R and I broke up a year and a half later. We realized that while we had love, trust, and chemistry covered, we lacked everyday compatibility. We had a seven-year age difference to contend with, and our lives were moving in different directions. Both of us wished we could stay together anyway.

I attended my physical therapy appointment as usual that week, and it was especially intense. I went home, and, shocking myself, I successfully inserted a tampon without any pain. I tried my smaller dilators; no pain. All this success, only five days after we broke up.

I emailed R, explained the situation, and asked if he might want to meet once more. We were on the same page; neither of us wanted to inspire false hope that we could become a couple again, but on the other hand, we really wanted to bang each other. So we set up boundaries as best we could. We agreed that no matter what happened, we'd consider it a treasured time, a bonus weekend to spend with a loved one. Then we booked a hotel (a neutral place between our homes) for two nights.

In a nondescript room with functional furniture, white sheets, and bland carpeting, R went down on me, and while I jerked a bit, and locked my thighs around his head, I was able to feel beyond the pain. Sure enough, he lived up to my first impression of him: I came so hard I felt faint. I remember looking at the white ceiling, and thinking, "Ah, so that's what all the fuss is about."

This victory, however, was quickly followed by crushing disappointment. I'd practiced diligently with the vaginal dilators, but a dilator is very different than a penis. The dilators had smooth, prosthetic surfaces, and they didn't expand with arousal. Additionally, R's penis was a great deal bigger than the dilators I'd been practicing with. He just didn't fit.

I lost it, sobbing at the injustice of it all. I had hoped that since the dilators went in without an issue, I could be the wanton woman I'd always wanted to be with him. But R reassured me that we'd take it one step at a time. We spent the rest of the weekend trying again and again. He would insert his penis about halfway, and then the pain would overwhelm me. In between rounds, we laughed and celebrated each other's company.

Monday morning, hours before we checked out of the hotel, we tried one more time. I focused on the sweet slopes in R's ear, whispering, I love you over and over. I felt desperate to reach our goal, to be able to say that I had sex with the man I loved. At last, he thrust and filled me, all the way inside. It's hard to articulate what I felt. Pain, definitely. Simultaneously, I also felt a malleable, complicated pleasure beneath it all. Then, everything spasmed, and I had to invoke our safe word.

Technically speaking, we'd accomplished our goal. I cried anyway. I wish we'd been able to get beyond the mechanics of things, to make love and enjoy pleasure in the way we'd wanted to for over a year — and to do so in more meaningful places than a hotel room.

But despite everything, the space between us was vibrant, full of love. Real. Both of us, by that point, were exhausted, and R had to make the long journey to the other side of the state to get to work. We could only offer each other the past that weekend. That morning, we parted sadly, but without any regrets. Our past, we agreed, was good enough.

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