Forbidden Sex - One Woman's Journey...

Forbidden Sex

One Woman’s Journey…

Sean and Kira Robartz

FIRST DIGITAL EDITION

Text © 2012 by Sean & Kira Robartz

Cover art © 2012 by Stephen James Price

SMASHWORDS EDITION

ISBN: 978-1479176168

Cover and Interior Design By

Stephen James Price

www.BookLooksDesign.com

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

Dedication Page

Dedicated to the women of the world, may they find their path to freedom and equality through the discovery of their innate sexuality.

Acknowledgements

We extend our heartfelt gratitude to the thousands of women who, through the past half-century, have contributed unselfishly to expanding our knowledge of woman’s innate sexuality.

Special thanks go to Cathy Morgan, our superb editor who gave us a special piece of her being to help us shape our story into its final form and for her unwavering commitment to editing and her uncanny ability to slice and dice.

Our eternal gratitude to Stephen James Price at Book Looks Design (www.booklooksdesign.com) who labored diligently to give us the cover, internal design, and the benefit of his expertise in making the book wonderfully professional.

Authors’ Note

Sex is the backbone of human society—the glue that holds us together; yet sex often drives us apart. Its potential for ecstasy carries with it the latency of misery. We know, because we have experienced both. What we have learned, we want to share with you. For over 50 years, we’ve been talking to and working with women to better understand woman’s sexuality and its relationship to today’s society. We’ve listened intently to what they had to say about their sexual feelings, beliefs, and desires. We’ve gathered information, made assumptions, and compiled massive data into conclusions that make sense to us. We’re keenly aware that, in writing this book, we’re both using and rejecting cultural norms; we’re making bold conclusions and providing data that’s startling to some.

We’ve compiled the following issues that you should be aware of, to judge and assess our work and our intentions.

Throughout the book, we use the heterosexual model—not because we believe it is the ‘correct’ expression of woman’s sexuality, but because it is the most convenient method. Woman loving woman, in a same-sex relationship, is as beautiful and natural as woman loving man. It has its basis in her innate desire for sexual confirmation, which only another woman can provide. Despite our continued reference to heterosexuality, we readily acknowledge and support woman’s natural choice to engage in and enjoy same-sex relationships.

Although we make suggestions and offer recommendations concerning woman’s sexual behavior, we do not presume to tell her what she should believe, how she should act, or what she should do sexually. How she expresses her sexual autonomy is a personal decision. Our goal is to provide information, so that she can weigh the evidence and make her choice according to her convictions.

Whenever we present medical data, we offer it as information for educational purposes only and not as recommendations for treatment. If you have medical concerns, we urge you to seek competent medical advice.

When we say many, most, some, or few, we are using our own subjective perceptions of reality and our experiences of women and men.

When we use the terms women and men, we freely accede that any qualities we ascribe to one gender or the other is a generalization, and for every generalization, there are clear exceptions. Not all women or men think one way or behave one way; our concerns are with general trends and typical behaviors and thoughts. When we speak of woman, we mean the basic woman, who of course does not exist. Likewise, with man.

The names of the women who have contributed to our story are pseudonyms, but their ages and status are accurate. We present their comments in most cases unedited, the syntax unchanged, so that you may judge the flavor and intent of their voices.

In gathering and analyzing our data, we make no claim that it represents the beliefs, behaviors, or attitudes of women in general, but rather is a compilation of what these women thought.

Prologue

Wiping away the fog, Kira stood naked, admiring the body reflected in the bathroom mirror. Her contours, her height, her fine-boned features were still elegant, having survived the stresses of another childbirth. As she said herself, being a mother is a joyous responsibility. Nevertheless she was in an anxious mood.

The die was cast and she was planning on how to proceed. She looked around the small apartment, plain and sparsely furnished. This was home, but for how long? She had so many things on her mind. She thought of the consequences as she weighed the options. She was determined that it would end.

She would challenge him outright, she thought. She would demand change. Yes, she thought, I will watch his reaction, and then he will know. Possibly, the journey may prove fruitful.

Chapter One

The Awakening

The Unmasking of a Hypocrite

Beware the person who acts in contradiction to his or her beliefs or feelings for they are dangerous to your well-being.

—Anonymous

It was a typical early-morning—cold, damp, and foggy. San Francisco was like that before the sun could play its magic and burn away the thick mist that shrouded the city in a blanket of amorphous gray. We always walked early, around the park before the bustling of the crowd and the noise of the city drowned out the music of the leaves and the chirping of the birds. Walking briskly to ward off the chill, we savored the mournful wail of the foghorns echoing across the naked streets. This Saturday morning was particularly nippy. The wind howling off the bay knifed through our jackets, creating a bone-biting chill, our bodies shuddering violently. We had planned to spend the day at the zoo, but quickly cancelled that idea and scurried home. Instead, we remained tucked in our two-room apartment, warm, cozy, and content. We will go another day, we said.

With little to do but watch TV, I turned my attention to her. Her beauty was astounding. Her bright auburn hair caressed the gentle curves of her neck, softly framing her deep-set chocolate eyes, rich with expression. Entranced, I sat quietly, absorbing her slightest movements—the slow, rhythmic rise of her breasts as she breathed, the gentle turn of her head when she spoke. God, she was a beautiful woman—gentle, caring, loving, and so damn sexy. I felt my heart pounding, my mind narrowing, closing out all but her. She had this effect on me; me wanting her.

My eyes focused intently on her body, wrapped tightly in her favorite flaming red negligee she had changed into when we came back from our early-morning walk. As she arose, the sheer elegance of her body screamed sex. The contour of her shoulders, the perkiness of her breasts, and the curvature of her hips embodied in that voluptuous 5 foot 4-inch frame shouted desire. I was gone, focused intently on sex; thoughts of everlasting sex with this goddess.

Reaching out, I deftly untied the strings. My heart pounding as though it would erupt through my chest as the negligee quietly fell to the floor. Quickly stripping, I pulled her tightly to me. The heat of her body and the scent of her skin inflamed my passion. Our lips met in delicious embrace, our tongues weaving in a dance of ecstasy. I felt her nipples becoming erect as we fell on the couch. My hands searched for her wetness, lightly caressing her, parting her lips. Slipping down, I kissed her, tasting her essence, as she sighed in deep contentment. I was gone. I had to have her.

The morning morphed into late afternoon, our bodies entwined in rapture, moving rhythmically to the lyrics of love. Ah, the sweet intimacy of sex. The perfect union. Unadulterated joy engulfed me as we settled into an evening together. Little did I know that it would be an evening of despair.

We were relaxing, watching TV, when I made a chance comment that changed our lives forever. The revelation that followed carried the potential to destroy our young marriage. What it revealed is oft-times hidden, unspoken, yet felt deeply by many couples—the inquietude that haunts so many relationships. As best we can recollect, the conversation went like this:

Holding her gently, I whispered, That was really great, wasn’t it?

Yes, it was. It was her tone, the way she said it that surprised me. The enthusiasm and exhilaration I had experienced was somehow lacking in her response.

You didn’t enjoy it?

Sure I did, it was nice.

Nice?

Yes, nice.

Nice? It was spectacular.

Yes, I suppose it was, since you had the orgasm. It was the bite in her voice, something she rarely did, that unnerved me. I could feel it coming, something I did not want to hear.

OK, sure, but you came too, I said.

I know this is going to surprise you, and I don’t want to hurt you, but you need to know and now is as good a time as any.

Know, know what?

The reason I have intercourse is to give you what you need. My joy emanates from knowing your passion and seeing your gratification. It is mental, and it makes me feel closer to you; to feel loved and wanted fulfills an emotional need for me. There’s little physical pleasure involved in it.

I was devastated. With one brief comment, she had destroyed what I believed—that intercourse was immensely enjoyable for both of us—that she experienced the same sexual gratification that I did.

Continuing, she said, There is also an element of fear involved, a fear that if I didn’t give you what you wanted that I would lose you. It’s a combination, of ‘I want to’, and ‘I have to.’

Talk about ego deflation. Then, I thought I found a flaw in her argument.

But you always come so it must be pleasurable. Now I have her. Her answer was crushing.

No, I don’t. I fake it.

Fake it?

Yes, I really don’t orgasm, although I do once in a blue moon if I’m horny enough, so I just pretend to. I know I’m supposed to, and I don’t want to squash your manhood since you’re all consumed with the phallus and your macho sexual prowess, but you need to wake up to reality.

Whoa, what do you mean I’m consumed with my phallus?

Well, aren’t you? Did you ever once consider my needs and desires? Did you try to help me reach my orgasmic potential? No, you thought you were by providing a few minutes of licking and picking. Well, it’s just not enough.

I remember being in a fog, too stunned to respond as she continued.

Then, when you thought, and you never asked, that I was ripe and ready because I was wet, you climbed in the saddle, and it was over in less than a few minutes. How you ever expected me to orgasm is beyond me.

We will never forget this conversation. It was the turning point and the beginning of a half-century-long quest to find the answers to the dilemma surrounding sexual intercourse—not only for us, but for others as well.

From that night forward, our lives changed. Why had I not been aware of her true sexuality? Why did I think that all I needed to do to satisfy her was to love her, provide for her, and fuck her occasionally, whenever I felt the urge? Where had I gone wrong? Why was I so insensitive to her feelings, her needs, and her desires? Finally, I had been awakened, or rather been shaken, from a long sleep by a woman who decided to tell it as it is, to risk all for a moment of truth in hopes she had chosen a mate who had the ability to listen and the fortitude to effect change. Was she correct? Were her actions justified? Only time would tell.

Clearly, we were experiencing a case of sexual discord—our sexual desires and fulfillment did not match. The frequency and nature of sexual intercourse were the points of contention. Why did I have such an insatiable drive to fuck, while she found it only occasionally desirable? Why was I continuously after her for sex, while she was more selective in her pursuit? And, why did I always manage to come, while orgasmic bliss was so elusive for her? The answers would surprise us.

Being young, we thought we were supposed to rejoice in intercourse, but it was not happening, at least not for her. What was the problem? At first, I thought we were sexually incompatible, but that proved to be wrong; nevertheless, the strain threatened to tear us apart.

We had a choice. We could ignore it and continue on a path of discontent and possible divorce, as many of our friends had done recently, or we could deal with the problem head on. We chose the latter and embarked on a course of serious introspection. To us, we had to solve the problem if we were to continue together.

Being products of our male-oriented world, we (truthfully, I) immediately thought the problem was with her; that there was something wrong with her physically or mentally. If she did not like intercourse, and she could not orgasm, then she must be defective. After all, society tells us that women yearn to be penetrated. Hell, I had no problem shooting off, so why couldn’t she? Either she was put together wrong, and her body did not work correctly, or she had some type of hang-up about sex.

But, Kira knew differently. There was nothing wrong with her physically or mentally—no aversions, no past traumas, nothing that would create a problem. She just felt used and resented it. She was rebelling at my insensitivity to her needs and my selfishness in getting off while leaving her unfulfilled. That, she said, was unacceptable.

What exactly did we know about our sexuality? Where did we learn and from whom? Society. Society, through our parents and peers, our religion and schools, and our community, all provide us with our perceptions of sex. TV, movies, magazines, books, and the Internet each contribute to what we believe. From the time we are old enough to think of sex, society tells what we should do and how we should act. All avenues tell us that our fundamental sexual expression is fucking. Fucking for babies, fucking for pleasure, and fucking to become one.

Since I loved fucking, but Kira did not, we questioned society’s view. Was there a hidden agenda? Was this copulatory mandate somehow a manipulation to control our sexuality? We needed answers. If sexual intercourse is, as society proclaims, our ultimate sexual expression, then why did it elicit such ecstasy for me and deep dissatisfaction for her?

At first, we tried to solve our seeming sexual disharmony by altering our encounters. We thought; we talked; we read every article and book we could find. And we practiced. New positions, new approaches—all to no avail—we were still in copulatory limbo. The orgasm gap remained; easy for me, rarely for her. There had to be additional answers we had not yet uncovered.

What haunted us the most was the question of our normalcy. Were we an aberration or did others feel the same? Was Kira a sexual misfit or did other women share her feelings about sex as society defines? Did they too chafe at the obligatory coital encounter?

Hunting for answers, we researched the medical, sociological, anthropological, psychological, and sexual literature. We talked to the experts, the scientists and researchers dedicated to molding our opinions. What we found was a jumble of conflicting messages. What disturbed us most was the revelation that much of what we are led to believe about our sexuality is contrived—manipulated to shape our sexual beliefs and behaviors to conform to an ideology—a creed that places sexual intercourse as the centerpiece of sex. Our experience indicated otherwise.

How then were we to know the truth? Where could we go for answers? Kira suggested we simply ask women, since there was little discussion in the books and other reference sources concerning woman’s feelings. Thus began our quest.

But, before most women would commit to offering sensitive and personal information about their sex lives and innermost feelings, they wanted to know why we were so interested in woman’s sexuality. Well, it is a long story, but since you asked, a little background may offer an insight.

Born in rural North Carolina, the eldest of seven siblings, and raised in traditional southern Baptist style, where women are passive, self-sacrificing, and naturally subservient, Kira formed her convictions. Losing her mother to a tragic accident early in her life forced her to become the mother to her three sisters and three brothers. It also brought to her attention the problems women face in a male-dominated world.

She was a beautiful girl with all the right curves. Her body, her carriage, and her openness made her a target for men. From her pastor to her cousins, and to men around her, they hit on her. She was sexy and she learned what it meant to be a woman, no matter how young, in a male-dominated society.

Deep inside her, a spark burned slowly into a passion for independence and equality, fanned by her Granny, the matriarch of her extended family. She recognized the injustices imposed upon women for simply being women, and she set out to reverse them.

Kira is a devout romantic; a very charismatic person who loves people. She shouts self-confidence and radiates empathy that draws women to her like bees to honey. Genuinely caring and intently concerned, she opens the channels of connection into which women pour their feelings. With nothing more than an exchange of casual glances, women, complete strangers, have come up to her and initiated conversation, often intimate in nature. Conveying safety, confidence, and nonjudgmentalness, Kira is the consummate listener.

I am a devout feminist, a defender and advocate of woman’s rights, of her autonomy as a human being, of her right to seek to be herself, and of her innate feminine powers. I am not, however, a male basher or spokesperson for women’s drive to be like men. At the time though, I was a fake, a hypocrite, but more about this later as I am digressing.

Being the son of an extremely forceful and independent young woman who was, without doubt, a roaring feminist at a time when it was not in vogue, particularly in the midst of the Great Depression, contributed greatly to my understanding of women’s issues. My mother was 17 when she graduated from college and I popped out—planned?—she never told me. Full of zeal and an insatiable thirst for autonomy, she was an inimitable force.

Growing up surrounded by feminine rhetoric and action, I quickly learned of the great injustices foisted on women, including their sexual repression and the ubiquitous double standard. I sat quietly, as my mother always told me that I was to be seen and not heard unless spoken to, listening to years of discussion and debate over the battles women had to fight just to be allowed to live in a male-dominated world. As a single mother, my father having abdicated early on, she worked tirelessly to provide for us. Brimming with energy and a ravenous drive to better the role of women in society, she nurtured me through life. I was like an appendage, always present regardless of the circumstances. Wherever she went, there was this miniature male creature tagging along. Listening, assimilating, and formulating became second nature to me.

Exposed frequently to borderline and blatantly illegal activities on behalf of women, I quickly learned the problems women face when they become pregnant, either by force or unintentionally. My mother helped found and maintain one of the first abortion clinics in California at a time (1930s) when such procedures were illegal and severely punished—a time when women were being mutilated or dying from botched kitchen-like procedures. To her, woman’s health superseded the cruelty of the law. Seeing this philosophy in action sculpted my beliefs.

Sexually, my mother was the consummate consumer, frequently sampling men who she thought might be a suitable partner and father figure for me. Although she married three times, I grew up without significant male influence, but I gained a valuable perspective on what unhappy marriages yield.

When my mother accepted a lucrative position in a far-distant city, I asked to remain to live with my grandmother and complete high school. She consented.

Later, in my senior year of high school, when my grandmother became too sick to watch over me, I lived for nine months with my aunt and her mother-in-law, in a hotel brothel, watching and talking