Featured Writer: Gina Annunziato
Women & Body Image
Gina Annunziato speaks about owning sexual enjoyment, feelings of guilt when reflecting upon her past, and how Sex and The City has led her astray.
I hate coming home solo. It’s just the same damn routine every night. Get off of work, feed the cat, watch the same TV shows I’ve been watching for years, and then write. I write a lot. Every day, I’m writing at least something. It’s technically my job—I guess you can call me a freelance writer. It’s still an odd thing for me to tell people. When they ask what I do, I just answer, “I’m a freelancer.” But, that word takes on a ton of new meanings as I sit here, trying to get out what I really want to say.
I’m constantly writing in my head. Writing thoughts I’ll never say, writing smut novels I’ll never publish, or just snappy comebacks that’ll get me a lot of internet high fives. It’s a constant scattered stream, but it all manages to come back to one single thought.
It’s ridiculous to even type that out. Because technically we’re not together right now. I’m standing over a vast ocean from a cliffside hideout, ready to take the plunge into the waters below. But as I reach back to grab his hand, I’d feel that pause. I’d feel his hesitation. And it sucks thinking that, but I know I’m hesitating, too.
I don’t know if this is going to get too personal, but I really like having sex with my partner. A lot. Like a lot a lot. It’s just really, really, really good. Like, really fun things happen. Stuff that’s NSFW. Right, okay, you get the point. Back before he and I started sleeping together, my sexual experiences were, on the whole, just okay. A few were good, but I’d say like 86% of them were just the personification of a muted trumpet sound. Sex wasn’t very satisfying for me, but something kept me doing it. With different people. Too many different people, if we’re going to be honest here. I’m not telling you my number, but it’s not one that makes me feel proud. Some people would maybe telling me to stop “slut shaming” myself but, honestly, my former sluttiness kind of bums me out.
In college (and a little bit after), I was operating under this notion that I could show the world what a hot b*tch I was if I slept with a whole bunch of different guys. My worth would go up the more that number went up. It’s easy for me to blame Sex and the City in some respects. They made casual sex look fun and glamorous, plus each member of the quartet orgasmed with every single man they boinked. But, I also have to blame myself for being influenced by a show about women more than a decade older than myself at the time. I just felt like a cool chick having no-strings-attached sex. Yeah, f*ck feelings, right ladies? Men just hurt you, so you should just go out and get laid! Get drunk and bang, that’s what guys do after all! That was the record constantly playing in my head. And now that I’ve found him, it’s irritating that the same old song hasn’t stopped spinning on the record player.
Like I said, my partner and I aren’t together right now. He’s not my boyfriend; I’m not his girlfriend. We haven’t established that yet. It’s really complicated and I’m not going to bore you with the details, but this is just speculation as to why we haven’t taken that first step into forever.
There’s a part of me that just feels like a fool for even thinking about it, but I know one day I’ll have to confront my past alongside my partner. There will be things I have to own up to, so he’ll know I’m in it for the long haul. And I know I’ll have to confront the ugly reality of feeling like I gave my body away too much. I have found a partner who expresses his love for me in a physical sense. I know that when he grabs me and kisses me, runs his fingers through my hair, clasps at my back and presses his entire being into me, it’s a heart, body, and mind connection. It’s something I’ve never in my life felt so intensely, and I crave it more and more with each passing day. The idea that I opened myself up to this level of vulnerability with so many other people is what I have trouble moving past. I want to give my all to him, but how can I with so many fragments left behind?
I only bring this up because he’s starting to ask me about the past. In moments of heat when we’re both saying hot things, he’ll want to know if he’s the only man who has done [redacted really hot thing]. And the answer is always yes. I want to explore things in the sexual realm with him that I never thought I’d be thinking about. There are things we mention to one another that could shake the paint off a Penthouse forum, but what works for me is wanting to do these actions with a partner for life. Someone who knows just how big a deal sex can be, and someone who helped me realize that for myself.
I know I shouldn’t blame myself and should instead work towards forgiveness. I know what I have to do. But I know I want to do it with him. It will happen one day. It’ll be like Jim and Pam with the Underwood’s sense of style. But that day is not today, and it probably won’t be tomorrow either.
And until he finds me again, I’ll always wish it didn’t take X number of people for me to screw to get a break in this town.