Rape fantasy: yes, I have one

I have been wanting to do a post about rape fantasy for a long time now, but whenever I start the post I find myself staring back at a blank screen, unable to find the words to convey what I want to say… and perhaps subconsciously, a little embarrassed.  A year or two ago I read Garden of Desires, written by Emily Dubberley (highly recommend it!) and finally realised that I am not the only woman in the world who finds herself fantasising about rape.

HavingSexual-fantasy been in a sexually abusive relationship in the past – which included rape – the whole idea of a rape fantasy is extremely confusing to me.  To begin with I was highly ashamed about my fantasy, why the hell would I want to relive that feeling of having no control and of being taken against my will?  More to the point, why would my brain drift to that little place when I was having sex or masturbating, and why did it arouse me so much?

After a lot of research and admittedly a lot of soul searching I came to the realisation that for me (and it seems for most women) rape fantasy isn’t so much about the desire to be raped (I do NOT want to be raped, I want to make that clear!) but more about having control over the situation.  I know, the idea of rape = control for the victim sounds crazy, but it makes sense when you think about it.  The rape fantasy is happening in your head – ultimately it is you in control of the situation – unlike a real rape when the victim is most certainly not in control.

When my brain does ‘go there’ it is never a prolonged fantasy taking up hours of my time, in fact, it probably only lasts for a minute or so.  My fantasy-attacker isn’t always the same person either, but it is always a man who is well known and is in the public eye, never a stranger.  I think my brain goes to the people it does because I know they are widely respected and admired and a lot of them speak out against domestic violence and the like.  Essentially the men who rape me in my fantasies are men who are the complete opposite to the man who did rape me.

Rape fantasy, as I experience it, is purely a mental thing which stays in my head.  I can’t say what triggers it, but suddenly I am in the situation where I am being forced against my will to have sex with < insert man’s name here >.  He is being rough, the sex is hard and fast and hurts – but in that hurts-s0-good type of way – not in the type of way I physically experienced in my ‘real life’ rapes.  Sometimes he’s calling me a slut, sometimes he is telling me I deserve it, or that he knows I want it.  Sometimes he tells me I’m stupid or worthless, but in those instances that is how I’m feeling about myself in general, and I know it is really *me* subconsciously telling myself that I am those things.  The fantasy always stops just before I orgasm, then I am back in reality and 100% alert and aware that it is my wife causing the myriad of pleasurable feelings inside me; it is always her that takes me over the edge, never the fantasy.  It is my loving, safe, secure reality that I eventually enter back into when the post-orgasmic fog has cleared and my brain begins working again.

It is hard to explain, and I don’t know that I’m really portraying what I feel accurately enough!

I have no desire to act out the fantasy in role play, but in saying that I have nothing against those who do!!!  Rape fantasy – when role played – is ALL about consent, and it really pisses me off when people are judgemental bastards about those who partake in rape fantasy role play!  Equally, I understand that not everyone is going to understand where rape fantasy (as a whole) comes from… it’s like any sexual turn on or fantasy, different strokes for different folks, etc, etc, etc.

THIS is part of why I think #AdultSexEdMonth is so important.  It is all about educating people about all aspects of sex.  More than that, it is about opening up dialogue about aspects of sex that are treated as taboo or that simply aren’t acknowledged as being worthy of open, honest, frank discussion.  It’s about normalising and embracing sex and sexuality, it’s about acknowledging sex is a broad topic that should be seen as something that (so long as consent is involved) is natural, normal, healthy and, well… awesome.

from brotherdash.com 'most prominent words or phrases women used to describe their sexual fantasies'

from brotherdash.com
‘most prominent words or phrases women used to describe their sexual fantasies’

Don’t forget about the brain!

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When it comes to sex the focus is generally on the organs and assorted parts associated with it; the penis, the vagina, the clitoris, the anus, the g-spot et al.  I happen to think there is one very important erogenous zone that is ignored and perhaps a little taken for granted – the brain.

First of all I say it is taken for granted because the brain really is the reason we can have a sexual response at all due to the fact it’s the control centre of the body.  The penis and vagina (and associated parts) get all the glory while the brain is just sitting there, unappreciated and taken for granted.  But the brain itself is more than just a control centre – it is a huge erogenous zone, a zone full of often untapped, pleasurable, orgasmic potential.

Being in a long distance relationship for 12 months is possibly why I am so aware of the erogenous potential of the brain.  For those 12 months most of the sex we had was via the phone so a big part of what we had to do was talk dirty.  We had to verbally make one another horny and help the other to orgasm through use of our voices. We’d tell each other what we would be doing if we were together right that moment, we would make up stories, we would do whatever felt right in the moment, just as we would if we were having ‘real’ sex.  Fingers or vibrators were always part of this equation… until this one night.

For whatever reason my wife didn’t touch herself when I was making up a naughty story and before long she was moaning like she would if physical stimulation was involved.  I kept talking, she kept moaning, the story got dirtier, the moaning got louder and soon enough  my story and wife met a climax at the same time.  We laughed, astonished that she had had an orgasm without any physical stimulation involved.  I presumed it was a one off, a rare once-in-a-lifetime kind of feat.   I loved that I was wrong!

When we were finally living together I told her a story one night and again the hands-free-pleasure related moaning began.  I watched and spoke, she moaned and soon came.

After that I decided my wife either had magical powers or that perhaps she had a pair of invisible arms.  Neither would have surprised me.

Then it happened to me!

Only three days ago we were driving back from the beach.  The kids were in the back with our friend who is visiting, they were chatting amongst theselves and so were we.  My wife teasingly mentioned a photograph of a man I think is particulary divine that we’d seen on Instagram a couple of days earlier, the idea of a threesome was suggested and next thing I knew the walls of my vagina were tensing up like they do when we are fooling around in bed.  This image she  conjured up kept building and as it built so did that feeling of pre-orgasm inside me.  Usually when I get this tight feeling because I’m turned on, it disappears after a few seconds, but this time it did the opposite.

It got to the point I was gripping my wife’s thigh tightly, trying my hardest not to let out the moan that was so perilously close to escaping.  Every now and then she’d quietly add to the story, nothing dirty, just suggestive little words of encouragement that to anyone listening would have sounded innocent.  She knew what she was doing though and eventually I found myself digging my fingers into her thigh as an orgasm exploded, from seemingly nowhere.  I had to be silent and it was bloody hard… driving at the same time was also that would probably be considered ill-advised, but I really had no control over the way my body – or more accurately my brain – had reacted.

Moral of the story (besides me boasting about the awesomely unexpected orgasm I had!), test your brain!  Test the brain of your lover-type-person!  Use dirty talk, use naughty stories, think outside the box and come up with ways to test out the erogenous potential of your brain, or brains you have at your disposal (okay, that sounds kind of morbid… but you know what I mean!)

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50 Shades of… what’s all the fuss about?

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On Friday night I finally went to see Fifty Shades of Grey.

First thought?  I liked the movie a LOT more than the book… for one thing there was no inner goddess interrupting every five minutes!

Second thought?  Okay, the acting wasn’t the best, but as the movie went on the Christian Grey on the screen became closer to the Christian Grey I had imagined while reading the book.  Ana, on the other hand?  She reminded me so much of Cecile (Selma Blair) from Cruel Intentions that occasionally I forgot what movie I was watching, and kept expecting Ryan Phillippe to join her.

My main thought though?   I don’t know what all the fuss (ie critique) is about, with regard to the movie itself.  I personally thought the movie portrayed the relationship very well, particularly with regard to Ana willingly consenting to the type of relationship Christian wanted.  I didn’t see it as an abusive relationship – whereas in the book I did (to an extent) – I don’t know that it is a portrayal of a typical BDSM relationship, but it wasn’t something either of them jumped into quickly, or without discussion.

Having been in a sexually abusive relationship – masked as BDSM – the situation between Christian and Ana was 50,000 times different to the relationships and dynamics I experienced with my ex.  If it were an abusive relationship Christian wouldn’t have allowed Ana to make amendments to the contract, he wouldn’t have laid it all out like that for her.  He wouldn’t have cared about what she wanted or didn’t want and would have gone ahead and anally fisted her, not caring it was on her list of NOOOOOO NEVER EVER EVER.

I got the feeling by the end of the movie that Ana felt empowered and strong.  She had the lady-balls to tell Christian she did NOT like the way he was treating her and that the relationship had gone too far.   No way was she going to put up with it any longer, and she told him so.  She left.

Yes.  She LEFT.  She stood up for herself and left.

Leaving isn’t something done easily in a sexually abusive relationship.  In fact it is a bloody hard thing to do… so hard that a lot of victims just don’t do it.  But Ana, the first occurance of Christian taking things too far, the first time she felt as if she was out of her depth, the first time she felt he didn’t truly respect her, she left.  Yes, she is the one who told Christian to take her into the red room and show her what he was really like… but when she realised she couldn’t handle that version of Christian, she left.

It occurred to me while talking to my friend about the movie on the way home, that if Fifty Shades of Grey (the books) didn’t exist, but the movie did, people would go into the movie with a far more open mind.  Rather than seeing it as a story of sexually abusive domination, perhaps they would see it as a story about BDSM, about another sexual lifestyle?  Rather than seeing it as a story about an older, powerful man controlling a younger, naive woman, people would see it as a story about the importance of consent in relationships?  Rather than seeing it as an example of a woman caught under the spell of a messed-up control freak in all aspects of life, they would see it as the journey of this woman from timid and shy, to empowered and strong, strong enough to walk out when she felt she wasn’t being treated with the respect she deserved.

As for people complaining about the supposedly explicit sex scenes?   I have seen far more explicit sex scenes in mainstream movies!  Sure, it was a bit weird to be watching them on the big screen with strangers around me, but I have certainly seen worse.  It definitely deserves the R18 rating, but it most certainly wasn’t ‘pornographic’ as has been stated in many articles I’ve read.

If I am honest… I loved the sex scenes!  I thought they were tastefully done, showing enough to get your heart racing, but not so much it felt as if you were watching bonafide porn.  With regard to the BDSM scenes (spanking etc), I think those were particularly enjoyable to watch, and I can guarantee you that after seeing the movie, couples would have stopped at their nearest hardware store to buy a length of rope, or made good use of ties, experimented with feathers and other fabrics on the skin, on blindfolding and teasing each other.  It was by no means gratuitous, it was by no means violent (with the exception of the very last scene in the red room, when Ana decides she’s had enough).

No, this movie isn’t going to be to everyone’s liking, in the same way Avatar wasn’t to everyone’s liking, or The Notebook, or Armageddon, or American Pie, or Toy Story, or (this one shocks me!) Grease.  People who see the movie have every right to give their own review, their own critique… but if you don’t see the movie you have no right to bash it, to be negative and insulting about it.  Roll your eyes all you want, think every negative thing you want, but until you see it for yourself you don’t really have a right to give any form of feedback, negative or positive.

I have to share this because I'm a lip biter with a major elevator sex fetish...

I have to share this because I’m a lip biter with a major elevator sex fetish…

Women shaming women

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This post has been sitting in my draft folder for a couple of weeks now, or at least the mostly blank page, bar a couple of little notes.  I resisted writing it because if I had done so when I first saved it, it would have been a huge, angry, one-sided rant, mostly fueled by my sensitive nature; I get so damn offended, so damn easily.  On top of that I have this huge problem with not feeling good enough, with feeling as though everyone judges me, with feeling as though I don’t fit in.

What was it that sent me into this whirl of anger and… well, pissed-off-ed-ness?  Fifty Shades of Grey.  That’s what.

When the movie was finally released and reviews began rolling in, I started to get defensive.  Everything I read (and I’m not exaggerating when I say everything) in that first 24 hours suggested that if a woman wanted to see the movie, there was something badly wrong with her.  Amongst the reviews were people suggesting anyone who saw the movie was insulting all the women who fought so hard for women’s rights,  that they were essentially saying it was acceptable for men to control women in all senses of the word

Before I turn this into the rant it would have been a couple of weeks ago, I’ll move on…

What I realised, after a long talk with my wife, is that women are far too good at shaming other women.  No, not all women do this, but it seems women are judged for almost everything they do, that if they don’t do things a particular way, if they don’t feel a particular way about something, then they are scum.  Or this is how it seems to me anyway.

I always knew women could be bitchy, but it wasn’t until I became a parent that I realised just how nasty women can be to one another.  To start with, I was a single parent… there was a look I used to get, always from other women, the type of look that said ‘something is obviously wrong with her if she can’t hold down a man‘, then there is the ‘I bet she got pregnant after a one-night-stand and didn’t even know the guy’s name‘.  Not only was I a single parent, I was a single parent who gave birth via cesarean section – twice – and formula fed both babies.

To a lot of women, cesarean section seems to equal taking unwarranted risks, and endangering the life of mother and baby; similarly when it comes to formula feeding, it seems to equal not caring about what is best for your own child, being completely ignorant, and putting your own needs ahead of your child.  What BOTH of these scenarios in particular have in common, is that all the judgement thrown around makes those who didn’t have a natural birth and/or  didn’t breastfeed feel as if there is something wrong with them as a woman.

I remember being told by more than one person “Women’s bodies are created to give birth naturally” – and I knew this actually meant “you’re not a real woman because you opted to have your baby arrive via a surgical procedure” or “I went through 20 hours of labour, I deserve to be proud… you had a 45-minute-long surgery and didn’t do any hard work, pfffft, and you call yourself a woman?!”  My first cesarean was an emergency delivery, my second was because my anxiety disorder meant I was terrified of the process of giving birth, terrified of being the one responsible for bringing a baby into the world, being responsible for making sure she entered the outside world without dying.  To say I was terrified is an understatement.  Do I wish I could have delivered naturally?  Yes, I do.  I had dreams of a waterbirth with my first, and fantasised about a homebirth with my second.  I wasn’t strong enough to fight the anxiety-ridden part of my brain.

I lost count of the number of people who commented “Oh…. so you’re not breastfeeding?” when they realised I was feeding either of my babies with a bottle.  It was always said with shock, with disappointment, with disgust even.  I managed to give my eldest breastmilk until she was 14 days old and my second until she was four or five days old.  I TRIED MY HARDEST.  Those people who gave me the look had no idea of the hours I’d spent crying, upset because I couldn’t do what I should naturally be able to as a woman.  They had no idea how much I hated myself for not being able to perform this one task other women seemed to be able to do no-handed.  They had no idea how depressed it made me, how guilty I felt, how inferior, how useless, how worthless it made me feel.  I saw a lactation consultant in hospital with my youngest, but that was the one time she actually fed well.  She told me I would do fine.  I left the hospital and it was just me.  No nurses to help latch her on, to talk me through what I was doing.

One of my problems was my relatively flat nipples, the other was the fact my boobs are HUGE.  My babies DID get smothered by my boobs while they were feeding, the nurses at the hospital told me, the midwives told me, I could see it myself.  I tried all the positions I could to find the one that worked, but none of them did, not for me.  As I said, hours were spent crying about it.  Rather than enjoying breastfeeding for the bonding experience it should have been, I dreaded it…  I was told flat out by THREE people that big boobs isn’t an excuse not to breastfeed… but how would they know?  They had normal-sized boobs and more than that, they had the support at home, someone to sit and help them try to reposition the baby, to speak words of encouragement.

I already felt bad enough about not having the natural births I wanted, about not being able to breastfeed for 12+ months… but other women made me feel worse, a lot worse.

And this is how I am made to feel about wanting to see the Fifty Shades movie, and having read the books.  All three of them.

Do I think the story is an accurate depiction of a BDSM relationship, or the BDSM lifestyle?  No.
Do I think the relationship in the story is healthy?  Not particularly.
Do I think the story is well written?  No… I don’t.
Do I want to see the movie for any deep, philosophical reason?  No.  I want to go because… SEX!  Sex.  I love sex and seeing sex in movies.
Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, their own thoughts on the matter, their own reasons for liking or disliking something… but should that opinion entitle us to shame another woman for liking or disliking something?  For doing or not doing something?Hell.  No.All the articles and posts on social media that pissed me off, I could have responded to negatively, starting an argument; but I didn’t because I know every single person who states an opinion on a matter does so for their own reasons!  It’s not the opinions that get to me, it is the attitude of ‘I believe ____________, so if you don’t believe __________ as well, there is something wrong with you’.  It’s the ‘I’m looking down on you for wanting to _____________’ / ‘I’m looking down on you because you did/didn’t _____________’ attitude.  It’s the seeming desire to make other people feel inferior for living their life in a different way; for choosing a particular parenting method, for formula-feeding rather than breastfeeding, for liking a certain band, for liking a certain author, for liking a certain genre of movie, for being in any relationship other than a heterosexual monogamous one, for having a particular kink, for having a particular job, for liking sex, for not liking sex, for their weight, for their fashion sense, for wanting children, for not wanting children.As you can tell, this is something that has really been eating away at me!!!  If you are still following, I applaud you.I just wish people would focus on the positive things to have come out of the ‘whole Fifty Shades thing’.Alternative relationships are being spoken about!  Never has BDSM been spoken about so much in the mainstream, and I think it’s great.  It’s not something that should be hidden, it is something that should be spoken about, that people should be informed about, that people shouldn’t feel ashamed for feeling curious about!What constitutes abuse in a relationship is something else being spoken about.  The relationship between Ana and Christian has made people consider what abuse looks like in a relationship, that it’s not always as obvious as a black eye or a fat lip.  People are discussing what is healthy and what isn’t healthy in a relationship, about control and manipulation, about sexual abuse, about the importance of consent, the need for communication.SEX is finally being spoken about in a wider context, and I think it’s brilliant. … I would love to know how many people, after reading the books or seeing the movie, have decided to explore their own little kinks?Imagine a world where spanking was something openly spoken about in the break room at work.  When you could tell tales about that time you tried out those really intense nipple clamps.  Or maybe about that time you tied him up and flogged him.Okay, I doubt the above would ever happen, but I guess what I’m trying to say is that the world would be a better place if we could be more open about sex… and perhaps Fifty Shades is going to play a tiny little part in helping us evolve toward that point.

Undressing each other – is it a myth or are we a bit abnormal?

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I was in bed with my wifey this morning and we were discussing what is going to happen next in the WIP I am currently working on.  The characters are going to have sex (writing erotica it is a common occurance!) and I mentioned them having a chance to finally have ‘nice slow, undressing each other sex’.  My next comment was WE NEVER UNDRESS EACH OTHER!  Then I thought about it more and I honestly can’t remember having sex that involved nice slow undressing of one another.

I’m sure it must have happened to a certain extent in the past.  Perhaps I had help taking my top off, perhaps I helped him undo his pants… but I don’t remember having an experience like the ones so often portrayed in film and books…

You know the type.  A couple take their time to undress each other, enjoying each newly bare piece of flesh, exploring with their hands and/or mouth, until they are standing together naked and one of them pushes the other person down on the bed, up against the wall, onto the chair, onto the table, onto the hood of the car, onto… well, you know what I mean.

So, my question for you, dear blog followers… is this type of undressing a common part of your sex routine?  Is it something that happens once in a while?  Is it something that has happened on a couple of occasions?  Never?

I am trying to decide if the ‘whole undressing thing’ is some sort of myth created by writers (of movies/tv shows & books), or if we are the only couple in the world who don’t do this?  Maybe it has something to do with the four kids in our house.  We don’t (generally) have the luxury of a nice slow undressing and being able to take our time.  As it is, most of the time any sexy shenanigans are initiated when we are already in bed.

I would love if y’all could take the time to answer my poll with regard to sex with your current partner/s… I really am curious about this!

My wife is a mind reader – I think it’s a sign

it's the truth!

it’s the truth!

In (gosh, now I need to think) early January 2006, I got my 4th tattoo.  It was on my right ankle, while on holiday in Australia.  I got a silver fern – New Zealand’s national emblem – ironic really, considering I got it in Australia.

Anyway, at the time I remember thinking that the tattooist was hot and soon after acknowledging that, I began having very inappropriate thoughts.  I imagined there was no one else in the tattoo stuido and we ended up having sex – lots of it – all over the studio.  On the chair, on the benches, on a couch in the waiting area, against the wall, on the floor.  You get the gist, if there was a surface that was stable enough to hold the body weight of two people, sex would be had on/against/in/under it.

photo credit: Getty Images

photo credit: Getty Images

I got a tattoo in April 2007, again, I was lucky enough to come across a hot tattooist (maybe it’s to do with the fact I think tattoos are damn sexy?) and again, during all the ‘bzzzzzzzz’ing’ and the pain-that-isn’t-really-pain, my brain wandered and I made up a naughty little tattooist and tattoo-ee scenario.  From memory that one involved him taking me from behind, up against the bench in front of a mirror that was the width of the wall.

Not long after my wife and I got married (legally it was a ‘civil union’, but fuck that, to us it was our wedding and our upgrade from civil union to marriage five months later was more of a technicality than celebration) we got matching tattoos.  Now, that time the tattooist didn’t really do anything for me (though I did like dem tats!), but by that point I was writing erotica on a regular basis and rather than imagining I was having sex, I wrote a story in my head.

I never got around to writing that story, but ever since it has been lingering in the very back of my mind.  Every now and then, usually upon seeing photos of deliciously tattooed men, I go back into that little trance and the story plays out in my mind.  It’s been close to two years since that last tattoo and I have never mentioned a word of it to my wife.  She had no idea about my little fucking-the-tattooist fantasy.

Until tonight.  The bitch (and I say that in the most loving, adoring way) read my mind.

We were watching the NRL 9’s (a rugby league tournament that I’m sure 99.9% of you won’t have heard of, and will be thinking ‘wtf?’) and I reacted rather strongly to a particular player who, as you might guess, had tattoos.  He was very easy on the eye with many visible tattoos (and upon researching, many that are hidden beneath his footy jumper), what else was I going to do?  Yawn?

My wife, in all her wisdom pipes up with:

YOU SHOULD WRITE A STORY ABOUT A WOMAN GETTING A TATTOO WHO HAS SEX WITH THE TATTOOIST

I shook my head and asked her if she was a mind reader, then went on to explain the ongoing tattooist/tattoo-ee fantasy that has been living in the back of my mind.

Being one that believes in signs, I now have a strong feeling that the time has arrived to bring that fantasy to life, in the written form anyway.

Unless my wife becomes a tattooist.  I’d totally tap that!

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Is the guilt ingrained?

Hello-I-m-Horny-T-Shirts

For the best part of two weeks now, I have been incredibly horny.  Not a little horny, not a lot horny, incredibly horny.  I have had sex dreams most nights for over two weeks, I can’t control myself around my wife,  I can’t stop thinking naughty thoughts or plotting naughty scenes for various half-written stories.  I want to orgasm, I want to make my wife orgasm, then I want to do it all over again.

Not something I should be complaining about, right?  Well try and tell my brain that.  I felt a bit (mentally) off most of yesterday and last night ended up close to tears because I felt so damn guilty for being so bloody horny all the time.  I preach about women embracing their sexuality, about allowing themselves to be the sexual beings they want to be, I complain about the double standards when it comes to men and women and sex; yet there I was last night, apologising to my wife for being ‘too horny‘.

I cannot explain why I feel so guilty about what is a natural impulse I have absolutely no control over.  The rational part of my brain knows it’s stupid to feel guilty about such a thing and that in reality, I am lucky that I can feel so horny.  I know it’s a great thing that even after three years my wife turns me on so much and that I would spend all day having sex with her if I could… I know it says a lot about our relationship and our connection.

But still guilt bubbles up from somewhere.

I have to wonder if it is ingrained?  That perhaps over time the sexual double standards and inequality between men and women has i-try-to-keep-calm-but-im-always-horny-1caused this guilt to become a natural part of our psyche.  Women aren’t meant to like sex.  Sex isn’t about pleasure, it’s about procreation.  A woman who likes sex is a slut.  A woman who likes sex deserves to be shunned.  A woman shouldn’t have control over her own sexuality.  A woman needs to fit into certain categories to be considered attractive.  Respectable women don’t have sexual fantasies or desires.  Women can’t be happy with the way they look.  Women need to strive to have bigger _____, smaller _____, smoother _____, longer _____,  shorter _______, wider ______, narrower ______.

OBVIOUSLY there is something wrong about a woman who enjoys sex and has thoughts of a sexual nature!

I hate that I feel guilty for being horny.  For wanting sex.  For fantasising.  For imagining.
I hate that I feel as if my being horny is in some way an annoyance for my wife (even though I know that isn’t the case).
I hate that I am viewing who I currently am as sexual-being, in a negative way.

To a certain extent I feel like a bit of a fraud.  I like to think I am sex-positive and do my bit to help encourage women to allow themselves to embrace sex and sexuality – but here I am – feeling sex-negative, trying to find a way to stop myself feeling horny, wishing that I didn’t enjoy sex quite as much as I do.

When I speak to my wife about it, every conversation includes me saying the five words ‘I feel like a man‘, and I think that sums this whole situation up.  It is okay for men to be horny 24/7 (like I am currently), to want, need, demand sex, but not for a woman.

I guess most of all I am angry at whoever it was all those years ago that said ‘hey, dude – I don’t think women should be allowed to be treated as equals – especially not when it comes to having and enjoying sex!’

If I could go back in time and hammer-punch that douchebag in the mangina, I would do it.

 

* it probably doesn’t help that my wife and I have been having a ‘Channing week’ and have been watching this particular dance scene from Magic Mike far too often (okay, maybe not enough…)