• Jaye Gaff

Sex always makes everything better


There are reasons why I became obsessed with sex from such an early age. Reasons that I’m not ready to share with the world quite yet. Regardless of the why, the truth is I have always enjoyed sex. To the point that I spent entire days masturbating. When I first had consensual sex I realised I never wanted to go back.


I loved it.


I still love it.


Have a headache? An orgasm will cure that. Utterly miserable? Orgasm. Anything that was going wrong in my life? Well I had an orgasm for that. Looking back I think I started having sex far too young. But it saved me from feeling. It also saved me from dying. I channeled all of my energy into orgasms and they were delicious.


Before I met Husband at seventeen I was having sex with multiple people — oftentimes, three separate guys in a night. I couldn’t get enough. When my mother found out I was sexually active she was furious and she was incredulous that I was only out of the house for so little time. She couldn’t quite seem to grasp that I could have multiple orgasms in the space of a few minutes and I certainly didn’t know how to explain it to her. I just assumed everyone could orgasm as easily as I did and I figured every female cared more about their own orgasm than their sexual partners. Right?


So, I went along happily having as much sex as I could. And then I got in a serious relationship with the boy currently known as Husband and I stopped sleeping around. But it never really left me. It took me over 10 years to put down my walls enough to trust him completely. And, not only that, it took me that long to realise he breaking my trust was no reflection on me.


For the majority of our relationship I was firmly in the monogamy is shit camp. I still viewed sex as a way out of any pain. And I didn’t quite believe in one penis for the rest of my life. But, when I let myself trust I realised I only wanted him. I realised I was using sex as a way out. I was using sex as I way not to feel. And I was also punishing someone from my childhood who used my body as if it was their own. Fuck you, I thought. This is my body and I’ll do whatever I damn well please.


And then, one day, not so long ago, I realised I didn’t want to be like that anymore. And I thought for sure having the “let’s stop pretending monogamy is shit” conversation would be really really hard. But it actually wasn’t. And, really, we were monogamists all along. I had a hard time letting go of that particular coping mechanism. I wanted the safety of that possibility without the whole cheating ordeal.


But, finally, letting it go. Letting go of my childhood and what happened. Letting go of sex as a coping mechanism. That’s all been the best thing. But I will always be grateful for it. Because of sex I never touched drugs. I drank, sure, but I didn’t become the alcoholic I’m sure I could have been. I had orgasms and they were exactly what I needed at that time in my life. I needed to know sex could be pleasurable. I needed to be selfish. And now?


Now, I need to be with my Husband and enjoy our relationship in the way it’s always been without a safety net of random sex to save me. Because, in the end, the only thing that could really save me was myself. And I’m pretty bloody awesome at it.

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