My First Anal Experience: Why It Was More Emotional Than I Expected

The Setup Felt Safe - Until It Didn’t

We lit candles.

Put on a playlist that made everything feel cinematic.

He was gentle, slow, checking in with every move.

And I thought: This is it.

That intimate threshold everyone whispers about - but no one really explains.

I'd prepped. Researched. Trusted.

I felt… ready.

Until my body told me otherwise.

The Split Second Shift

At first, it was pressure.

Unfamiliar, but bearable.

Then pain.

Sharp, sudden, cold.

Like something ancient waking up inside me.

Like my body screaming in a language I'd never heard before.

My breath left me.

My voice, gone.

And yet - I didn’t say stop.

Because I didn’t want to disappoint him.

Because I thought discomfort was part of the deal.

Because no one tells you how loud silence feels when you're unsure.

I Left My Body That Night

There was a moment - seconds maybe - when I floated above the bed.

Not literally. But mentally.

Watching myself try to perform what I thought was sexy,

while my body was begging me to retreat.

He wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t careless.

But we both misread the moment.

Pain turned into panic.

Intimacy turned into internal screaming.

And when it was over, I didn’t cry.

Not then.

The Emotional Aftermath

It wasn’t the pain that haunted me - it was how easily I abandoned myself.

I spent hours replaying it.

What I should’ve said.

What he should’ve noticed.

What consent really looks like when it gets blurry.

And yet, the horror wasn’t him.

It was me,

smiling through pain,

thinking that made me powerful.

Healing Isn’t Just Physical

I thought I could just laugh it off.

Brush it under a rug with the word "first time" stamped on it.

But weeks later, I still winced -

not from memory of the act,

but from the feeling of being a ghost in my own skin.

So I journaled.

I talked.

I cried (finally).

And I reclaimed the voice I’d silenced that night.

A Strange Kind of Love Letter

This isn’t an anti-anal story.

It’s a truthful one.

Because sometimes, the emotional imprint is heavier than the act.

And because we deserve to know that consent isn’t a one-time yes -

it’s a conversation,

a check-in,

a moment-to-moment agreement.

Even in love.

Especially in love.

Your Turn:

Have you ever said yes with your mouth but no with your body?

Ever felt like the silence during intimacy hurt more than the act itself?

You’re not alone.

Let’s talk about it in the comments - without shame, without judgment.

Because healing begins when we tell the stories we were told to keep quiet.