Let's Talk About Sex

Ewwwww. The nasties???

To some people, this is going to be considered oversharing.
But, I would like to believe we are all adults here.

This piece was written mainly for women but if you’re a man, you’re also welcome to read.
You might learn one or two things.

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As a Nigerian, Yoruba woman, sex was never spoken about around me. When kissing scenes came onscreen while I was watching a movie with my mother, I knew to pretend to feel awkward and to walk out. I say “pretend” because I had no problems watching those scenes when she was not there.

Sex was a taboo. A sin. The only sex-related conversations my mother had with me when I was younger were scary sentences preaching abstinence.

“Don’t let a man touch you, if not you will get pregnant!”
“Anybody who gets pregnant outside marriage will suffer!”

As I grew older, it became something to insinuate and joke about between my siblings and me.

“Don’t be the first to bring a child home o!”

My father on the other hand never spoke about it. Not even in relation to abstinence.

Sex was shrouded like some dark family secret.
We all knew it happened, but we were never allowed to openly speak about it.

Photo from Freepik

Where do Babies Come From?

When I watch those cute videos where kids ask, “Where do babies come from?” or “How are babies made?”, I giggle. Not only because the answers are mostly always hilarious lies crafted by a parent who just isn’t ready to have that conversation with their child, but also because I never had this moment as a child.

“Where do babies come from ke?”

As a typical Nigerian child who grew up in the late 90s or early 2000s, you knew where babies came from.

You and I didn’t need to ask our parents. We knew people occasionally jammed genitals. We knew what it was and probably had an inkling of how it was done.

I don’t know how it all happened. I have no definite moment where the lines separating innocence and sexual innuendos became blurry. We played “Mummy and Daddy” as kids or at least knew other kids who played that game. Sex-related conversations were normal around your mates and sinful when an adult walked in.

This is a generalization.

I would like to believe not all of us were exposed to this at an early age.

But whether you were exposed to these tricklings of sexual conversations as a child or you were sheltered from it, the fact remains that as a Nigerian child, sex was a huge taboo to discuss with an adult.

And so as a collective, we 90’s babies had this problem where we saw sex as only sinful and something to be spoken about in hushed embarrassed tones. Or well, I did.

And whenever I had sex-related questions, the only person I could ask was my very good friend - Google.

Do Your Parents Kiss?

It didn’t help that many Nigerian parents did not show affection around their kids. There was the occasional hug when my father had been away for too long. But I never saw my parents have a full-blown kiss, tongue and all.

Photo by David Kwewum on Pexels

You too close your eyes. Can you picture the couple above kissing?

I only saw my parents kiss once. It was my mother’s birthday and my father had just gotten back from one of his many trips. He came back bearing gifts for us and handed my mother her birthday gift and they momentarily kissed on the lips. It was more of a peck on the lips than a kiss. A “mwaaah” type kiss.

It wasn’t even that serious but I remember feeling slightly disgusted.

“Ewwww! Why are you people jamming lips in front of me?”

Which was so hypocritical because guess who was jamming lips in Js3? Me.

I had my first kiss in junior secondary school, at the back of a dark class after school one evening with a light-skinned, doe-eyed boy that I could have sworn I would marry.

Lol. Young love is cute.

I was thirteen at the time and I was so close to my mother and wanted to tell her about this boy. All the Nickelodeon and Disney Channel I watched growing up had clogged my mind and I thought it was okay to let my mother know I had feelings for a certain boy in my class.

He’d asked me to go to prom with him. As in, we were in SS1 at the time, prom was two years away and he asked me to go to prom. It was cute.

I wanted to tell my mummy about this boy who gave me butterflies.

Thank God I did not allow the devil to use me.

I spoke to my sister about it and she reminded me of my Nigerian-ness warning me not to try it. Now when I look back, I can imagine how that scenario would have played out. I would have received the flogging of my life and might have been moved to another school. Probably an only-girls school.

And so I was reminded that conversations surrounding romantic partners were not conversations my Nigerian parents wanted to hear about. Especially not when I was just a teenager!

So I never told my mother or my father about the boys or men in my life. Which I find hilarious because Nigerian parents have an immediate mindset shift the minute you graduate from university.

Suddenly it’s “So when are you bringing a husband home?”

Husband? I thought I wasn’t allowed to date.

My First Time

The first time I had sex, I was 21 and married.

Before that, I had tried to have sex on two other occasions. I say “tried to”, but it was mainly suggestions from men I had dated and as soon as I showed my disinterest, they stopped.

Thankfully. I dated respectful people.

I can imagine how differently it could have played out if the men in my life were vile people.

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I don’t think I necessarily abstained because I was scared to get pregnant. Which was more than enough reason for me to abstain, to be honest. I had heard stories of teenage pregnancies. You could be rejected by the man who impregnated you or you could just straight up die during labour.

And do you know the cost of Pampers?!

But pregnancy didn’t terrify me. At this point, I was well aware of different birth control measures. And if I did get pregnant, my thought process was always, “pata pata, I will abort it.”

For some reason, abortion didn’t terrify me either.

The thing is I just didn’t want to have sex. The one time I was genuinely curious, we couldn’t get it in. And so I moved on from it. I wasn’t so keen on having sex so I didn’t feel the need to try again.

There was also the religious aspect. Sex outside marriage is considered a sin in Islam and so, I was like “If it’s not so exciting to me, I’d just wait until marriage abi? Why waste my sin on something I’m not particular about?”

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I got married on a rainy day in September 2018 and we didn’t have sex until two months later. At this point, I wanted to have sex. I had gotten lube and condoms and my friends had gifted me a red scandalous looking lingerie as part of my wedding gift.

Photo by Emilio Garcia on Unsplash

Nothing happened on the night of our wedding. The day was exhausting and all I wanted to do was shower and get some sleep. We tried the next day, and the day after that, and the day after the day after that, but nothing happened.

We kept trying but every time we tried, my vaginal muscles tightened and penetration was impossible.

Egbami!

I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it. It would have been an awkward conversation to have with my mother, and my sisters and I hadn’t reached peak friendship then, so I didn’t feel comfortable talking to them about it either.

And don’t even talk about my actual friends. My close friends are Muslim women and we didn’t talk about these things.

Afraid but curious for answers, I went on Google and discovered “Vaginismus”.

“Vaginismus is the body's automatic reaction to the fear of some or all types of vaginal penetration. Whenever penetration is attempted, your vaginal muscles tighten up on their own.

You have no control over it.”

I read this from the NHS website and I began to laugh. I laugh in difficult situations. I went over the symptoms and everything checked out but did I go to an actual hospital to get professional help?

Me? A Nigerian Yoruba woman? God forbid!
What if I had a male doctor? How would the conversation go?

I was stressed out.

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I knew there was a part of me that had grown to be scared about sex. I just did not know to what extent the fear had affected my psychology. But can you blame me? All the conversations around sex were laced with shame and everyone had said it was going to be painful and I was going to bleed.

Of course, I had become terrified!

It was frustrating seeing as I had waited all my life to experience something that was also somehow supposed to be beautiful. Harlequin romance books fed into my fantasy. And I had thought it was going to be a little bit of pain and then it would be easy and romantic but my body was just like “Yeah, no. We’re not doing that bullshit.”

I’ve spoken to some people who said their first times were a breeze. Soft, slow, beautiful. But most women who I have spoken to attribute their first time with pain.

My first time - the first time we finally managed to get it in - I thought I was dying. I can never forget the pain I felt. Weirdly, the pain was in my head - right at the base and it was excruciating.

After many months, my body finally eased into it and my vaginal muscles stopped tightening so often. But, I was still scared. And I still wanted to talk to someone about it. I just didn’t know who.

Shhh! Sessions

The first time I heard many women openly talk about sex was at a weekly virtual session hosted by my sister. She had called one day and passively mentioned she was hosting a session for the women of a book club we both belonged to. I asked her why she didn’t send me an invitation. She said she didn’t think I would want one.

I asked her to send the invitation to my email anyway.

I was reticent at the first meeting. Just there to observe. I was shy and didn’t think I would talk. I ended up feeling so shattered. My heart broke. A lot of women spoke about their personal traumatic experiences. Rape, abortion, pregnancy, surgery, infertility.

Women go through a lot.

I took notes. I always take notes. I wanted to write poems from their stories later on. I eventually wrote the poems but I moved houses over and over again, and somehow during the many moves, I lost the poetry book.

In another session, the women spoke about their sex lives. How they learned to know their bodies, the positions that make them orgasm, and after-sex care.

I think we might have even watched a tutorial on how to do reverse cowgirl!

We also reviewed a couple of sex toys. The popular rose toy was just entering the market at the time and a few women had used it and came back with stunning reviews! It was exciting.

That was the first time sex felt somewhat normal to me. The women in that group did not talk about sex in a shameful tone. It was liberating to see that sex didn’t need to be a secret.

Sometime during one of the sessions, someone said, “You are responsible for your orgasms” and now that’s my favourite line to use when someone tells me they never really get to finish.

You did not cum ke? Not in my books!

Somehow I had settled that, if he finished, then we were done. I could just call it a day. If I didn’t finish then that was okay. But there I learnt to be responsible for my orgasms. It’s okay to finish before me, but I must also finish. And even if one of us doesn’t finish, as long as we found it enjoyable - it was good sex.

I don’t think there are a lot of women who have had the chance to have a freeing conversation about sex with other women, so I will share some other things I learnt on that call:

1. It’s your job to communicate to your partner what you like or don’t like: Your partner is not a witch. They cannot read your mind. If you don’t open your mouth and tell them how you like it, you are not being responsible for your orgasms.

2. Explore your body to know what gets you going: Am I telling you to master-bate? Yes. Maybe. Maybe not. Do what works for you. Try out new things with your partner and register what you like and what you don't like so it can help you communicate better.

3. Switch things up: Because man shall not live by bread alone. Try new things so you can discover more things you enjoy. How would you know that you enjoy getting smacked if you never allow Femi to smack you? Ehn fine geh?

4. Use protection: This is already a given. Tell that man to use a condom and if both of you slip up because of the excitement of the moment, please get a morning-after pill. Unplanned pregnancy is not a joke and children are expensive. Speak to your doctor about your birth control options.

5. Pee when you’re done: We all like cuddles after sex and getting up to pee causes a break in the lovey-dovey flow. But my good sis, urinary tract infections are real. And if you don’t pee and wash up after sex, your chances of your body catching an infection is high.

6. You can stop if you want to: Don’t let men pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do. Tell that man to get off you if you don’t feel like it.

“Shhh! Sessions” eventually came to an end. My sister got heavily pregnant and her life got busy and there was no longer time in her schedule to host us. But, I will forever be grateful for the conversations I got to have with those women.

Where Do You Go?

I still didn’t talk about my body freezing up. Even though I thoroughly enjoyed “Shhh! sessions,” I didn’t feel fully comfortable telling people something was wrong with me. I didn’t want to be vulnerable. I could have sex but it was Russian roulette. Some days were good, some days were terrible. The vaginismus was no longer as bad but my body had progressed into another phase - panic attacks.

I began to get terrible panic attacks midway through sex. We’d be doing the do, and I would remember that sometimes my vagina decides to be a clam and I would begin to overthink and spiral.

There were days when it descended into absolute chaos and I would begin to shake and cry and we would just have to stop.

Photo from Freepik

But, we thank the lord for the people he sends into our lives.

I had left my ex-husband at this point and I was exploring the dating scene. If you’re curious about how we got to “ex-husband,” you might want to read this story after you are done here.

I was dating someone and every time I spiralled into a panic attack midway through sex, he would talk me through it. The man was super patient. Before me, he’d dated someone who had trauma and so he had experience dealing with things like this.

We’d be in the middle of doing the nasties and I would start to freeze up or shake.

If I’m anywhere near healed, it’s because he taught me to identify my warning signs and communicate them. Communicate - don’t dwell and close off into yourself. Don’t be stuck in your head.

One day he asked, “Where do you go?”
“When you freeze up, where do you go?”

“Nowhere. I’m just so deep in my head and I’m scared and I can’t speak.”
“Like I physically cannot get the words out. I’m in my head.”

On the days I managed to speak, my voice sounded tiny and weak. I always sounded like a little girl scared out of her mind. I’m sniffling and crying and terrified and all I can muster is a very low “Stop please.”

Aside from being triggered by my thinking about my vaginismus, some days the trigger was something else.

This scares me. It scares me because it feels like a fuzzy memory. Of someone being on top of me a long time ago. Sometime in my childhood. But it is always a whisper of a memory. Out of my reach. I can never remember the details.

And the panic attack triggered by this thought was the absolute worst.

I couldn’t talk. I would cry and shake and scream and tell him to stop. I would be terrified and out of my mind because, in that instant somewhere in my brain, he was someone else. He was the person on top of me a long time ago, sometime in my childhood.

He would look at me and say “Ola, it’s me. It’s me, Ola.”

Some days I would calm down and let him hold me until the shaking subsided. Some days I would not be able to bear another touch and I’d shift to the far end of the bed. We’d lie facing each other and he would try to tell me jokes to get my mind off the awkwardness of dealing with a panic attack when someone else is there.

One day he asked me what other way I could let him know to stop and we settled on a tap. If I tapped him midway during sex, he’d stop and he’d talk me through what I was feeling.

We learnt that if I communicated immediately I got that first thought that told me a panic attack was coming, we could talk through it. And as long as I talked and we made silly jokes, I could come back into myself and leave the fear aside.

We also learnt I did not freeze up when I was fully in control. I’d tap him on the chest and he’d ask me to take the lead and that gave me a sense of safety. Fear did not belong here. He always said that.

He’d look at me reassuringly and say “Fear does not belong in this body, Ola.”

He was a sweet person.

We didn’t try new things except I wanted to. He never made me feel rushed. And on days when the fear completely took over, he babied me. He held me and let me shake and let me cry and helped me sleep.

This is the first time I’m talking about this extensively. I’ve talked to my sister briefly about it. The one that ran the Shhh! Sessions. But I figured if I dealt with this, then there might be other people out there who might be dealing with this too.

And maybe all they need is a reminder that they are not alone. And I’m aware there is a sliver of comfort in knowing someone has gone through something you are going through.

So, don’t be afraid to share this with the women in your life.

You never really know what people might need.

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Healing

I no longer have violent panic attacks during sex. Thankfully.

I still freeze up sometimes but I quickly remind myself not to hide away in my head. And so I talk and joke and take control and try to set aside whatever fears begin to creep in.

I also have a fear of talking about this with sexual partners. So, I never do. I just try to deal with it by myself, in my head. Because, I’m scared that if I talk about it, it will creep out and become a full-blown monster once again.

I keep saying I should get professional help. But, I am a Nigerian Yoruba woman. There’s a part of me that would feel awkwardness and even some sense of shame talking to a doctor about this.

I’m not ready.

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Substack broke my heart last week. The polls just didn’t work and came out with zero responses which I know is impossible because in previous stories, on average, 70 people vote.

So, I was forced to make a unilateral decision and choose the story for today without you. I’m glad I chose “Let’s Talk About Sex”. There is a sense of relief that comes with writing about it.

Thank you for reading.

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