I blow out a shaky breath, pull up my imaginary big girl panties, and blurt it out. “I had sex!”
He looks at me with patience, like he’s waiting for more, but I have nothing else to give him.
I tug on the collar of my T-shirt, wondering if this is what the sex talk would have been like with my dad if things had been different. I blink as that thought enters my head, then shiver atthe idea of my preacher father teaching me anything other than my ABCs.
“Was this the first time you had sex since your release from captivity?”
I frown. “You’re making me sound like I escaped from a zoo.”
“A zoo, no. But a prison, yes?”
I concede his point with a nod. “I…yes, this was my first time since…him.”
He lifts his iPad and starts typing. “How was it?”
I open my mouth before shutting it again, feeling bashful. “It was good. It didn’t hurt.”
He looks up from typing. “If done right, sex shouldn’t hurt. Unless, of course, that’s what you’re into. I don’t judge.”
“Wait, people like it when it hurts?” I frown in confusion.
“Some, yes, and to varying degrees. Many people like a bit of pain to enhance the pleasure. A sharp sting made with teeth at the peak of orgasm, or a hard slap to the butt. Of course, there are people who take it to their extremes. But as long as it’s between consenting adults, I don’t see the harm in it.”
“I don’t understand why anyone would want it to hurt.”
“Not all hurt is the same, and consent in those scenarios is everything.”
I mull over his words. Though I understand what he’s saying, I don’t think, given my history, I’ll ever truly get it.
“The person you had sex with, do they know your history?”
I nod and watch as he makes a note.
“Good. Being honest with your partner will be key here. As much as it would help, men can’t read minds. If he does something that trips a trigger, you need to tell him and then either work around it or set a limit.”
“Ambros made it pretty clear I had all the power, and it helped a lot. There wasn’t a second when I worried he would push me too hard.”
“Ambros is your…”
“Mine. He’s mine and I’m his. I don’t know what that means yet, but those are his words, and they make me feel good. I’ve never belonged to someone before.”
“Haven’t you?” It’s as if he poured a bucket of cold water over my head. “I’m not saying this to be negative, just think about the language you’re both using. I don’t want either of you to fall into a pattern that might undo some of the hard work you’ve done in your recovery.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” I whisper, feeling small.
“Recovery is a journey. The distance you’ll cover on your way to healing will be different from others who have walked the same path, because we all heal in different ways. Sometimes we veer off course, sometimes we take a few steps backward, but ultimately, it’s a road you must walk down alone. You can have people join you. They can even carry you for a while. But if you don’t force yourself to keep putting one foot in front of the other, you’ll never make it to the end.”
“I’m not sure I know what this has to do with sex,” I admit.
“Perhaps nothing, perhaps everything. My point is to listen to yourself. Don’t ignore your triggers or, for that matter, your instincts.”
“Okay. I can do that.”
“Good. Tell me about…” He looks down at his iPad with a frown for a moment. “Ah, yes, Ambros.”
I think of the man, feeling butterflies like some love-sick teenager. “I’m not really sure where to start. He was there that day. He carried me from the house and gave me his hoodie to wear. I still have it.” I swallow, looking out the window, not wanting to think about that house and all the horrors attached to it.
“We kept in touch while I went back home to recuperate. We texted and wrote letters to each other. Outside of the bubble my dad created around us, he was my lifeline.”
