Okay. I admit it. I’m bad. Happy to oblige, everyone, the show’s over.
After all my almost cheerful japping about not orgasming without Wonderboy, I went without the pill for two whole days (!) before I had to do it. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?
Last night we tried to have sex. It was almost funny. We laughed at it ourselves. We were so nervious, like we hadn’t done it in ages or it hadn’t ended succesfully (what ever the hell that means to any of us). Wonderboy was afraid that I’d change my mind after the fact like I used to. He has all the right to be scared of that because that’s exactly how this shit used to go down. I’d not say anything during sex, but might afterwards admit that I really wanted something different or couldn’t get in the mood. And then it was his fault that I didn’t come, because as my lover he is of course supposed to be a mind reader among his many other qualities. All of that usually happened when I didn’t orgasm. (It has happened, even to me. Poor me.)
The worse case scenario though, many times proven true, was that I’d love everything he did to me but I’d end up changing my mind. I could even go so far as to accuse him of taking advantage of me or not caring about me and my satisfaction. But this was before. It was when my stomach turned if I thought about what we’d done. What turned me on. It was too scary and too intimidating that he could weild such a power over me. I decided that even though I did consent, he should have known better.
So, I was an asshole. I admit it. I was dreadful to him. But only because I was really scared and really lost, and he knew it. I’m beginning to accept who I am and what I want, but the past still haunts us. I sometimes, on bad days, have to fight off a flash-back of the rape when we do something that is somehow too similar. There’s still a constant battle going on inside me, one I cannot always open up about. But that’s less of a problem now. I’m beginning therapy. I’m relatively well adjusted to having an awful and traumatic past. (And for real, who doesn’t?) It’s a part of me that has made me the way I am. And by that I don’t mean it made me a big fat kinkster, but I mean it has given me the ability to reflect on my emotions and situations and accept what is and has been inevitable. Well, I’m getting there, anyway.
We were hugging and talking, talking about how funny it was that we didn’t want to have sex. I wanted to, to try out my new unmedicated feats, but he had misgivings because of my past performance. I wholeheartedly understood and said that we didn’t have to have sex. We ended up talking about what he was mostly afraid of: that I would be dissapointed and sad after sex. And I said that how could I be, it’s also my fantasy that he fucks me just to get himself off, and I don’t get any. (Necessarily.) That kind of turned the tables. He did want to fuck me like that, pretending to not take my needs into account.
And we managed to have sex. It almost ended before the big climax when I asked if he could fuck me from behind. I don’t know why it felt too scary for him. Maybe it was just that I asked something of him. Maybe it was because we’d had small talk like conversation just before and his erection had started to wane, and he was feeling insecure about that and the whole affair. I was menstruating and not at my highest by any means.
But the fuckery went it’s way and ended beautifully when he tried to hold off his orgasm for a bit more because it had started to feel really, really good having him on my back. I quivered, just quivered under him, and suddenly he couldn’t stop himself and came really hard. It was so hot. He didn’t need to lick me for more than a minute until I came too.
It didn’t go quite as we hoped, but it was a start. Yet again. I’m not afraid of being afraid. It’s okay to be nervious.
Thanks Aarkey. I knew I should’ve stayed home. So what now?