The last time I had sex...
The last time I can now remember I had sex, which wasn’t the last time I actually had sex, but it was one memorable time, was in Italy. I had to deal with some really bad news and at the same time cherished the feeling of connection to somebody. To be able to enjoy something someone else couldn’t. That someone else was my father. And I know, that is really weird, right? Thinking about your father not being able to have sex, while you yourself have sex? And it was good sex. It was with my then boyfriend of nearly one and a half year, and it was the first time I had my legs on his shoulders. Not a very elaborate position, but an intense one and I never before dared to do that with him. He always was very insecure about his performance and I always tried to make him feel good about himself, to show him, that he’d done well. Don’t get me wrong, the sex was intense, but it was very vanilla. And I didn’t dare to show him, that I would have liked it a little bit rougher, because I thought, then he wouldn’t love me anymore. Which incidentally, he never did. So shame on me.
But back to my father. In that moment, I wished with all my heart, that my father would be able to have sex again. I believe he enjoyed sex as much as the next guy, even if I never before really thought of him in that way.
I remember another time I had sex with that boyfriend I talked about, a short while before the one mentioned above. We were in his bedroom and over the bed was a headlight-window. It was like a mirror above the bed. It was incredibly sexy to look at us having sex. Seeing him above me, his backside pushing down on me. It turned me on big time. The image. The perfect image of us. But that was all it was. A picture of an illusion. I just didn’t know it yet. I cried that weekend. Everything was perfect, seemed perfect – we bathed together and suddenly tears were rolling down my face, I couldn’t stop them and he couldn’t say anything to make me feel better, because I didn’t feel bad. I just cried without knowing what was wrong.
Our real last time was in my hometown. It was a bad Sunday and the last time I saw him in person. He didn’t like my family and I felt worthless because of it. The night before he didn’t want to have sex, because it was too cold in the room. The next morning we did it, but both our hearts weren’t in it. The room was still cold, we stank from our morningsweat and hadn’t brushed our teeth yet either. It was one of our really worst times of having sex. That was the last time. It left me hollow. Like when he left me - he broke up over the phone one week later, one day after my dads funeral.