It's okay to say no to sex

I am a yes woman. 

Want another drink? Yes! Second helping of food? Yes! Do my personal tax returns for me? Yes! 

(No but really, give me your tax returns, I love it.)

I am somewhat inherently unable to say no. 

Perhaps due to watching that film about being awash of negative responses opens up the key to eternal happiness or just plainly, because I don't want to be rude. 

This in turn has led me into situations as a young woman, I honestly would have much rather have declined. 

I have the power to say no, I am coherent and intelligent and mature enough to know that 'no' is indeed in my vocabulary and has as much power and prowess behind it as I need or want it to, I'm just often too scared to use it. 

I also use it so infrequently I forget that declination can be just as euphoric as complying. 

That there are also positive sequels awaiting after the 'N' word. 

A few months ago I started dating a really lovely guy. 

Genuinely, bloody wonderful. 

A fantastic example of when saying yes worked in my favour.

I'd say yes to dinner and then yes to drinks and then yes to same time again next Tuesday. 

Naturally, as a given in any progressing relationship I was often proposed a night at his, a suggestion that leapt as quickly as the compliments that proceeded it after the last round of drinks.

"No, I think I'm going to go home tonight. But thanks!"

I'd smile, half at him and half bemused at myself as this foreign word raged off my tongue. 

He understood and would get off with me a bit, running his hands over six layers of coat and scarf and go on his merry way back to his flat on his own. 

I, jumping on the tube alone sat anxious. 

Would this be the final time I could say no? Did he think I was a prude? Or frigid? Oh god, am I a cock tease? 

Shit, I should probably just say yes and have sex with him. 

It'd bounce feverishly in my head as though they were tangible things to be of concern, as though I was using language thats influence had an expiry. 

It's not that I didn't find him attractive, I'd probably mentally undressed him across the table more so than he'd ever done his older sisters hot friend, and being physical outside of the bedroom gave me that sort of ruffled and discomposed teenage pang I'm terrified I'll lose sight of by the time I'm 30. 

I just didn't want to have sex with him yet. 

I liked the pace of what it was for the first time in my entire life and wanted to prove to myself that my fear of being 'a girl for now and not for later' was purely paranoia and not true. 

That someone might want to keep having dinner with me because I can quote The Simpsons in the same breath as Dawkins and do insanely unattractive yet highly entertaining things with my eyes. 

(One goes left and the other spins backwards, it's amazing.)

I have in the past told myself that guys won't want to be my boyfriend unless I step it up physically, quickly.

Forgone is my wit and intelligence, they'll probably lose interest unless I take off my top. 

I consciously removed my self right to say no and would reluctantly say yes in hope it'd mean he'd fall madly in love with me, carve my name on a tree, buy me a house rabbit for Christmas and introduce me to his mum. 

Those things never happened. Obviously.

I'd wake up in the morning with a vague stain of awkward regret on his bedsheet and go home never to hear from him again. 

I'd then, in some kind of ugly self berating paradox, blame myself for coming across as easy and that obviously he wouldn't want me to be his girlfriend because I answered all the naked questions and gave away my mystery too soon.

News to me, you don't keep mystery in your pants. It's in your head. 

Also, a huge portion of that is ridiculous. 

I can hear you all vomit in unison at my cringeworthy delusions, rolling your eyes at how I've over analysed something relatively simple to a degree of neurosis- but it's really bloody difficult to get out of that psychological cycle once you're in it. 

This embroiled path of solicitude over sex has stemmed from two things. 

Boys in the past have made jibes at my lack of sexual confidence, I'd always seen myself as a relatively undesirable chubby girl and whilst they might teach you how to put a condom on a banana at school, they definitely miss out how to turn on your inner Asai Akira goddess when you need it. 

Additionally, I have said no in the past and boys have ignored it. 

This is something that needs exploring in less of a light hearted tone as this article has been implicated, but it has rendered me voiceless on a number of occasions causing me to be riddled with negative connotations towards sex. 

I've been grabbed and touched outside of my own will and want despite showing no consent and have been handled as though my perspective is irrelevant. 

In ways, and at times, this has made me feel saying yes is easier than dealing with the aggression and confrontation of saying no. 

We stopped dating after a while, he stopped texting and I stopped looking at L'Agent Provocateur with no intention of purchasing or parading in it. 

Initially, I thought it was probably because we went on six dates and he didn't ever have to pretend he had a meeting at 9am to get me to leave his flat before his house mates woke up. Or even worse, make me breakfast.

In reality, it's probably because we just weren't right for each other. 

Because that, is also a thing. 

I look back and I'm glad I said no, I have no regrets.

No is a valuable word and we should all give ourselves the confidence in possessing it proudly. 

You have to learn how to say no without an ounce of guilt, respecting and taking care of yourself is crucial and setting boundaries is healthy.

Equally, if a guy stops texting because you haven't had sex with him yet, he was probably never going to buy you a house rabbit after you'd given him a blow job anyway.