— Real life —
Good Sex After Abuse – Finding Healing
I grew up in an environment that was far too heavy for a child. My youth was defined by a mother with narcissistic traits, leaving very little room for my feelings, my needs, and my safety. I learned early on to adapt, to be quiet, to survive instead of live. The warmth and stability a child should feel were barely there. Instead, there was tension, control, and emotional unpredictability.
The pressure of a narcissistic youth
I was a pleaser. I tried to receive some love from my mother. Unfortunately, I was never allowed to experience that feeling of unconditional love from her. There was a constant threat of anger and rage. I constantly had to hear that I “was no good,” was “worthless,” that “nobody is waiting for you,” and “you should be glad if you don’t end up alone”.
When I turned eighteen, I felt I had to leave. Not because I was ready for the world, but because staying was no longer an option. I escaped by buying a house with my partner at the time. It felt like a chance at freedom, a chance to start over, to finally have a place where I could be myself.
Trapped in survival mode
But reality was different. The relationship I was in was neither respectful nor safe. If my childhood had been different, I believe I never would have stayed with him. Childhood sweethearts, both with a difficult past. I was looking for an escape, independence, a home. Instead, I ended up right back in a situation where my boundaries were ignored and my voice grew smaller and smaller.
In my younger years, I was curious about sex. I read erotic stories, had fantasies, and wanted to explore everything. I longed for a beautiful intimacy and for the kind of connection where you lose yourselves completely in each other, explore boundaries together, and forget the world for a moment.
But soon enough, intimacy became something that was no longer mine. I was pressured, guilt-tripped, and held responsible for things I had no control over. My body no longer felt like my own. Boundaries I clearly set were crossed. If I felt pain, it was my fault. If I felt no pleasure, it was seen as my shortcoming and I was punished for it. I learned to survive once again by erasing myself: enduring in silence, feeling completely dead inside, leaving my body, and waiting for it to be over. To the outside world, I kept smiling; mask on and push through.
At work, I met a free spirit. We quickly became best friends and went out together often. Those were wonderful times, but at home, it caused even more tension. The jealousy and suspicion that were already there made the situation behind closed doors explode. His anger over the small piece of freedom I was reclaiming manifested as even more sexual coercion and manipulation.
The breaking point
Until something inside me snapped. I went into a psychosis; the pressure became too much. While he was at work, I packed my things in that state, called my father, and asked him to pick me up. I waited for my partner to come home, told him I was leaving him, and walked out the door.
Within two days, I was admitted to mental health services. My thread had snapped. Everything that had been building up my entire life—the pressure, the emotional abuse, the sexual abuse—it all came out in a single explosion. It was a brutal reality check, and I am still grateful that it happened. It was the start of reclaiming what is mine…
But those around me thought I had left my partner because of the psychosis and that I didn’t mean it. Out of the psychosis, heavily medicated, I was a broken shell of a person, mostly just trying to arrange everything again. You control nothing yourself. When I was allowed leave, my partner took me home. The abuse continued and I kept my mouth shut. My brain had short-circuited; the words “don’t say anything, or you won’t be allowed on leave anymore” were enough to keep me quiet.
Nobody asked why I had been given extra Oxazepam during my leave. Because something had changed: I was no longer enduring it in silence. I lay in bed moaning like a wounded animal, and it took a moment before I realized that sound was coming from me. It cut straight to the bone. He panicked and gave me Oxazepam, but nobody asked why I needed it. Something I yearned for, but which never came. I have never felt so lonely before…
Reclaiming my own space
After three months, I was discharged. And there I sat again: with my partner, him on care leave, my things neatly brought back by my parents. By then, he was seeing a psychiatrist because he had suffered so much from my “derailment”. Whether I would come along to his psychiatrist, since all his suffering was caused by me? No. I had my own psychiatrist.
Then came his question: “Do you even love me?”
No. I didn’t have to think about it for a single second. In my thoughts, it immediately followed: I never have.
“What are you still doing here then?”
I wonder about that too.
I stood up, walked out, and never went back.
While looking for a place of my own, I eventually found something temporary: my first own space. Completely mine. My mother immediately demanded a key and regularly walked in unannounced, but despite that, the difference was enormous. It was my place. My first home.
My psychiatrist had seen the family dynamic long ago during my admission. I received outpatient care after my discharge. During my stay, I had to promise that I would never stop my medication. I made that promise.
In the months after my admission, I indicated during sessions with my psych that I wanted to stop the medication. No psychiatric history whatsoever. I don’t feel anything anymore with all this medication. Will you think along with me?
The psych was open to it. “We will taper off under one condition. If I say you need to take something, you do it without discussion.”
“Agreed!”
Within three months, I tapered off everything and never started again.
Learning what love feels like
During that period, I met a sweet man. My everything. We shared a difficult childhood, the same sensitivity, the same recognition. Wonderful humor and a down-to-earth view on life. It felt like coming home. For the first time, I experienced love, warmth, and unconditional acceptance for who I was. Through it all, he saw me. No one had ever truly seen me before. Respect, peace, being allowed to be who you are.
My mother tried to disrupt this, which eventually led to a break with my family. I was clearing the decks: letting go of everything that didn’t serve me. Not hardening, but staying true to myself. Kind, soft, warm, and yet clear. Healing, with ups and downs.
My family found me unrecognizable: Suze setting boundaries, saying no, and no longer just enduring everything. The escalations grew larger because I held onto my boundaries. Until the bomb burst, and I closed all doors for good.
Through that healing, my sexual desire towards my partner also returned. I changed, blossomed, wanted to explore loving intimacy. But with him, nothing changed. His way of dealing with trauma was different from mine. I wanted to face the monsters and chase them away; he locked them behind doors and accepted what was.
There I sat, with my sexual energy starting to flow again… Explored a lot but never enjoyed it. I want to feel pleasure… Is it an illusion? Or can it be real… Years of talking followed. I was still plagued by nightmares at night. But ‘better nightmares than worrying all day’ was my motto!
Chasing my hidden dreams
Eventually, I indicated that I wanted to explore whether good sex could exist for me too. Never having experienced good sex, I wanted to chase my dreams and fantasies. Those were heavy conversations. Telling the man who loves you so unconditionally, who allowed you to heal, that you are missing that piece of beautiful intimacy in the relationship. But precisely because of him, I can be myself. Everything is up for discussion. I am allowed to meet with a gigolo. The least threatening solution.
I had already done some searching for gigolos. Terrifying. Overwhelming. It made me a bit panicky. Yes, I want the night of my life! But with my history, that wasn’t realistic.
Taking the terrifying first step
Until I typed ‘gigolo after abuse’ into Google. That’s where René popped up. I read every single letter on his website. Devoured the stories. Sadness. Respect; what badass women. Am I that badass? Doubt. Do I dare to email? No, I don’t even dare to do that…
Danced around his site for weeks. Eventually sent an email. I wrote that I didn’t have the courage to share my story, but that it was ready in draft. May I share it with you? No is fine too.
“Bring on that email!”
It was the start of an intensive email conversation in which I shared a lot. René kept responding calmly, explained things, no question was too crazy. He provided trust.
First date planned. A massage, nothing more. Two months away. That’s how long I needed to get used to the idea. To let my partner get used to the idea. A million times I thought: I’m canceling, I don’t dare, this will never be for me.
The date went through. René came in and sat on a chair opposite me. Warm presence. Open. He asked questions I didn’t expect; they threw me off balance, but they also let my nerves settle.
Coffee. “Could you grab it yourself?
Because I’m shaking so hard.”We chatted a bit, and René asked if he could touch me. He placed a hand on my leg, my back. That was all okay. He felt safe. René asked if I dared to lie on the bed. Fully clothed. Yes, I dare to do that…
Hands moved along my body. Arms, back, buttocks… Eventually, I ended up in lingerie on the bed; a wonderful massage followed… Just a massage, that was my goal…
The first date: A safe haven
The days after the first date, I started writing—my therapy. I will give you a glimpse into my musings from back then. My experience after the first date:
What a distinct experience. No pain, no bad feeling, no flashbacks. Things I thought would trigger me, it didn’t happen… It was loving, warm, genuine, safe, caring. It was good. The bruised, burning, painful feeling the next day? It isn’t there.
There is a sad feeling for what has been. I’m not wasting any more words on it. There are tears because I wasn’t confronted with misery yesterday. Not by you, not by myself. It simply wasn’t there. I certainly hoped for this, but didn’t expect it. Grateful.
The euphoric feeling that many describe, I didn’t experience that. That wouldn’t be realistic either. Whether that could be possible? I’d love to find out. What I have already been allowed to experience with you is far more than I ever dared to hope. My goal was a massage. That certainly succeeded. 😉
Yesterday you did things that would normally drive me completely crazy. My nipples? Ooh, that feeling then rushes through my entire body. Now, far away, I felt a light, pleasant sensation. I immensely enjoyed your closeness, the stroking, the safe feeling, no shame. I was relaxed and enjoyed how familiar you felt. Me, trusting someone I don’t know so blindly? I amaze myself.
Questions for myself
And then I wondered: can you have sex with someone you don’t know, without infatuation and love?
What an experience. Touches from both sides that are appreciated. Voluntary, without expectations, without obligations. The first time I am allowed to experience that. That feeling cannot be described.
The last hour was very special to me. Just lying together for a bit. There was such a need to stroke you, to be near you… Without even knowing you, the desire to crawl inside you was so strong.
Blindly trusting my own feelings
I never thought I’d kiss you on the first date… Until you gave me a quick kiss; that felt unexpectedly special and wanted. It felt so natural. I still held back, then you start thinking, mostly amazed that I was fine with it. Don’t think, follow the feeling…
Is the woman who has been hidden for so long coming to the surface? The sexual being? Something I felt from a very young age? I hope so. In my thoughts and dreams, I have already experienced many wonderful things. Some erotic stories evoke a deep arousal in me. I am going to explore that in the coming weeks. See if I can feel those butterflies and tingles again.
Damn it René, I am an experience richer, you are a beautiful human being. Thank you.
That last hour, hm… That hour is the reason I’d love to meet up again. I needed it. Without that hour, I would have left it at this. Then I would have thought: this was nice, but this isn’t for me. This is not enough to put my partner through hell for.
Damn, no idea I said that out loud. That one sat deep, apparently. I already said I wasn’t charming. I can swear like a trooper. And all of that in my “trauma mode.” Bizarre…
Not climaxing. Having a good time without climaxing. No big deal is made of it. Wow, so it can be done this way too… How will I experience everything when I am deeply aroused? That will involve a lot of swearing, I fear. 😉
The awakening of Suze
The first date was a fact. I went for an erotic massage, but went all the way. There was no doubt, it was good: respectful, warm, and full of arousal. I immediately started writing to capture the beautiful experience. My demons are going to come around the corner again and they are going to try to convince me that it wasn’t good at all. Then I want to be able to read that it was completely okay. With mutual respect.
Suze