Marika Malaea

faithful marauder + fake royal

Sex Is Like…

with 8 comments

Welcome to your first time.

Welcome to your first time.

*A beautiful sunset. But not if I can help it.

*Two grunting pigs at the trough. Enough said.

*Celine Dion, Burt Bacharach? What are you doing here?

*The robots from Punch-Out. The most accurate, by far.

*The cover of a Victoria Holt romance novel. Fabio, ewwww.

*Painful, but only if your eyes are open. Said my teenage self.

*The coolest thing you can do with the right person – although when they’re completely WRONG for you, the rewards and emotional scars are tenfold, but sometimes actually worth it.

*Being punched in the face, only lower. Repeatedly.

Found this short list from an old blog post, which made me wonder how my sister’s sex life is faring. For those of you who think that’s weird, allow me to explain: My sister’s sex life sucks. She didn’t tell me this, I just know. For those who are all, ‘Since when do you have a sister?’ – we share a mother and brown skin, and that’s where the similarities end.

Imagine this: It’s two days before her wedding, and she calls me to chat. She’s nervous about the wedding night, and I’m nervous about her marriage to a guy she’s known for six months. Her father saw them holding hands on the beach, and said if they were going to engage in that kind of activity, they’d better get married. Welcome to being Samoan. The two families decided they’d be married in four months’ time; my sister was barely consulted. Because of this, I worried about impending marital doom, but she was just concerned about the wedding night.

We spoke on the phone about her wedding gown – a dizzying white mess of cheap satin, lace, and tulle – and what a SaMormon wedding is like. I asked where they were headed for the honeymoon, and she got very quiet.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” she began. “And I can only talk about it with you.”

I started to sweat; I knew what was coming. “Mom pulled us out of all the Sex Ed classes, and we’ve only been taught that stuff by her or the church. I just don’t really know what to expect on our wedding night. I understand the act, I’m just not prepared, and I’m too freaked out to look it up online.”

That’s when I looked outside, frantically searching the skies for any sign of Armageddon — any sign at all. That would have been a welcome reprieve from the conversation I was in for, but someone had to do it — and as her half-sister, I had half a job to half-assedly finish.

First I asked if our mother had given her The Wedding Night Talk; I didn’t know if religious people still did this, but I’d heard stories of girlfriends having to awkwardly endure that kind of cringe-worthy torture. She said yes.

Me: So what did she tell you about losing your, ah, so what did she say?
Sis: She said it would be like a beautiful sunset.
Me: I’m sorry — what the fu– what?
Sis: She said it so much, I knew it wasn’t true. That’s why I’m calling you.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, ‘How does this shady Snotty character have a religious mother and a sweet virginal sister?’ The answer makes about as much sense as a giant brown bear riding a teeny tiny tricycle — and yet they do, in fairs and circuses all over the world. So it’s not completely unheard of, while still being weirdly unbelievable. Also, don’t forget I’m adopted.

How do you tell a virgin what to expect on her wedding night with someone who’s a virtual stranger? And this virtual stranger, holy fucking WHOA. Talk about being ridden by a giant brown bear: 28-years old, at least 350 pounds of Samoan muscle and whale blubber, a killer of carbohydrates and female independence, my brother-in-law-to-be was  less a person and more a monolith of brown skin and athletic jerseys.

I hoped what I’d heard about gigantic men and small packages was accurate, but knew if Samoan men were anything in bed like they were in real life, my sister would be pregnant within the week and never understand the word ‘orgasm.’ Samoan men are enormous cast-iron teddy bear babies; they look impressive and intimidating, but can’t do a single thing by themselves. They’re served to a fault by their mothers and sisters, then move on to a subservient wife — so pleasuring a woman, meeting her needs, communicating, understanding her fears, teaching her the ropes in bed? It would be easier to grow a magical talking vagina in a vegetable garden on Mars.

What did I say? What was I supposed to say? I told her the Truth, and in order of importance. The only thing I didn’t do was alphabetize it. From sister to sister, here were my responses:

My girlfriend said to skip the condoms because it will make it more uncomfortable.

Birth control is your friend. Let me tell you what’s more uncomfortable than a man wearing a condom:  Pushing a 12-pound human out of your angry vagina. Also, there’s more than just condoms! If you want me to pay for your birth control, I will, because who knows how long you’ll be married? Twenty years or two weeks, it’s anybody’s guess.

Is my first time going to suck? Like, is it going to be really painful?

Your first time is going to suck. I’m sorry, but it just will. Women who say they thoroughly enjoyed their first time are liars or porn stars; women who compare their first time to a beautiful sunset are related to us and also liars. The closest you’ll come to a sunset is feeling like the actual sun is setting on your private parts, which is where the pain comes in. I seriously doubt it will last long, though, no offense to your future husband.

What can I do to make it easier/more enjoyable/less frightening?

Since you never drink, I would slam a few glasses of bubbly, take a Paxil and three Ibuprofen, break out the lube, and pass the fuck out. Let him have a nice wedding night while you catch up on sleep. If you insist on being awake, I would ask him if you can do some exploring — or see if he wants to, I don’t know, go down on you or something. I really wish you smoked weed.

What’s Paxil? Weed? What do you mean ‘Go down’?

Forget it, and forget about the drugs. I have limits, you know. I can’t tell you everything — it’s mortifying! You really don’t know what that means? You can’t, you know, divine it by me saying GO DOWN, dot dot dot…? Have the Mormons taught you NOTHING?!

Did you mean, like — ewwwww! Oh my gosh, that’s — EWWWW! That’s so nasty!

If your husband is interested in your happiness — physical or otherwise — he’ll at least want to, um. So have you had an orgasm before? [Response: giggles] You’ve never, like, “taken care of business?” [Response: giggles] Have you ever… thought about… toys? [Response: balks] You’re not making this easy, and this is, how do I say, less than enjoyable for me. Are you willing to attempt this with an open mind?

I just want to have the wedding, and skip the wedding night. [Here she starts to cry.]

Awwwwww, man. I know it’s a big deal, and I’m sorry it’s so bizarre. Now if he’s a big deal — please know what I’m talking about — well, I’d go the champagne/Advil/out-of-body route. If together, you guys can get YOU to a place of, ah — GODDAMN IT — to a state of ‘readiness,’ or as we call it in the, uh, well we don’t call it anything, but if you start feeling like you’re into it, turned on, whatever — OH MY GOD, DYING, I’M DYING HERE — then you have a 12% chance of having a good time. Otherwise, just drink the booze and get an ice pack. And PS, porn is just going to freak you out. Do not attempt at this time.

Oh, you think I’m being melodramatic? Too brutal? Making a mountain out of a molehill? I couldn’t agree more. However, for a girl who’s never seen an erect penis, for a girl who’s only kissed a guy — the kind of kiss you’d give your grandma — for a girl who thinks oral sex is nasty and toys are the sexual appendages of Satan himself… no. I’m not overreacting. If anything, I undersold it.

So what happened?

Day One – Nothing.

Day Two – Consummated.

Day Three – She went home.

Day Six – He went home.

It was on Day Three that she called to give me the verdict:  ‘It hurt so fucking much — why do people like sex? It’s AWFUL.”  Also this:  ‘He brought along porn and made me watch it, and it was disgusting, so I went home.’ I called that one. Their sex life went pretty much downhill from there, especially once she decided they weren’t having children.

A couple of years later, I asked how ‘things’ were going, and received this response: ‘Sex just isn’t necessary.’  That made me really sad. Lately they seem okay, though I still wonder about their connection and interactions and, yes, their sex life. I just couldn’t be married to someone I didn’t like knocking boots with. What a pointless endeavor.

This coming from the person who described sex as ‘being punched in the face, only lower and on repeat.’ Whatever.


8 Responses

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  1. I love it. You’re cracking me up. It’s obvious I’m not working.


    August 4, 2009 at 4:17 PM

  2. @Jenny ‘Work’ is subjective, see? Like, it’s not always about completing projects. Sometimes it’s about fucking off!


    August 4, 2009 at 4:23 PM

  3. Wow, right now I’m thinkin’ you’re the best writer I’ve read in years, maybe lives. I don’t know whether to cry, get drunk, or buy a roasted chicken. Your poor sister. The “unnecessary” bit is gonna change . . sooner or later, but it’s gonna change.


    August 4, 2009 at 6:43 PM

  4. I cannot imagine giving that talk to my siblings. I think I would just explode from awkwardness.

    Badass Geek

    August 5, 2009 at 7:05 AM

  5. I was in a sexless relationship for two years and now that I’m in an awesome, healthy, sex whenever and however I want it relationship I have to say…

    Sex IS Necessary.

    that is all 🙂


    August 5, 2009 at 9:46 AM

  6. @Arthur You’re so nice 🙂 I say roasted chicken.


    August 5, 2009 at 3:55 PM

  7. @Badass Geek I did it so you didn’t have to. You’re welcome.


    August 5, 2009 at 3:55 PM

  8. @stacymarie CAN I GET AN ‘AMEN.’ A-men.


    August 5, 2009 at 3:56 PM

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