I had been told that masturbating was acting out a sex addiction. I was forced to write up my sexual history, which I believe only consisted of humping a pillow a few times, when I was 15. I, and other girls, had to share our sexual histories in a shaming way. This was at a school that got shut down for abuse and academic neglect, so when I say “shaming,” I mean Handmaids Tale style.

I was on SSRIs, starting when I was 12, so I really did not get aroused by myself. If I did, it was easy to resist masturbating because I wasn’t supposed to.

I could not find my clitoris. I didn’t know what a clitoris even was. I was not aware of its critical importance to female sexual response. I did not know women even could orgasm the way men can. I thought that women experienced pleasure via penetration of their vaginas. When I lost external sensation, I did not understand the significance. My solution to not getting pleasure from guys rubbing my vulva anymore was to have sex. When I did not experience much pleasure from that, I assumed it was my boyfriends incompetence so I got a new one. When that didn’t solve it, I did a google search and read it could be due to depression or poor body image.

Even after realizing my surgery may have affected my ability to orgasm, which I actually told one boyfriend within the statute of limitations, I assumed it was my fault for having surgery. I thought I’d just been unlucky rather than realizing my surgeon did something horribly wrong.

Ignorance among young women is common. Our genitals are summed up as a mere cavity. Sex is framed around male pleasure and orgasm. Many women may not experience much sexual desire until after experiencing pleasure and initiating a feedback loop.

I also was not sexually interested in boys until I was nearly 17. So I only had a year to learn everything I needed to know about my body before much of my capacity for pleasure was taken from me. This may be due to me maturing later than most — I did not get my period until I was 15. It may also have been due to trauma. Or maybe it was due to me being around all girls in Montana and then at a school without any smart boys. It took a smart, tall, handsome guy being interested in me and hanging out with me nearly every day for a month right before I turned 17 for everything to click as far as crushes on boys were concerned.

Later, when I visited him over Thanksgiving, I gave him my first hand job. I do not remember him trying to please me in return. Maybe I should ask him why. I just assume he must not have known how. I do remember him telling me I was the most attractive woman he’d seen below the waist. Maybe I should have talked to him before I had surgery. I’m not sure why I didn’t. I had a lot of other things going on.