Mousie762 at Abstinent Sexblog has this to share and I’m sharing it with him.
One of the reasons I’m so giving sexually is that my version of the masculine self-image requires giving sexual pleasure. If she doesn’t have a good time and a good orgasm, then I am a failure as a man. And it’s pretty much always a bad thing to attach self-image to other’s reactions. No one is actually in control of their partner’s pleasure.
This, for me, is not only about sex. I attach my self-image in other people’s reactions all the time. All the other descriptions still work here. I am a failure as a person if everyone is not happy, if they don’t like me, if something goes wrong. This is a devastating road to go down on, and probably a birth ground for my submissive kink. (See, I said both the bad words and didn’t even frown!)
I want to be in a place where I take absolutely no responsibility what so ever. We play-rape. We play Wonderboy’s fucking a doll. We play he’s molesting me while I sleep. It’s not all there is (is it, ever?) but it’s a lot that’s going on. I am not even a player. I have to do nothing. I am not responsible for his orgasm or pleasure, nor am I of my own – hell, I’m not even supposed to enjoy in the scenario! And what happens is I do enjoy. I fucking get a brain fever and blow from inside out. I am left free to enjoy because it’s not expected of me. Nothing is expecte of me. I am free.
But I have never, ever felt I somehow am a failure as a woman if Wonderboy doens’t get off. I try to save the day all the ways I can, but in the end, I’m only failing as a partner. I can’t be failing as a woman, because I never accepted I am a woman. I may seem that way, I might be born that way, but in my fantasies I most certainly am a man. A though to handle, strong but unable to control himself sort of a bad guy. In my fantasies I don’t give a flying fuck if my partners enjoy or not. Actually, it’s all forced upon them. I am a rapist, a child molester and a bunch of other really bad things. In my fantasies. Because I can not be a woman.
Doesn’t seem fucked up at all, does it? So, being a woman is a bigger threat to my self-image than being a rapist. Why? Well, for one thing, in real life I am a woman. I am not and can never be a pedophile in the way I am in my fantasies. Because I am not a man. It’s safe ground for me. So is raping women. I am both the woman and the man, after all, in my fantasies, but I get off on the guy’s thoughts and wrong-doings. It’s safe. I am after all, the one who gets it in the end. I am the child and I am the woman. I just can’t recognize it. I’m not yet able to submit to my need to submit.
My brain found a way around my incapabilities. It put me in the other role so I could enjoy what I need and desire more than anything else. But now. Now… I’m slowly rising from subconscious to conscious, and seeing myself for the first time. I am a woman. I enjoy being a woman, I enjoy Wonderboy being a man. I enjoy submitting to him, I devour his demanding touch, his words, his smallest gestures and breaths to indicate what he wants. I am a submissive. I am a woman. Oh, fuck, yes!
The only thing is. My fantasies have all stopped working. When the tables are turned, when I’m on the doctor’s table, when I’m the fuck-toy or the raped girl, it’s still too distressing for me. But I can’t be the man anymore. I ain’t. Wonderboy is. His my man, after all. What’s a girl to do?