Breathless

by Jennifer Niven

I know he thinks—hopes—we’re going to have sex. The same way he’s been hoping for the past two months that I’ll finally decide my days of being a virgin are over and “give it up to him.” (His words, not mine. As if somehow my virginity belongs to him.)

“Hymens don’t actually break. That’s a big, fat, ignorant myth. Not everyone bleeds, and besides, not everyone has a hymen. Don’t be so heteronormative. Virginity is a bullshit social construct created by the patriarchy.”

Brilliant To have so soon into novel

Have you ever thought about the way people talk about virginity? As if it’s owned by other people? Someone ‘takes it,’ and suddenly it becomes theirs. Like it’s something we give away, something that doesn’t belong to us. She lost it. She gave it up. Popping her cherry. Taking her virginity. Deflowering—”

after suffering a loss, you become a ghost in your own body. You observe yourself doing things and saying things that you might not normally do or say. You need something to ground you and prove to you that you’re still here. As a way of feeling something. Anything.

Never blow into the vagina. This trick can cause air embolism and has caused sudden death.

From book the joy of sex

Vibrators are no substitute for a penis.

From book the joy of sex. Quite sexist a times

Two chapters later, the author sings the praises of the “well-gagged woman.”

I’m filled with this feeling of apart but together. We are the only two people in the world sitting here in this spot on this island waiting for the turtles to emerge from the sea.

But then, suddenly, we’re done. Which means he’s done. And this is another surprising thing—the fact that the ending seems to depend on him. I almost tell him, Hey, I need more. I’m not done. But I don’t say anything.

There is a moment where I actually do let go. It’s more like a letting go and a taking total control at the same time. I feel infinite. Free. It’s this perfect, beautiful moment, my body going heavy and light all at once.

Orgas