Speaking Desire

March 12th, 2015

I should be sleeping, but brain is running and guts are being obnoxious. I’ve been meaning to post about desire this week. I posted a link to an article about it yesterday. Not just desire, but expressing desire. Out Loud. With Words.

I’ve posted many times about sexual shyness. This post isn’t about that. It’s about the words. It’s about asking for things. It’s about learning to speak, all over again.

I’ve gotten a lot better these past five years. Gods know he’s challenging me more and more to ask for things. I get frustrated sometimes. When did we have to start planning out scenes ahead of time? But his plate is so full of All The Things. Stress levels are high, and if I can reduce that by asking for things. By being specific. I damn well better do that. For him. For us. For me.

I’ve got a new relationship brewing. And this one finds my blushing adorable. This one finds it very entertaining to get me going, then stop and ask More? What now? What do you want? What would you like? And watch me blush and hide my face while trying to form words in answer.

I told him recently that I’m more used to accepting what’s offered than asking for more. I am afraid of being viewed as pushy or needy. But this relationship is challenging that. Given our schedules, and my only getting mine a week ahead of time, I have to ask to see him when I have days off. And not just to see him, but I have to ask to come to his. This goes totally against my ingrained programming to not invite myself over to someone else’s home. If I want to see him, this is what I have to do, for now. It is possible for him to come see me, just trickier. It has happened, in a manner of speaking, and will happen again at some point.

But this helps me. It helps me know that asking is okay. Every yes makes me more comfortable. Gives me more confidence when he asks the questions that make me blush. Helps me know that I am wanted, and that it is okay to ask for what I want. Even if some of them are no, it is teaching us to communicate with each other. Creating a safe space for that communication.

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At First Blush

June 5th, 2014

Over four years ago, I wrote a post called Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby. Where I talked about how sexually shy I am. A lot of things have changed in the last four years. I have gotten a lot more confident about my body, and comfortable wearing little or nothing. There was a big paragraph about the change to not wearing underwear, and now I hardly even think about it. I’ve had annual STD tests since that post, and can openly talk about sex with my Doctor. I can wander around naked at an event with no problem. And yet, someone pointing out my arousal still makes me blush.

It’s totally fine that I like getting the shit beat out of me in public, and can talk with people about masochism and submission until my voice is gone. But ask me what turns me on, and while I’ll tell you, my cheeks will be burning. Toss me over your knee and spank me in public – awesome. Point out that I’m dripping wet from it, and I will try to melt into the floor. Appreciate my screams of pain, and I’ll giggle. Appreciate my moans and gasps, and the blush will blossom.

But it works for me. That’s the kind of humiliation play that turns me on. I was recently asked how I process humiliation scenes. I told her one of my biggest fetishes is the bad little school girl. Feeling naughty turns me on. Self-perpetuating cycle.

 

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Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby…

April 8th, 2010

Sex was never discussed in my house growing up. Mom never had “the talk” with me, I had it at school from a silly video. It was mentioned by her twice in my life. Once, when a friend of hers had been embarrassed when her 8 year old daughter told her not to have sex if she didn’t want more kids and described the act very poorly because I had misinformed her, being only 9 and just previous to the talk at school when she had asked Me about it. So Mom asked if I knew how it really worked now, and I said yes and that was that. The second time was when we were out buying flowers for my wedding and she wanted to know if I had any questions and to tell me the first time might not be great. I rolled my eyes and said Mom… in that tone most of us perfect as teenagers. My Dad never discussed sex when I was growing up, though as he’s gotten older he’s discussed a lack of sex due to the ineffectualness of Viagra… thanks, Dad.

I only dated one boy for one weekend in High School, and that was only a couple phone conversations, so I’d never even been kissed before I got to college. My first three boyfriends freshman year took me from kissing through oral sex at a not-too-fast pace. It was not until the summer after my sophomore year that I had sex for the first time. Subsequent first visit to OB/GYN for birth control was a godsend as far as period control. I am now nearing 30 and have had a total of 8 sexual partners, 9 if you count 3 seconds of penetration as a sexual partner, I generally don’t. Only 4 of which were/are continuous sexual relationships. I had a few STD tests a couple years ago at the request of a life insurance company and in the past couple weeks, my new doc ran a full panel for me, results still pending, but I’m not expecting any surprises. (That’s why they’re called surprises, eh?)

So that background is all well and good, but what am I really on about? One of my hard limits is sex in public. Public generally being defined as more than two other people(other than the one I’m having sex with) being present. I blush when talking about sex, avoid using sexual terms in public and even in private sometimes. I’ll swear like a sailor, but ask me to say cock or admit I’m thinking about oral and I’m suddenly shy and flustered. Sex, to me, is a private thing, but even more than that, it’s something I find it difficult to be forward about.

One, on the private matter of sex. It is a personal thing, a private thing. Sex, to me, is an expression of intimacy shared between two people, maybe three. It’s a special kind of energy and I don’t fancy the intrusion of other energy into the mix. The excitement of having sex somewhere inappropriate and public has its allure, but the thought of other people watching and the threat of being arrested most often kills it for me. That’s not to say I haven’t had sex in a public park at night, but only when those two factors have been reduced to almost nil.

He asked me to go without panties recently and it was a huge deal. Let my most private and intimate bits be exposed under my skirt? Proper girls just don’t do that(when the hell did I become proper again?). What if someone sees? What if someone grabs me randomly? What if I get pulled over? It took some very serious conversation for me to get past the fear and realize that I was in control of myself, my safety and my personal space. Not to mention, my friends would be around me to protect me should anything go wrong. It was a very freeing experience, and the edge of fear kept under control was wonderful.

Two, on not being sexually forward. Communication is key. I’ve learned, though my journey in kink, that I have to ask for what I want, be clear about what I want and to accept what I want without being ashamed or embarrassed by it. Why hasn’t this transferred to sex as well? I looked back at my posts, even my erotica, I only mention fucking once at the very end. I don’t write overt sex scenes very often and it is even rarer that I share those that I do. I could blame my parents, I could blame my sheltered early life, I could blame being an introvert and generally shy, I could blame a Puritan society. Excuses, excuses, excuses. These are excuses I have let run my sex life.

How do I stop that? How do I let go of fear and embarrassment? Why am I afraid? What am I afraid of? Rejection? Do I think that if I suggest sex or oral or say I’m thinking about your cock, he’s going to say “No, how could you? What kind of girl are you?” How ridiculous is that? Seriously, I can asked to be beat, set on fire, tied up and swung from the rafters, and yet sex, that pretty much everyone on the planet has, trips me up. How silly and neurotic is that? Talking about sex is my Boggart in the closet (yes, a Harry Potter reference). Laugh at the fear to make it go away.

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