from 0 to fear in 8.6 seconds (Part I)
This really shouldn’t be a how-to for how to kill the horny girl that resides inside of me. But it’s been happening so often lately that I might as well put it into words. But I’ve been watching so much Mad Men lately that I think I need to pour myself a drink before the right words will come tumbling out about this subject. It’s something I have been wanting to talk about for quite some time, but just couldn’t find the words. So it stalled on my lips, waiting for some kind of release.
Since my post on Friday, I’ve been taking a step back from myself sexually. Meaning that I’ve been somewhat detached abotu my sexuality, looking for a good way to actually describe the ebb and flow of my sexual arousal and attraction. I’m hoping that if I can examine it without taking hold of the guilt that comes along with it, that maybe I have a chance of healing the right thing that is mucking up the process.
I know for a lot of people sexuality is a complex thing. If you look up sexual arousal for women you get a number of articles most of them glossing over this process: 1) excitement, 2) plateau, 3) orgasm and 4) resolution. Nevermind the fact that most women don’t get to #3. None of this explains why I feel such interference in the excitement part of arousal. And that’s not to say that my body isn’t ready. My body itself is in a state of readiness more than my mind and heart are. So I might be wet, my nipples might be sensitive and ready but my brain is just not ready to say yes.
The problem occurs with excitement, staying excited, staying engaged enough to be excited and more than anything, avoiding the fear that flows almost hand in hand with the very things that arouse me. So, this is where I take that post from the other day with the 7 sexually stimulating images/ideas and piece them apart so that I understand if there is a common thread in the fear. (Original post is in blue; new writing is in black)
I wish I knew when I first felt this slipping away. I used to kid with my lovers that I hit my sexual peak at 27 and it was all downhill from there. It wasn’t. But add a good coat of shaming and an
weekly unhealthy dose of disappointment and you find yourself asking what is sexy anymore. I find myself wondering what is sexy to me.
Take these images:
- Being fucked doggy-style while being fucked in the face by another cock.
- Strapping on a pink cock and fucking a woman silly with it.
- Smearing chocolate sauce on my skin and having it licked off slowly.
- Being suspended by my toes and having my back and ass set on fire.
- Having a group of 8 or so men drop loads on my face and tits
- Being backed up against a car, with a hand wound tightly in my hair and kissed passionately
- Being ordered to stand in a corner and masturbate until Master is ready for me.
Any and all of these things could be sexy. Absolutely. But the question is…is it sexy to me? Sometimes it is. But for me over the past 5 years, reality has been getting in the way.
I am blessed with an exceptional memory. I can rememeber the date of my first boyfriend’s birthday. I can tell you the date that my ex and I first started talking (both dates, when he added me on LiveJournal and when I friended him back). I can relate to you the curve and feel of my last dominant’s cock and what the first pussy I ever ate tasted like. No swiss-cheese memory for this girl.
But that’s kind of the problem. I titled this original post as “too much reality”. So keep that in mind as you keep reading below.
Number 1 has happened in real life. Ordinarily I would relish in the old memories and relive them over and over again as fantasies, but while most of them are great memories, there hasn’t been talk for 3 years of anything like that remotely happening again…so, it makes me sad to think about. Also, I remember pretty vividly what happened last time. Husband on one end, husband on the other end. One husband thought that the other husband was being selfish and not sharing very well, not like the former poly husband. So he gets in a huff because i’m spending too much of my time and attention on the 2nd one. In the morning I wake up with a guilt hangover for not paying more attention to the needs of both men. Indirectly, by not having this situation happen again that guilt gets solidified into judgment for my selfishness.
Number 2 has happened in reverse. Being fucked silly by that strap-on. But I don’t relish taking control over a woman like that unless it’s the right woman. Let’s just go with the image of strap-on sex in general. It can be fun, it can be great, but it’s not the most organic feeling in the world. Sometimes it is, because sometimes the wearer bonds with their strap-on. When that happens it’s glorious because you can feel intention and energy exchange (most predictably happens with butch women or trans men). But when it’s used in lieu of intimacy because it’s a thick piece of rubber between your legs instead of human heat and energy, it’s kind of a turn-off for me.
Number 3 happened in high school with my boyfriend and again in college. It was contrived and not as sensual as it sounded. Seeing it happen at a recent fundraiser left me feeling envy for that experience to happen on a much more intimate scale. Contrived isn’t sexy. When it happened in high school it was a “hey! let’s spice up our sex life” sort of deal (my hatred of that genre of sex toys, books and products is a subject for another post for another day). It wasn’t sexy. It wasn’t playful or intimate. I just sort of let him get into it because well, he was doing the licking and not me. I found it sticky and disenchanting. When it happened in college, it was part of this guy’s repertoire of “sensual tricks” he’d use on women to convince them he was the best thing since the invention of the vibrator. Had he allowed me to use a vibrator during this whole fake charade I would have been more engaged and pleased. Instead, I laid there and took it, not moaning when he thought I should. Why should I reward wrong thinking? But like I said, i saw it done at a recent sensual foodie fundraiser and I found it quite fascinating to watch. The girl (and boy) were saran-wrapped and guests of both genders were licking sensually off of them. That I could have gotten into. Question is what was arousing about that? The fact I miss being mummified-Bella, the public, casual but reverent nature of the guests or the licking itself? We will see.
Number 4 has not happened. While I have a lot of rope and fire enthusiasts in my life, I get dizzy easily and immediately panic when dizzy. There are only two or three people I would consider doing this with. One is gay, one I’d have to pay and the other isn’t as experienced with ropes but I’d trust him to be there while we figured it out. When i say I have a lot of rope and fire enthusiasts in my life, don’t think I mean just a smattering of people who kind of like it…understand my full meaning. I have bondage experts in my personal circle of friends. I have had play partners who can orgasm from lighting people on fire. I love rope and I love fire. And someday, yes i’d like to combine the two for as long as I could take it. However, what this fantasy image portrays is the “too much!” variety. There is so much happening with this scene that I reject the whole thing for being way too much. When indeed if you took the suspension part of this away, I’d be totally down with that and would be so engaged with the idea of doing this that I’d sign up right away. However, where reality sets in is that i’ve been disappointed by people who either don’t show after offering something of this magnitude or can’t keep up the pace in providing a positive, enriching experience where both of us are happy.
Number 5 almost happened except I backed out for a number of reasons. I couldn’t guarantee safe sex. I couldn’t guarantee that none of the men would make a comment about my body or my weight or that I wouldn’t be called “dumb slut” (emphasis on dumb). The biggest fantasy I have is about group types of scenes. Gangbangs in particular. Yeah, I said that out loud. For a girl who doesn’t like a whole lot of attention, one of my biggest arousal points is being on display, being wanted by everyone in the room and to just keep going until my stamina fades out. But all the fears I enumerated in blue still apply. The reality of making something like this happen is far too involved and far too fabricated to be a turn-on for very long. Fantasies are one thing, but the thought of exposing myself to a ton of men i don’t know, who likely will make some comment on me either be dumb or fat instantly makes me want to crawl into my hole. And if it were people i know, well, then I’d be worried about whether everyone got along with each other and whether I was going to have to deal with emotional fall-out with any participant. I instantly get so stressed out with this idea that I just don’t even pursue it.
Number 6 happened a few weeks ago. It is real and it’s happened with only a handful of men in my life. Always organically. Always with intention. Always with passion. And always with love. However, there was one time when I expected it to happen and it didn’t. My disappointment and resentment was so all-consuming that I block this moment out when I fantasize or relive anything for fear of ever reinforcing it as an expectation ever again. This is one where the original post speaks for itself. But instead of talking about what scares me about it, I want to say what i love about it. I love that it is spontaneous. I love that it is passionate. I love that it is about the intensity of that moment, the emotion poured into an overwhelming desire. What I don’t like is that I took that kind of spontaneity and turned it into an absolute expectation which created a ready reason for me to justify my feelings of disappointment. But in essence, this image shows what i want every scene, every encounter to be about. Pure desire, need and passion fueled by an intensity of emotion and feeling.
Number 7 did not happen, but was discussed with men who were my “Dom”s so often that you think it had happened. There is not anyone I would call Master, even in a play setting. And frankly the humiliation part of this image turns me off greatly now. I’m still trying to figure out why. Now that i’m writing while there is daylight outside, the part that turns me off right now is my general aversion to D/s relationships. This has been reinforced over and over again. For a long time, I beat myself up by saying it was only because I “perceived” disappointment in those relationships. Yes and no. I have been able to separate myself from those situations enough to say there was disappointment on both sides, but a lot of it came down to bad assumptions on the level of relationship, the amount of control given and sought and other expectations. I have been able to find a limited amount of D/s dynamics with friends and lovers since. But I have determined that while I really enjoy a power exchange dynamic to exist in my sexual relationships, it cannot be the basis of that relationship.
Now, I’m going to take a break from this train of thought on this subject and fast forward just a bit.
After writing all of this, I decided to experiment just a little bit over the weekend. No porn, no stories, no long-distance flirting. Nothing except actually paying attention to my responses to my husbands when they’ve approached me for sex or just plain affection. because I have just too much damn memory in my system, corrupted by years of great experiences being overwritten with somewhat mediocre or downright scary ones, I wanted to reset myself at square one when it comes to desire. I wanted to forget the years of muscle memory ingained in my sexual system and look at my sexual world with new eyes.
I learned something when I decided to do that….found an experience I can say wholeheartedly really turned me on.
….I know for certain I like having my hair pulled.
what better start could we ask for?