Marrying an ogre isn’t easy for anyone really, but when you are of a very petite height, the difference between 45 kilos and 180 kilos is not really ideal at all.
This is not something a girl thinks about when getting married; she just waltzes into a relationship thinking we can live on ‘bananas and fresh air’, words my father used to repeat as I was growing up. Note, you can’t. But it was on my wedding night that the reality dawned on me about consummating this marriage. I don’t know if you have actually ever been to an Asian wedding and stayed to see how excited the wedding guests (usually inclusive of the local newsagent owner who may be offended at not being invited) are of the possible chance of the bride and groom’s potential jigginess that night. They make lots of embarrassing sex innuendoes and drop you to your hotel room, congratulating the groom for getting laid in the next hour or so. It’s like they live their suppressed sexual fantasies in a voyeruristic way by inappropriately getting involved in other people’s sex lives.
Now, both of us were inexperienced virgins, so it wasn’t a deliberate act of malice, or anything like that, but when two people of hugely opposing proportions, are doing something quite complex for the first time, with very little idea of how to actually do it, there is a high chance that things could go wrong. And it did spectacularly.
I had thought about this moment for a long time and had imagined with excitement and nervousness how romantic it will be for the first time. Imagine then, to my utmost horror, that my memory of that night is of a huge man bouncing on me, repeatedly, and in response, me gritting my teeth, squeezing my eyes, and praying for this ordeal to be over. Nothing went in that night.
To my horror and shame, the morning after that hideous trauma, I heard my husband telling his mother that I was ‘defective.’ Immediately, she plunged into Indian mother-in-law ‘helpful’ mode by booking numerous doctor appointments, where well-meaning but misinformed doctors told me to put on lots of lubricant and hope for the best.
Nothing happened the next night either. Or the next, and next. And after that, it was impossible.
Who Fucked Me? 
2 replies on “First Suspect: O (The Ogre, aka, ex-husband)”
Is this the time when you were most hurt by your ex? What was it about him that made this emotionally painful? How else did the traits that led to this scenario manifest themselves?
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Hi Sasha! Thank you for this question. ‘Most’ is difficult to define because he definitely got a lot worse, as you will find out shortly. I think I remember the physical pain the most because he didn’t stop even when I asked him to stop and never cared about how sex felt for me. It was always seen as my job and duty to endure the pain. The other traits that later became clear were linked to this innate selfishness and thoughtlessness. Again, all this will be made clear for you in the later stories… and then you can decide who you think effed me.
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