So my fantasy came true. When I would be putting on my clothes afterwards, I’d think, ‘Did that really just happen? But she’s such a lovely woman, all she wants to do is pleasure me.’
I had a relationship with a woman who was married. She thoroughly enjoyed me pleasuring her: it became the opposite fantasy. I had these relationships through the eighties, interesting relationships, which I never really spoke about. Everyone assumed I was straight; it was keeping up appearances. My mother knew but it wasn’t something she spoke about. I have had sex with a man with another girl there. I’ve slept with more black men than I have white men, so three black men and one white man, and there’s no difference between them at all. But as I discovered sex and sexuality I found men unsatisfying.
A lot of women choose not to have sex with men, in my experience, because of the emotional and mental control men can display, even extremely passive men: it’s that whole passive/aggressive behaviour you can get from a man when a man’s having sex with you. Occasionally I miss having sex with men and if I do I might use a dildo, but not a vibrator because I don’t like the vibrations. I don’t like penetration. I wouldn’t think, ‘Oh, I really want to be penetrated.’ But if I was in the middle of having sex or having an orgasm I might allow them to penetrate me. I went for years without any penetration, and having relationships with women that weren’t penetrative. Whereas I know lesbian women who have to be penetrated.
I’ve had sexual relationships with women where penetration with a strap-on dildo was absolutely important. I wanted to be penetrated by a woman; I wanted to have a woman make love to me. It feels completely different with a woman. There are women who fuck like men and want to fuck you hard to satisfy themselves. They feel sexually rough and won’t hold you gently – I won’t have a relationship with women who act like men. And there are women who penetrate you and make love to you really, really gently. A woman
knows how to touch you and her skin feels different. It really does. I love being held by a woman. Being held by a woman is very different from being held by a man. It’s warm and it’s soft and it feels delicate. The thing that gives me an orgasm is being touched, being felt, the warmth of the breath, someone holding and talking to me.
Vaginas look different. Do you know the iris, the purple flower? And the orchid? There are loads of different orchids. Vaginas are like flowers. They all have different petals. That’s absolutely true. In the women’s group we had to look at each other’s vaginas. When you look at a vagina, you see the labia – the outer flap bits – and they are all different. I’ve never seen two vaginas that look the same. Some vaginas have more flesh, some have less, some are fat, some are thin. It can be taut. And when you have an orgasm they swell up. And there is definitely a G-spot. I get used to a certain vagina. When I’m intimate with someone I really like, I don’t see ugly and beauty, I see vagina.
All women smell different from each other. They taste different. Women’s vaginas feel different – some are wet, some are dry, some are sticky. They’re not sticky because they’re dirty; they’re sticky because their lubricant is sticky. They change as well. When you put on weight they change, because you get fat around your vagina, on your labia. I’ve always had a fat vagina. Even when I was skinny, I had a fat vagina. And a vagina can be closed, or can stay open all the time so it’s like a hole. Those purple irises are a real good example of how vaginas look.
Some women really like to be eaten – for you to eat and play with their vagina with your mouth. Others want you to play with their clitoris or play with their labia. The clitoris sticks out, so sometimes there’s a helmet over it which you pull down or back. Different women want to be touched in different ways so some people like being twisted, played with, being pulled back, being exposed, or being covered; it’s about treating someone else in the way you’d like to be pleasured. And finding out if they want it or not. You don’t ask, you explore.
People come in different ways so some women come really creamy and some women come really runny. Women have a discharge; other women are very, very wet like a tap – like men have sperm and ejaculate – and come a lot. We ejaculate in the vagina and sometimes it can spurt out of a woman, or it can come out like a flood, like a splash. They can come thick. It can be thin, it can be gooey, it can be creamy. Some women are extra wet; it’s almost like they ejaculate. We ejaculate. We are no different from men.
What women do after they’ve had an orgasm is so different to what men do – men roll over, fall asleep and snore: they can’t do any more: it’s almost as if a man is so worn out with nothing left. When a woman’s had an orgasm she starts all over again. It’s so nice because it’s the touching, it’s the talking, it’s the caressing: it continues. You don’t feel like you’re on your own after you’ve had an orgasm. We don’t fall asleep. Might get up, get something to eat and start all over again.
I’ve been with my partner for over ten years, we’ve been living together for the last two and she’s moving out at the weekend. In the last two years we’ve hardly had sex because the attraction’s gone. Having sex will only happen if we talk about our fantasies or look at pornography. We can look at both male and female films but we probably look at lesbian films more because that turns her on and then she might soften, and I’ll talk to her. We’ve gone from being in each other’s skin – not going to work, being late, cancelling days out, so as to have sex – to not having sex. I know that happens in all relationships but it’s not what I want for myself. I don’t think we meet each other’s needs any more in a lot of ways, and I’m ready to give up. I’m willing to go through missing her, losing her and letting go of the past. I don’t want to be a hostage to the past. I don’t want to be a hostage to ‘what if …?’ I’d rather let go.
I’m fifty-three. I’ve had lots of my fantasies fulfilled. I probably have some that are unfulfilled and I’d like to give myself time to think about new ones. I want to have fantasies because I don’t want my sexual relationship with myself or anyone else to die. I want to be able to share my fantasies because I’m adventurous with intimacy and sexual relationships.’
7
Explode
Jackie, 47, Eastbourne
‘Sometimes I would sleep with ten men a day’
‘When I met my child’s dad, Sensible Steven, I was absolutely a hundred per cent sure I could love him. He was such a lovely man and I had it all worked out because he was clever, tall and he enjoyed drink and drugs like me and I decided he would be perfect to be the father of my child. Some months later I had my child. It lasted about a year and I couldn’t love him, he repulsed me: he was very naïve sexually and sex for me is easy. I can do sex like that – not with emotion, just the act of sex; I like it, I’m good at it. What I showed him was this incredible sexual energy that he thought was love. I ruined him. That’s when I stopped trying to love men because I knew that I couldn’t. So I went off on one sexually – whoopee! I kind of exploded.
I found this guy in Kingston whose wife had left him. Ha. Called Gary. And I lived and worked in a pub with my child and this guy Gary. He was a very straight-looking man. We had sex sometimes, but we weren’t a couple because I didn’t want to be a couple with anyone because I wanted to have sex with lots of people. That was, I suppose, my fantasy, that I could just fuck everything. So. Anyway. One day he asked me to look under the bed and I opened the suitcase and there were all these handcuffs and women’s stockings and he – bless him – was like, ‘My wife didn’t understand about this kind of stuff.’ I was up for trying it out because it interested me to explore avenues that I wouldn’t normally go down. Then by this weird coincidence these people came to the pub one Friday and they were all wearing long jackets and they were only going to Whiplash, which is an underground fetish club, and they invited me and Gary to go. We ended up in this club and I really liked it in that I’m quite controlling and I liked the power. And Gary was really quite submissive.
At the beginning Gary would wear women’s underwear in bed. Then as time went on – bearing in mind we were doing quite a lot of drugs which makes it easier to explore your sexuality without caring – he would wear stockings under his clothes during the day; he’d cross his leg and I’d see his stocking underneath his suit or mannish trousers – stuff like that, and he’d be wearing a camisole under his shirt. This went on and on and I really liked it. I would chain him to the bed and leave him there and let people from the pub come upstairs to the flat – but not quite make it to the bedroom. He obviously couldn’t move and so the thought of him being discovered would excite me. And him. We were never a couple; we had separate rooms but we used to act out these things.
Then we got this other pub and it had this huge bedroom and we put manacles on the wall. It was like scaffolding with massive chains from building sites hanging from the ceiling, not your fluffy handcuff things. He would wear women’s underwear and I would chain him to the bed then I’d go down into the pub on a Saturday night and I’d pick a customer to fuck and I’d bring him up to the bed and I’d fuck him next to Gary who would be chained up in the same room – right next to him – so he wouldn’t be able to move. Then obviously I’d fuck Gary as well. So that was quite cool. That went on for quite a long time. We had quite a good time doing that. And we didn’t harm anyone: I mean, everyone was up for it. I liked the power and I liked him being vulnerable. He loved it too. In fact, he took it to a whole new level by dressing as a woman, which I didn’t like. I came up from the bar one night and he was dressed as a woman and wanted to have a curry. That wasn’t my fantasy. That was just weird. I was like, ‘That’s just weird, Gary,’ and he was like, ‘Okay.’ ‘You have to do that one with someone else. I don’t want to eat a curry with you in a skirt. It looks like it’s from C&A.’
After Gary, I met my husband. When I met my husband he was a rent boy – he was very sexy. Gary was still one of my best friends and he now had a
girlfriend called Helen and we all used to sleep together but Helen wouldn’t fuck my husband and I wouldn’t fuck Gary but we’d all get off with each other and Gary would dress in women’s underwear and my husband didn’t give a fuck – he was sexy. We were a close-knit foursome, it just so happened we enjoyed being in bed together. They stayed in my bed on my wedding night and it seemed normal to me.
With my husband, I don’t think we got out of bed for a year; well, we did, to go to work and take my child to school, but we spent a lot of time in bed, and not just having sex. That was loving, that was cool. Then we would go out and have fun sex. We had sex on the floor in the Electric Ballroom in Camden Town on my wedding night – we got thrown out. I was wearing a black patent-leather PVC dress and fishnets; it was one of my better outfits. And I loved my husband. I hadn’t loved a man till I met my husband. But then he killed himself. So. I kind of thought I deserved that because of my childhood, which was wrong. My thinking was weird.
After he died I went on a fucking spree. Ha. Once my child had gone to live with their dad I went into a bit of free fall: drugs and alcohol, and sexually. My fantasy then was … well, I put an advert on Gumtree saying ‘Loves to dance, loves to laugh, loves to …’ It was clear it was ‘fuck’. And within four hours I had four hundred hits.
I put what I was looking for: ‘No sympathy fucks.’ I only fuck fit men – I don’t fuck ugly men because it’s my fantasy, isn’t it? I wouldn’t care how old they were; I’m not an ageist or racist – I have no judgment on that, I’m completely open – but they had to have a certain look because it’s sex and I don’t want to have sex with someone I don’t find attractive. I have done as a prostitute but that’s not the fantasy at all. They had to be skinny, fit and tall and have a big dick: a slightly above average size dick or bigger. This is sex so of course I would like to have a fair-size cock to have sex with, so I needed to ask them, ‘How big is your cock?’ If they’d got a small cock then they must leave. If they were into drugs? If they were in a relationship? I wouldn’t sleep with people’s husbands: there are enough people in the world to sleep with. I wasn’t trying to harm people’s relationships. I only slept with other consenting couples or single people – or as far as I knew they were single. They said they were single – I didn’t CV them. It’s still an intimate act: you need to be fully armed with the facts before you go in – I’m a Virgo, very analytical. If they had their own flat? Because I’m too independent to be mollycoddling somebody; I don’t want them to even stay for a cuddle after sex, never mind live with them.
