That’s not a whore

I remember reading a Cosmo confessional by a mom who recently sent her daughter to sleep away camp. The husband was upset but then the mom gave him oral in the kitchen and all was forgiven.

I don’t remember how old I was, but I am sure I thought blow jobs were gross and that behavior was unacceptable. “That’s fine,” my mom said probably adding that a married couple should still have spontaneous sex. What I originally considered whore-ish behavior was condoned by mom.

My sister never had this revelation and while posing for boudoir photos, she alternated between encouraging me, you look beautiful, that is so sexy to frigid, you look like a whore. I know her relationship in the bedroom is not nearly as exciting or liberating as mine because she has not found ways to empower and assert herself.

While I did not realize it then, that incident was a foundation of my sexual inhibition. Risque behavior was exciting and there was nothing wrong with initiating sex.

Of course in my trials as a single person, I was sometimes hesitant to initiate if I did not think the affection would be reciprocated. One guy actually stopped me from sucking his dick. We were in bed in a hotel in Amsterdam kissing. I was going to India the next day and he was returning to Switzerland. I went under the sheets and put his cock in my mouth and he stopped me. He pulled me up and well, there was not much more action after that. I did not see him again for another year. After our remaining twelve hours together that day, it was not terribly awkward.

By the time we reconnected, I had met my husband – then boyfriend, and he had a relationship with someone, but I do not remember the details or how they had defined themselves the previous year. We never talked about that night and in fact saw each other again in New York City with presumably the same girlfriend. After that our friendship fizzled in the pre-Facebook era. I did search for him once, but his name is common enough to list at least 25 guys, some whose photos do not show their faces. So, unless he looks for me, or if I figure out how to do the advanced friend search, it’ll remain a pleasant memory.

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