1. K.S., 24

    Two years ago, I fell in love with a girl. It was surprisingly similar to falling in love with a boy. There was the same incongruous rush of nerves and comfort—completely terrified and completely safe at the same time. All of my friends and family were warm and accepting of S. into my life and my surprising attraction to her.

    The two frustrations were strangers’ reactions on the street and the incessant need to label me. “Oh, so you’re a lesbian. No? OK, then you’re bisexual.” I resented the need to label myself, or change an identity marker simply because I was in love with and having sex with a woman. I didn’t feel different, I didn’t want to be called something different.

    My attraction continued to be mostly male-dominated, and I continued to have sex with men when my relationship became polyamorous. I began to partake in a budding young queer scene in the city and met a lot of queer women. I was fresh meat—untouched by the web of local lesbians (or non-hetero-women). It didn’t take long for me to get caught up in the stereotypical lesbian dating scene, and I began dating L. quite seriously.

    A coworker of mine was surprised to learn about C., a boy I had been having casual sex with for two-years. I explained to my coworker that all of the elements that made me like spending time with C. still existed. He was well-read, intellectually stimulating, silly, spontaneous, and we were extremely compatible in bed. Just because I started dating and sleeping with women didn’t change any of those things. Until I got a text message from him a few weeks ago, asking me to come over and “but, I’m gay” came out of my mouth.

     

  2. J.H., 30

    Trigger warning: describes sexual abuse and incest

    I grew up in a household that was very open about sex. My siblings and I found out about it from our parents, and there was an ongoing dialogue between us as we grew up. I was curious about my sexuality as a teenage girl. I was constantly horny, and at 14 I began to masturbate frequently. I felt only a little embarrassment, and I was the first of my female friends to admit to it.

    When I was 15, my 25-year-old cousin touched me. I’d never done anything but kiss a boy before then. He did it several times on different nights, and I always pretended to sleep. Although it scared me, he was very handsome and I also felt flattered and turned on. It made me wet. I’ve never fully shaken the sense of internal conflict I experienced from being both disturbed and excited by his inappropriate touch. I’ve only told a few people about what he did, and I never admitted that it made me wet.

    I’m married now and have a really great sex life. We are free and open and not afraid to play around with fantasies and boundaries. I’m 30 now, and after having sex with my husband for 10 years, it has only gotten better. I have multiple orgasms almost every time. They are crazy intense, to the point I sometimes feel afraid to come just before it happens. I don’t think anything makes me feel more alive than sex.

     

  3. For the record, we publish LOTS of stuff that doesn’t align with our personal points of view, here and at Do Tell! Though LOLz are always appreciated…

     
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  5. dotellstories:

    In a break from our usual format, I am sharing some important writing on the shooting in Santa Barbara by a gunman who sought revenge against womankind for having refused to offer him sex and love.

    Jessica Valenti writes at the Guardian about the mistake of identifying this incident as one person’s isolated delusion. Violence against women happens worldwide and every day on unfathomable scales. The gunman’s terrifying views have been shared so widely because they resonate with people. Shame from rejection is a powerful emotion, and is so often redirected as misplaced anger. And, tragically, fear of retribution for simply exerting our autonomy is a daily reality for many women, as the #YesAllWomen hashtag makes plain.

    We will never stamp out violent incidents altogether, but it is a heartless mistake to continue ignoring the readily identifiable forces that drive violence against women. To be clear, nobody “owes” anybody else sex. Women do not exist for other people’s pleasure.

    -Melissa

    P.S. If you appreciate related news and updates, please follow Subjectified over on facebook and twitter. I try to share quality news content on the Subjectified pages and keep this space for personal stories.

     

  6. We’re still posting new stories daily over at Do Tell. Please follow, reblog, search your favorite topics, and share your own story!

     
  7. We want to spread the word about our Booster campaign for Unsure/Positive, a dramedy series about life with HIV. http://thndr.it/1nfDlgl

     

  8. I found this Do Tell story particularly moving. It’s at the nexus of issues that can be hard to discuss—teenage sexuality and illness/cancer. Do Tell is accepting new personal sexuality stories from anyone over 18 for the month of March in celebration of Women’s History Month. Please spread the word.

    dotellstories:

    When I tell my story to people, I tell them that what gave me strength was the thought of having sex. People usually react with an awkward laugh. But it was true. What else can a 16 year old want? If it’s not to experience the ultimate pleasure? The thing nobody talks about but everyone does.

    The first time it happened I kept my shirt on because I was afraid I was not a whole woman. I had too many scars and I felt mutilated, broken. But soon I forgot all that, and I let my body feel whole again. It was better than I had ever imagined. The loss of my hearing, bone, and muscles didn’t matter. I felt I could experience my body like I never did before. It was freedom. It’s being 13 years. When someone asks me how I beat cancer, I tell them this.

     

  9. K.

    Twenty years is the age difference between my current guy and I. We fuck like mad, though. I’ve had a whole lot of sex, but he’s by far the most intense, most satisfying so far. It’s rough and gentle and beautiful. He holds me close and pulls my hair. I tell him I love him, but once I dragged my nails so hard and deep across his chest, I drew blood. I licked his wounds, tasted his blood. A few nights ago, I rode him like the world was ending. Afterward, he said, “I didn’t think there were any surprises left for me, but you blew my mind. I have never been fucked like that in my life.” And he never will be, by anyone else. We fuck each other stupid, silly, beautiful. Roughly, gently, patiently, eagerly.

     

  10. dotellstories:

    Virginity looms large in the American consciousness. But looking at how we actually start having sex, the binary of virginity does an embarrassingly bad job describing how young people come to embody their sexual selves. The whole virginity concept — a switch that gets flipped with or without our intention — is at odds with the idea of consent in sex. Can we have both virginity and consent? And if not, which one are we prepared to let go?

    Over at Salon, discussion of virginity, sexual debut, and the many different ways to think about sexuality activity via Do Tell's editor, Melissa Tapper Goldman

    Trigger warning: mentions sexual violence