Craving for more, Gender stereotypes, Hyper-Sexual, Learning to negotiate, Love, Volatile bodies, Wonderboy

The Merry-Go-Round of Sex and Guilt

I tried to talk to Wonderboy about sex. I told him I hadn’t been asking his permission to play. I said I’d been worried that he’d feel bad about me wanting so much, and him giving so little, when he could see how much I really wanted it, because I had to ask him every time. I told him, how I felt he was somehow distant and mechanic with me. I said there hadn’t been enough sex and that I missed him.

When he licked a stray coffee drop from his mug that morning, my body twingled. When he accidently held my face while kissing me, my heart fluttered. And he was distantly acknowledging all of this, but acted like he wasn’t. Pretty disturbing. Emotionally exhausting. Everything is fine. Except he won’t kiss me longer than it takes to give a peck.

His answer was that we’d had plenty of sex this week. Monday was mutual oral, because he was too tired for else. Tuesday was fucking. Friday we fucked, but he didn’t come and I had to work hard on him to get him there. Saturday we tried to have sex, but it didn’t work out at all for either of us. So, four times in a week. What do you want?

I explained that every time had felt strained to me. I’d felt a pressure to try to keep him going even, if I wasn’t really enjoying myself that much. All of the fucking happened while I was still not ready, I wanted something more to turn me on enough. I came on Tuesday, so what’s the fuss? It was pretty bad. I only enjoyed the immediate end, which also made me come. Before that everything had felt so tentative, so mechanic. His kisses, his actions. It got worse.

He wouldn’t admit to any of it. Granted I didn’t go into full detail, just said how I felt.

When he came to be, I had decided to try to fix things a bit. I’d gotten so lonely and sad masturbating by myself and just missing him and his body, him! I knew he didn’t want sex, but I wanted to try to have some sexual communication with him. I’m all naked under the covers, I said. You can try, if you like. He came to bed, and close to me, but didn’t do anything, so I said ti would be nice, if he touched me. He reached under the duvet, patted my pussy and then left his hand hanging over my belly like a dead fish. He didn’t say anything.

This is what they call initiating, I said. I tried to make out what was wrong, but I couldn’t. His face changed and I asked, Are you okay? Did you get sad somehow?

I waited. And I waited. I asked again, and his answer were the like of monosyllable-man. No. Okay. I’m fine. I don’t know.

I petted him and hugged him, but he didn’t seem to do much. He wasn’t really giving me any feedback. Then he finally said, I just don’t feel like playing. After half an hour, it felt.

Funny thing was I didn’t get angry that much. It was evident there was something he wasn’t telling me, and I just didn’t have the energy to pull it out of him. I thought, perhaps for the first time, that he’d have to come to it by himself. He has to be able to tell me. It’s not my job to always drag every little bit of anxiety and second-guessing out of him for him. So, I rolled over and tried to get to sleep. I was really tired and sleep didn’t seem so far away, when he put his hand on my waist.

In that touch there was longing, gentleness, love and knowing me. The touch was everything I’d longed for the whole week. It was him in his touch. Where had it been? My heart and my cunt answered of course, but I knew he just tried to lift the blame, to draw me close and go to sleep like everything was okay. Like he hadn’t offended me. But he had. It wasn’t the rejection, it was the way he did it and refused to talk about it. I felt my needs weren’t even meaningful to him.

You know what I did, don’t you? While tears built up, I stood up and went to the other room to sleep. It was too much. He was dangling the affectionate touch he hadn’t given me the whole weekend before me. After a while, he popped in naked and only asked me, Do you want me to lick you?

You want me to come back to bed? I asked.

Do you want me to lick you? he insisted.

Of course, I’d love that, I said and kissed him. He stood up.

Well, you better come to bed then, he said and left.

I could feel his touch had a bittersweet taste at first. His tongue was more pointed, not as enjoying and lavish as usual. But I didnt’ mind it. He was offering this to me, it was his gift. I decided to take it. I pushed his hands against my sides, his fingers were on my back and on my tummy like he was holding my whole body, cradling it. He was warm and I left my hands against his arms. I felt connected with him again.

I didn’t try to build up the orgasm. I didn’t flex my body in desperate attempt to catch it. I didn’t give him any enhanced signals of what I was feeling. I let his touch flush over me slowly. It built up with my fantasies about being his little girl. In the dark. He always wants to see me, but it was dark now. I could feel his touch softening, surrendering, when I started to let out little sighs of joy, when I trembled and pulsed. His hands were looking for a different hold, his fingers trembled against my skin. It sent warmth through me. When I came, my cunt let out a little stream of wetness. Gentle sex. Getting to know each other again.

In the dark he came right next to me. I kissed him and hugged him. And then he could finally say it. What had been on his mind.

I just felt that you were pressuring me to have sex. I felt that I had to try to fuck you, because you said that we hadn’t had sex at all this week. You were pressuring me, and I didn’t want to have sex.

He was talking about the time Saturday, when we had to end it abrubtly, because it wasnt’ working out for either of us. But he thought it had worked for me.

That’s why I haven’t wanted to do any sexy stuff with you, he concluded.

I’m so sorry, I said and caressed him and held him as tight as my arms could. But I didn’t want to pressure you. I was okay with us not having sex. I was bewildered, when you started fucking me. I wasn’t even ready.

I was just expressing how I felt. It wasn’t meant as an accusation. It would’ve been just fine to talk about it.

But you said that how is it even possible to be tired from Friday’s fucking? he said.

I didn’t say that.

I was quiet for a while. I was pondering. Where had he gotten that idea? I knew I had been disappointed on Friday and Saturday, but I hadn’t said it, and certainly not like that.

I said I can understand you’re tired after a really hard week and the workouts and the possible cold teasing you… I said, because those had been my words. Although I had been really disappointed and he’d probably only picked on that and didn’t even remember my actual words.

No, you didn’t! he said, but didn’t seem so sure anymore.

Maybe you just have such mixed emotions about not wanting sex as much as I do. Maybe you read stuff into things that isn’t there, because you feel that you should fuck me more. I wasn’t pressuring you, because I love you and enjoy your enjoyment. I was okay with us not having sex.

It can’t all be in my head! he exclaimed.

No, yeah, I was disappointed and sad about it, but that doesn’t mean I’m pressuring you. It’s not your job to fuck me whenever I want it. I understand, if you can’t. I might be a little sad about it, but then we can talk and hug each other. There are always things we can do… I hesitated to say the last bit, because I thought it might seem like pressuring. It’s not his job to lick me or pleasure me by hand, either, if that’s not what he wants. But I guess he didn’t have a problem with that concept.

I kept going.

It’s like sometimes, when you get really angry at me for being angry at you – but I’m actually not angry! You just think I am, because you feel guilty over something. Like you feel guilty for not wanting to fuck me as much. You get so defencive and start to fight even, if I’m okay with everything.

You might be right, he says in the dark and looks the other way. I kiss his neck. I hug him.

I only want to be good to you, I say. I get off on it, remember? You’re just too hard on yourself.

I’m not, he snorts. But you’re probably right about the guilt thing.

Then there is naked cuddling and we fall asleep in each others arms. In the morning he wakes me up with a kiss like every day and says he’ll be going to work now and I say I hope he’ll have a wonderful day and he says the same to me. And then I get antoher kiss and fall back to sleep.

I think it might have been a shock for him to know how much I really actually need orgasms even if he didn’t say so. I’ve never revealed it to anyone, because it has felt possibly intimidating. And I think it was. He felt the pressure to give me more, since he knew exactly how many of my orgasms were coming from him (roughly half, I think). Maybe we’ll get back to it when things have settled, but for now I play when I like. It calms my nerves so I can handle Wonderboy’s guilt trips and also his rejections better. And he doesn’t feel pressured to do anything just because he knows exaclty how much I want.

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