This is an autobiographical essay written by an anonymous author. It is based on her own life and experiences.
Sadi lay on the mattress, the duvet somewhere around her ankles. Her left arm was pressed against the warm, soft skin of a near perfect stranger. This skin was smoother than she was used to, the presence next to her was kinder and less imposing. As she stared softly at the ceiling cracks, she noticed she’d left the light on. That was new. As were so many things that evening. Instead of that rising awkwardness that would soon take over her body and force her into gathering her scattered clothing whilst making excuses of early morning meetings, she felt welcome and wanted.
Less than a month ago, Sadi had been in bed staring at the ceiling cracks at her boyfriend's place. She’d laid there in a post coital coma many times before, feeling nothing, thinking nothing. Her boyfriend would usually nestle into her neck and fall asleep with his legs wrapped over her tiny frame. Just another example of how little he considered how things felt for her as his rough beard spiked her delicate skin and her legs bore his heavy weight.
Sometimes Sadi felt a deep resentment towards her boyfriend, then sometimes all men, then something society, and finally she’d turn on herself. It was her fault, she never told him exactly what she wanted. She couldn’t. The shame of having to explain her needs was far too great for her to overcome. Even when she was in actual discomfort, the words “be gentle, slower, it’s sensitive" would lodge in her throat. A phrase that had the potential to unlock sexual satisfaction with the man she truly loved could still not leave her lips. She’d swiftly go back to hating society again. Why are women programmed to uphold men’s ego and expectation at all costs? Why does she, Sadi the feminist, still fall into this trap?
So this is how Sadie found herself here on a Tuesday at 3am, in a little bedroom in a shared flat in South West London, laying next to a woman for the first time. She knew she’d always liked the idea of it, ever since she saw Angelina Jolie in Girl Interrupted and got a clit twinge at 13 years old.
She now realised there were two types of sex in life. Sex between two people who have the same bodies and sex between opposites. When laying next to this near stranger, duvet round her ankles, lights turned on and lube smeared across her stomach, she was truly comfortable in her own skin. It was the sexiest she’d ever felt. No performance, no hair flicking, no screaming the house down so he could finish without feeling bad about himself. No panicking that he could see all three chins from that angle or that he’d grabbed a little too much love handle. Just two women exploring each others’ bodies with a deep, meaningful understanding, with care and mutual respect.
By morning, when she finally made it home, her housemate gave her a sly smile. “How was it?”
Life changing, thought Sadi.
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