Is there something wrong with me, if I just want him to do me? Is it selfish?
I began thinking this after an experience we had. First off I wasn’t that much into it. We were both kind of tentative. Finally he tossed me around on my tummy. He can do it so easily, sometimes it’s all I need to get hot – he’s really big and strong and I’m a little girl, readily tossable. And he came inside of me.
There was a moment there that I realized he was not concerned about my desire, my orgasm. He was up there feeling me up, pushing his big cock in me so it hit the bottom of my cervix – which hurts by the way, and I usually don’t let him do it because it sometimes makes me puke, that’s how much it hurts – but I let him because. Well. I didn’t actually let him. He did it. He hurt me. He fucked me. His cock grew so that he had to push with force to move it inside me, to push aside my orifices, to own me.
Sometimes I get this feeling, in the middle of the sexual act, that it’s kind of weird there is something inside me. It’s like when you suddenly realize that what you are cheerfully chewing is a clam or a prawn. A living thing. A whole organism. You start to feel its veins and muscles. Eyes and legs. It happens to me sometimes. I feel his cock inside me, and the way it pushes my insides out of the way, and suddenly it all makes me feel ill. It’s so. Aggressive. Hurtful. Dangerous. I am so small, he is so big.
I got there while he was riding my backside with lust. And then. Then I embraced the feeling of being hurt, used in a way that I wasn’t designed for. Even though, I am, designed for it. I could feel the shivers start from my upper back, go to my neck and then to my butt. I was just lying there, being probed and hurt and infiltrated. I wasn’t participating in the smallest way. And that, my friends, seems to be the key to my satisfaction. When I stop trying to do anything. When I embrace the fact that he is already doing everything that can be done.
And then I thought, is this selfish? Is it okay just to slip away? It always seems to happen to me, when he really gets me. When he suffocates me the way I like. When he suddenly takes a pillow and puts me under it. When he says, No, you don’t move. Stay there. I’m gone. My eyes flop, my mouth is left open, I go somewhere. Where I go, I don’t know.
I’ve heard people talk about subspace, and I don’t mean the mathematic one. I always took it as one of those things. The flash of genius, waiting for the inspiration, the myth of genius in the arts. Romaticicm all the way. Like there was this magical thing that governs us. A connection to the trancendental, or in this case, to the subconcious, to the animalistic wants and needs. But I do feel it, now. It is a different state of mind. A purring sensation. A falling feeling. A completely relaxed and exhilarated state at the same time.
I look him through my barely opened eyes and it is all different. There is no doubts left, no barriers, nothing between us. I am at his disposal in all the ways I can be. My body has taken over. It pushes my self evaluating, self doubting, intelligent side down somewhere. I don’t wonder where to put my hands or is he enjoying himself or where I want him to touch me, will him to touch me there. Everything is like it should be. Everything he does is right. My body is welcoming so that all touching sends shivers down my spine.
That’s where the good sex comes from. It’s totally possible and even probable to have orgasms and good sex without the forementioned sensation or state I described. But it’s different, more somehow, when it takes over. My senses are altered trough it. It’s hard to grasp. It’s been slipping away more now that I’ve been noticing it. Marveling at it. Feeling that maybe I shouldn’t be letting myself slip away.
I guess writing this down has already helped me. I feel it’s a really big thing that I have this ability to surrender. It’s a good thing. It’s not selfish even though it manifests mostly with me tuning in. Or out. It makes me more receptive to pain and pleasure, so that can’t be bad. Right?