A few days ago, my boyfriend and I had sex for the first time in... let's just say that it's been far too long. It was beautiful. It was wonderful. It made us feel closer, and it smoothed the tensions, and it helped us forgive the small stuff.
And yet, while I unreservedly call it sex, there was no penis-in-vagina. There wasn't even any strapon-in-ass. Just two people, partially nekkid, making out and groping and sharing a vibrator and orgasming our fool heads off.
Most people would look at what we were doing and call it mutual masturbation. After all, there was no oral sex, no anal sex, no vaginal sex. Therefore, it couldn't have been sex, right? But it wasn't until today that I even questioned calling what we did sex. We went into it knowing that my vagina was not going to be open for business, but wanting to have the pleasure, the emotional connection, the intimacy of sex. We went in treating this as fucking, as making love, as everything we usually call sex. Even though his penis never gained entry to my poor, forgotten vagina, on some deeper level it FELT like sex.
I'm not sure if I can explain it any better than that. By most people's definition, what we had the other night wasn't sex. By this culture's standard definitions, it was mutual masturbation, it was grinding, it was frottage, it was heavy petting with weapons-grade vibrators. As far as we're concerned, it was sex.
This whole thing has forced me to really look at my definition of sex. I'm realizing that when I really dig, I don't have such a hard and fast answer to "what is sex, and what isn't?" Yes, it's fucking (with or without any emotional component). Yes, it's oral or anal or vaginal or any combination of genital-to-genital(s)/orifice(s). It's also the nebulus region of stuff like this, that doesn't have a cut-and-dry category. In this case, it's the emotions and intent that make it sex, not what was actually done.
(As I'm writing this, I'm struck by how truly absurd the modern concept of Virginity is. That, however, is a subject for another time.)
I am just so, so glad that we had sex again. I missed the closeness. I missed the intimacy. I missed being able to appreciate his body and mine. When we're not having sex, the diseased corners of my brain decide that if we're not having sex, I must not be attracted to him anymore, and that I'm not attractive. Great self-fulfilling prophecy right there. One of the many ways that an anxiety disorder can completely fuck up lives and relationships.
Besides, until this happened, we'd never realized how awesomely sexy it can be to share a super-powerful massager-style vibrator. Share as in making a boy glans-vibrator-girl glans sandwich. Actually, he'd never realized just why vibrators are so fucking awesome until he got off on just my Fairy wand against his glans.
He's insanely quiet during sex... I'd never HEARD most of the noises he made that night. With porn, I get off most on the sounds people make when they're having a damn good time. I can, and have, masturbated to just the moaning and panting and other lovely noises in good porn. For me, suddenly getting all of these noises out of the man I love was quite possibly the hottest thing he's ever done.
Even though this is an insanely stressful and busy time for me, I'm also in a wonderful place because of this. I'm still not quite sure what happened, but it made me happy. And right now, that means a lot.