Aline is having sex for the first time, in an effort to be like everyone else and because they want to be “liberated…”
Aline loses their virginity, in an effort to be like everyone else and because they want to be “liberated." In this episode, Aline looks back on that first time, and all the subsequent times. They try to understand why they forced themself into sexual encounters when they didn’t desire sex. With the help of Kate Wood, Australian asexual activist and Megan Carroll, Aline tries to dissect the mechanisms behind this self-inflicted violence.
This episode features excerpts from the movies Cruel Intentions produced by Columbia Pictures and Newmarket Films and Those Happy Days produced by Quad Productions. It also features an excerpt from the website OMGYes.
Trigger warning. This episode mentions sexual violence.
[Airport atmosphere]
Aline: On June 7th, 2010, I landed in Montréal. I was ecstatic. It was the first time I traveled alone. This is going to be the best summer of my life!
For three months, I’ll wander museums, hike national parks, party in Miami, get tipsy in every city.
Oh—and also, I’m planning to lose my virginity, ideally before I turn 23, less than a month away. I didn’t know exactly how I was going to make this happen, but I knew one thing—I needed to be less picky.
I really hoped that the person on the other side won’t freak out when I tell them I’ve never done it before. I’ve prepared a whole speech to explain my situation: “At first, I wasn’t ready. Then I worked so much I just didn’t have time. And after that? Well I guess it was just bad luck.”
I didn’t expect much out of that first time. It will probably suck. I was far from imagining what’s to come.
OPENING THEME—FREED FROM DESIRE
[Aline opens a door and steps into a flat]
Aline: First stop—Montreal. My friend’s roommate was home when I got there. His name was Othon, he was Mexican and studied in the city. He showed me around.
He was handsome, clever, funny, and a bit flirty. He offered to carry my bag, complimented me. He even wiped my runny nose, like it was a normal thing to do. It had an effect.
I wanted to get close to him, to touch him, to be in his arms. It was the first time I felt that way.
The next day, we started making out. I immediately knew we were going to have sex. I can’t say that I wanted to, but I did want to stay close to him.
When we were about to do it, I felt the need to tell him I’ve never had sex before. I didn’t want him to be surprised by my lack of skills. And I wanted him to guide me.
So I stopped him and said, “I have to tell you something—I’ve never had sex with a man.”
His only reaction was to tease me. He replied, “Or with a woman.”
And then he went back to kissing me. Like it didn’t matter. Maybe it was just obvious and he knew before I even said anything?
Othon was perfect throughout—attentive, tender, considerate. And yet, the act itself left me indifferent. I bled, it hurt, and that was pretty much it.
It reminded me of a movie I loved when I was in high school. Nos Jours Heureux with Omar Sy, the actor from Lupin. It’s during a summer camp, and there’s a scene between two counselors in their twenties—Caro, a weirdo, and Daniel, a player. They have sex. It’s her first time.
[Clip in French from Nos Jours Heureux]
Aline: [Translating] Listen Daniel, we've had sex, it was nice, we're not going to talk about it the whole night. It had to happen to me at some point, well I guess it happened.
Aline: I knew that line by heart. I was certain I would feel exactly the same after my first time. Everybody knows that first times aren’t great.
I think that the main reason I wasn’t excited for my first time was because I never pictured myself doing it, or enjoying it. If I have to be honest, I was mostly looking at sex as a social obligation.
What I wasn’t expecting was how sweet my first time would be. I loved the way we cuddled in bed, I loved discovering his body, talking all night, watching him preparing breakfast. I loved when he explained to me what his tattoos meant, and when he gave me compliments in Spanish.
In the following days, we kept hanging out. I still wasn’t excited about the sex but I loved being with him.
When he was at work, I’d write to my friends.
Aline: [Typing] Guess what? With Marie’s Mexican roommate, we did more than just flirt. It had to happen to me at some point, well I guess it happened
Female voice: Wait, what? A bomb dropped in my mailbox! I want details now!
Second female voice: No, are you for real?
Aline: To my business school friends, the ones who gave me tips, I wrote with pride: “I’m a woman now, if you know what I mean.”
Third female voice: That’s it, you did it. Shit, that’s crazy.
Aline: Most of them seemed relieved. As if I was cured from a rare disease.
I also felt relieved. Things are going to be different from now on—I’ll be able to sleep with, or date whomever, without the fear of being judged for my virginity.
But things didn't go quite as I was hoping.
During that trip and in the following years, I met a lot of guys. Some of them were cute and funny. But I can’t say I was attracted to any of them.
Sometimes, they would flirt with me. Sometimes, they would move to the next stage and kiss me. I didn’t know how I felt about those kisses. I found making out long and boring. But because I didn't hate it, I let them take it one step further.
When they would suggest we’d go somewhere else, back to their room or their place, I’d say no. Sometimes, I’d pretend to have a boyfriend or I’d say I was on my period. They were more inclined to drop it if I had a “good” reason. I noticed that when I say no but didn’t give a good reason, their interest increases.
[Noises of two people moving under a duvet]
Male voice: We’ve come this far… should we just keep going?
Aline: Sometimes I would just let them keep going. Let them have it.
Aline (to male voice): Yeah, I guess.
Aline: I was tense. Every time we’d get to a new base, I was hesitant. I didn't feel like I wanted to go further. Actually, I didn't feel anything. I was there, but I wasn’t really there. It was like I was watching it from the outside.
During sex, I’d watch how our bodies were moving, analyze the movements. I would keep thinking about my next move. But then, when it was time for penetration, I couldn’t do it anymore. I’d wonder—what am I doing here? I wanted to scream, “get out!”
Instead, I’d ask my partners politely to pull out. Sometimes, they’d try to convince me to give it another shot. I couldn’t.
Month after month, sex became more and more painful. But I didn’t stop. After taking a break of a few weeks or months, if a guy flirted with me, I’d fall into the same pattern, as if I’ve learned nothing.
I was flattered that these cute guys were interested in me. Me, the former scrawny nerd. The awkward, flat chested girl who was bullied in junior high.
I thought sleeping with them would make me the cool and fun feminist I was aspiring to be. It was before MeToo, and for me, feminism meant sexual liberation, the fight for contraception and the search of the g-spot. And I thought these hookups would just give me funny stories to tell.
Each time I would make out or sleep with a dude, I would send an email or a WhatsApp text to my friends and tell them about it.
[Knock on a door, greetings in French exchanged]
One of those people was Nicolas. He’s been my friend forever. Now, he has adorable twins.
Nicolas: Every time you texted or sent an email it was “I succeeded at doing this…” you made an effort. No, but really. In fact, when you would say, “I succeeded at,” it wasn’t a way of saying that it was an accomplishment. It was a way of saying that you made an effort, to kiss a boy, or then later, even more, to sleep with a boy.
And every time that it didn’t go well, you would say that you didn’t really like it. But at the same time, you talked about it laughingly, fully mocking yourself, and so it was funny when you were telling those stories. You seemed happy to be able to share them.
Aline: I was not enjoying sex with these guys but I thought it was normal. Good sex comes with practice, right?
That’s what I kept hearing anyway, from people, and in movies, like in Cruel Intentions, for example.
[Clip from Cruel Intentions: “Practice makes perfect Cecil. My advice is to sleep with as many people as possible”]
How will I ever enjoy sex if I don’t have sex? I felt like I had to keep going
[Aline’s thoughts superimpose on each other: “Don’t worry, it will be better next time,” “It’s not the right one, that’s it,” “Be patient”]
But time passed, I had more sex, and it didn’t get any better.
I tried to learn about sex from my friends, I listened to them talk about it, but I didn’t understand how they know if they’re attracted to someone, sexually.
It was as if everyone had a sexual compass, and mine was broken. It’s not giving me any directions so I have to trust the ones with the working compass. If they’re interested in me, it’s probably because they can feel that there’s something between us. They know something I don't.
Kate Wood: It's so, so common for people to force themselves to have sex. And doing real violence to themselves, really like putting themselves through real traumatic experiences.
Aline: Kate Wood works for a social, advocacy and support community for Asexuals in Australia. It’s called A.C.T Aces. She is studying violence experienced by people who have little to no sexual attraction. She gathered over 600 testimonies from people on the a-sexual spectrum from all around the world.
Kate Wood: I think a lot of people don't know what sexual attraction is, so they reach out for whatever they can find that must be sexual attraction because they have to be experiencing it somehow. So they just go for whatever they find, I think, and even though they don't want to, they often force themselves through this.
I guess they're shutting off the part of them that is saying this is wrong, this is wrong, you know I don't like this, because they must like this. It's the only thing that makes sense is that you do.
Aline: Since MeToo started, I’ve thought a lot about consent and the gray area, and it got me thinking about those years.
Megan Carroll: In sociology we have this concept of sexual scripts. Those are the rules that we're supposed to follow about what happens in a sexual interaction.
Aline: That’s sociologist Megan Carroll. We heard from her in the first episode
Megan Carroll: And sexual scripts are very gendered. So the masculine partner is expected to be more active, and the feminine partner is expected to be more passive. We don't always follow these sexual scripts in our sexual interactions, but we all know what the script is. And especially if people don't know each other very well, they're more likely to fall back on these scripts because they don't have enough information about what the other person might like and it’s risky to do something out of the ordinary.
Aline: I wonder if those men I had sex with realized I was not having fun. What were they thinking of my hesitations? Why were they so persistent?
Megan Carroll: The sexual scripts that say the more feminine partner is expected to be more passive is a big part of what's behind what's called rape culture and just this whole culture that fuels sexual violence, that says, well women aren't really supposed to be consenting agentic partners in their sexual interactions anyway.
Aline: That’s how it looked in my early 20s. Forcing myself didn't seem too crazy to me or my friends because we were conditioned to believe that women didn’t have to be that excited about sex.
Luckily, since then and especially after MeToo started, the discourse around consent changed.
Megan Carroll: The enthusiastic consent model is something that I've heard talk about in the last ten years or so. And in some framings, this means that both partners are not just supposed to say yes to a sexual interaction. They're supposed to be excited about that sexual interaction, that you're supposed to look for this in your partner, a real affirmative, yes, I really want to do this.
Aline: I was definitely not showing enthusiastic consent at the time. Not with words, not with body language. My body was telling me that I didn’t want to have sex. I was tense, my vagina would tighten up. It was painful.
At the time I would come up with excuses for why my body wasn’t cooperating. I would tell myself that maybe I had vaginismus—it’s a condition where a woman’s vaginal muscles tighten up whenever penetration is attempted. Or maybe I only came across large penises or maybe my vagina was just too small.
I think I’ve learned very early on that girls have a duty towards boys. That boys had strong sexual needs and it was on us not to excite them too much, unless we were willing to take care of them. For example, when I was a teen, boys kept talking about blue balls.
I’ve never believed men’s testicles could be permanently damaged if they don’t cum—it didn’t make scientific sense—but I did accept the underlying idea.
All of my friends could see that I was forcing myself. But no one told me to stop.
And so I continued forcing myself.
A year after I came back from Montreal, I had almost everything I wanted—a nice job, busy social life. But one thing was missing—a romantic relationship.
I felt like all of my friends were in steady relationships. And that they had less and less time for me. They were busy going on couples vacations and spending their Sundays with their partners' families.
I was afraid I was going to end up living a lonely life.
So one evening, at a party, I decided I had to find someone. I asked my friends to help. They introduced me to a guy who came to the party with them. His name was Martin.
I really liked Martin. He was clever, witty, nerdy in a cool way, and sensitive. We’d go out with our friends, read comics, and explore the Saint Ouen flea market. He held my hand and placed his on my waist. I liked that.
The day after we made out for the first time, I had a surgery and I couldn't do any physical activities for several weeks, which meant no sex.
It bothered me. I felt like because we didn’t have sex we didn’t have real intimacy. At night, we’d talk about our lives, laugh a lot, but there wasn’t a physical urge.
Was my relationship with Martin okay? Can any couple be okay without sex?
In the magazines I read then, studies said that happy couples have sex three times a week on average.
Author and journalist Angela Chen is critical of these studies and their sometimes incorrect conclusions. According to her, we’re facing a hammering so intense that even a happy couple can end up doubting their relationship.
Angela Chen: Even if you feel fine and your partner feels fine, then it's very easy to think, oh, you know, these experts are saying something else. They must know better. We must be deluded. We're not fine. We just are tricking ourselves.
Aline: The problem with these studies is that they’re approaching sexuality as a statistic. They don’t take into account what matters the most—how emotionally compatible two people are, how they get along, their desires, their pleasures, their intimacy.
Intimacy. What does it even mean? Here’s Megan Caroll again.
Megan Carroll: In the English language, intimacy is sometimes used as a euphemism for sex. Like a doctor might tell you, you need to be intimate more often. They're referring to having sex with your partner, right? They're not referring to cuddling, not referring to sharing wine over dinner.
There are many sources of intimacy between partners. Sex is just one of those sources for many people. The problem is that our society is so organized around sex, and especially our ideas about romantic relationships are organized around sex.
Aline: Why are there so many articles about sex? Why are we so obsessed with the sex lives of people in relationships? Why are we convinced that a relationship can’t work without a lot of sex? Angela Chen has an idea.
Angela Chen: We use sex in relationships as a way to mark the relationship as a romantic relationship. And so I think that for a lot of people, if couples aren't having sex, they or others will think—Wait, are we in love? Is this a romantic relationship? Are we friends? Are we roommates?
Aline: Me and Martin ended things after two months. I assumed it was because we barely had sex. And so, more than ever, I believed that the success of my future romantic relationships relied on a happy sex life. I had to find my libido.
A few years later, something happened—a friend sent me a surprising text. We're going to call her Marie.
Marie (over the phone): I don’t really understand what game you’re playing. Why have you been flirting with me for months and then pulling away when I make a move?
Aline: Me? Flirting?! Sure, I tell her she looks nice, I ask her about her life, I tell her intimate details about me. Is that flirting? I thought we were just being friends.
Clearly, I did not understand how this whole flirting thing works. But quickly after that text I realized: it might work between us. We were friends for a few years at that point.
I found Marie really cute, we already spent long hours talking, and she was interested in me, even though she knew about my weird relationship to sex.
I was right, we worked. She wanted me to feel comfortable. She would ask me what I like and what I dislike. Both in and out of bed.
When it came to sex, she was a great guide. She showed me new things with patience and gentleness. She’d always ask if I was okay with what we were doing.
But I was still pretty unfazed by sex. I felt like it was a series of tasks that I needed to complete in order to get to the end. I wish I felt differently. I really wanted Marie to have a good time.
To try to improve the situation, I downloaded an app that helps women masturbate.
[Clip from OMGYes advertisement]
Between the app and Marie’s kindness, I started to feel more comfortable. I became less disconnected from my body. I don’t analyze my movements as much, I let go, and sometimes I’m even in the flow. When things are aligned, I’m actually having a good time.
But I still didn’t want to initiate sex with Marie. In the evenings, when we’d come close to sex time, I’d start yawning, intensely. I’ve never seen my body do that before. And I’d tell her: “I’m exhausted, can we just go to sleep?”
She’d reply “yes of course,” and I'd feel relieved. Relieved, but also guilty, and worried.
I’m with someone I like. I’ve learned to masturbate. I’m comfortable with my body. I’m working on explaining what I like.
What more can I do? What if it’s a mental health issue? A trauma I buried deep down? Maybe I needed professional help.
OUTRO MUSIC
Producer: Free From Desire is an original podcast by Paradiso Media. Written and narrated by Aline Laurent Mayard. Produced by Suzanne Colin and by me, Yael Even Or with additional production support from Morgan Jaffe and Molly O’Keefe.
Executive producers are Emi Norris, Lorenzo Benedetti, Louis Daboussy, Benoit Dunaigre. Sound design, editing, and mix by Théo Albaric. Additional editing by Yael Even Or and Morgan Jaffe.
Studio recordings by Marin Grizeaud and Théo Albaric. Production assistants are Lucine Dorso, Brendan Galbreath, and Sofia Martins. Editing Intern is Bryson Brooks.
Original music by D.L.I.D. Our Theme song is Freed from Desire by GALA. Cover Art by Super Feat.
This episode features excerpts from Cruel Intentions produced by Columbia Pictures and Newmarket Films and Those Happy Days produced by Quad Productions. It also features an excerpt from the website OMGYes.