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’

Sex and depression: I think I’m abnormal

Depression-FB

I knew I needed to go on anti-depressants about 18 months before I finally took the leap (well, had the breakdown) and went to the doctor (well, was dragged to the doctor) to finally ask for help.  I hate to admit it but one of the reasons I was reluctant to go on anti-depressants was due to fear they would have a bad impact on my libido.  My wife and I have always enjoyed an active sex life and I didn’t want that to disappear; I didn’t want to go from wanting sex numerous times a week to having sex once a month because I felt guilty for not wanting it AT ALL.

As I saw it at the time (and still do now) I was extremely lucky that depression hadn’t been a libido-killer in itself.  A lot of the literature I read explained a common symptom of depression was a lack of libido and potentially complete disinterest in sex.  For me that was never the case, even at my worst I wanted craved sex with my wife – if anything my libido increased – to the point I almost felt obsessed with sex.

I am the sort of writer who needs to be in a sexual state of mind to write about sex and it was a relief that even if I couldn’t be bothered having a shower, getting dressed, going out into public, I still wanted to write, and I still wanted to have sex.

At that initial appointment when I was put on Fluoxetine, the doctor warned me about a decreased or non-existant libido – and I worried about that – more than worried actually, to the point I considered not starting the medication.  I felt that without my libido, without that familiar part of my being I would become more of a shell.  I might have been depressed, I might have been moody, I might have wondered a few (million) times why anyone would want me… but I was still horny old Bree, I was still spending hours a week writing erotica.  It was really the only part of me that I felt wasn’t broken, as if it was the tiny little thread of sanity that was holding me together.

Imagining life without my libido, without my passion for writing erotica… it was beyond terrifying.  Then I put myself in my wife’s shoes and realised not going on anti-depressants because I wanted to retain my libido – while losing everything else – was plain old selfish, stupid, and just didn’t make sense.

Surprisingly, my fear about losing my libido never had anything to do with worrying that if I didn’t want sex, my wife would leave me.  This, from a woman who, not so long ago, used sex as a way to keep a relationship together.  I knew that if I never wanted sex again my wife would still be right by my side, being the utterly amazing woman she always is… I suppose that was the one positive out of that dark time in my life.  I realised I was indeed truly loved.  Sure, most of the time I had no idea why she would want to love me, but knowing I was loved really was a bright spot for me.

I went on my meds.

I waited for my libido to disappear.  It didn’t.  If anything it increased.

And the stupid thing about this?  I felt like there was something wrong with me.  Yeap.  Most people feel something is wrong if their libido wanes, but I wondered if something was wrong with me because it increased so much.  My wife, as usual, told me I was being silly and I was perfectly normal, but it took me a long time to believe her.

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Around four months ago my meds were upped and again I went through the ‘am I going to lose my libido’ panic, to the point that – yet again – I wondered if perhaps I shouldn’t start the increased dosage and stick to what was[n’t really] working.  My wife pretty much told me to get over myself (it was what I needed her to do, and I know it wasn’t coming from a negative place) and that if my libido did go wonky, we would deal with it.

The increase doesn’t seem to have effected my libido and I have finally accepted that I am one of the exceptions to the depression=low libido rule.

I have thought about it a lot however, and came to realise that for me, sex is part of how I cope with depression.  Some people use exercise as an anti-depressant, I use sexercise.  On a deeper level, I think it is my wife that is my anti-depressant.  Throughout this particular depression journey the one thing I have wanted needed is to be close to my wife.  I might push other people away and go even further into my introvert shell, but when it comes to my wife I need her right by my side as much as possible.  Just being in her presence has a calming effect on me.

With all this thinking about it, I realise that intimacy with my wifey is like a booster shot of sorts… we have sex and I instantly feel better on an emotional and mental level.  I suppose it’s because of the feel-good hormones released when orgasm occurs; I love being flooded with the post-orgasm sensations, physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually… that feeling of bliss and awe and… well, you know what I mean.

Sometimes my wife knows when I need an orgasm, before I even do.  I get into what we refer to as the ‘spiral of doom’, my mood plummets at an astonishing rate and nothing gets through to me.  Except those feel-good post-orgasm hormones.  Usually I go and hide in bed, my wife quickly joins me and before long I am deep in the throes – after I orgasm I am like a new person – and this is why my wifey refers to it as ‘resetting my brain’.   This is a treatment method I’m yet to discuss with my psychologist.

Because there is the potential for so many black clouds in my emotional and mental landscape, I have finally stopped wondering why I can still enjoy sex, and am instead embracing it.

Even if it does exhaust my poor wife.

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I am really curious to find out whether or not I am some sort of exception, so if you have experienced depression at any stage I would love if you could answer my poll, you can do an answer for non-medicated and medicated depression.

this has become a bit of a mantra for me... my wife makes me say it out loud when I'm in the depths of depression... slowly I am starting to believe it

this has become a bit of a mantra for me… my wife makes me say it out loud when I’m in the depths of depression… slowly I am starting to believe it

Leah and Beau see the New Year in with a bang

Yes.  Absolutely terrible pun for a title, but come on – it is the end of the year – I think we’re all entitled to a little craziness?  It is New Years jw056-350a-whiskey-on-the-rocks-whiskey-and-ice_1920x1200_69168Eve here in NZ (in fact, it’ll be 2015 in a little over 5 hours) so I thought to celebrate I would share a New Years scene from one of my stories.

Now, this story is an old one and probably won’t be published… but I absolutely love it.  I love the characters, I love the storyline… I just love it.  Maybe because it is one of the very first substantial stories I wrote?  I shouldn’t say ‘wrote’ because it is still a WIP, it probably always will be.  I can’t seem to finish things up for Leah, Jane, Beau, & Asher… it would be like saying goodbye to good friends for the final time.

I have posted excerpts from this story before… it focuses on girlfriends Jane and Leah, their bestfriend (and friend with benefits) Asher, and his friend Beau.  Long story short, Jane, Leah, & Asher have a threesome, become best friends, he offers to be a donor for them, they agree, Jane gets pregnant; the couple also has sex with Beau and as a result of the New Years Eve I am about to share, Leah also becomes pregnant.  Blah, blah, blah, yaddah, yaddah, yaddah, Asher meets the love of his life (Lucy), and over time Jane and Leah come to realise they are in love with Beau… as I am a fan of the happy ever after, it is no surpise that he is also in love with them.  Jane, Leah, & Beau all go on to live very happily ever after in polyamorous bliss… along with their tribe of children.

Ooops, I said long story short didn’t I.  More like long story not quite as long.

Before I ramble more, I shall say goodbye for now and leave you with that drunken New Years Eve that changed evvvvvvverything.

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“Thanks for inviting us tonight, it’s been ages since we did anything for New Year’s,” Leah said and Beau smiled.

“No problem. I knew Ash would be gone and that you’d probably be missing him, so thought you might enjoy a night out,” Beau explained. “It’s just a pity Jane couldn’t be here too!” he added.

“I know, but this pregnancy thing is taking it out of her. She is so tired, I don’t think she’s been awake past nine for the last week now,” Leah told him and he smiled sympathetically at her.

“What do you do all night long then?” Beau asked and Leah winked at him.

“Well, I’m writing a lot more than I have for the past year, so I guess my publisher will be happy with me!” Leah told him and Beau smirked. He had been told about the type of books Leah wrote, and the thought of her writing erotica stirred something inside him.

“What’s the new book about?” Beau asked and Leah winked at him.

“That would be telling,” Leah replied, cryptically. Beau laughed.

“Let me know when it’s published then,” Beau told her and Leah nodded.

“Maybe you’ll even get a free copy,” Leah suggested.

A waitress walked past carrying a champagne tray and Beau took two glasses and handed one to Leah. They ceremonially clinked glasses and took a sip.

“I haven’t been drunk in a lonnnnnng time,” Leah informed him and Beau laughed.

“After an incident a few months ago, neither have I,” Beau said with a wink. Leah laughed and winked back at him.

“I think I know the incident of which you speak,” Leah noted and Beau raised an eyebrow at her.

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” he replied.

“As much as I love this fancy sparkly stuff, do you reckon we can find something a bit stronger?” Leah asked and Beau grinned at her.

“I like the way you think,” Beau replied and then took her hand and led her toward the bar. “What do you want?” he asked Leah, curious to see what her answer would be.

“Whiskey and dry… might as well make it a double,” Leah replied and Beau couldn’t hide his surprise because he presumed she would ask for a vodka and orange juice or something equally girly.

After ordering himself the same thing he led her out onto the balcony with drinks in hand and they took in the view. They stood talking like old friends and, before he knew it, both glasses were empty – so he went back for another – and another, and another… and another. After the fifth drink, he lost count of how many they had had and when they started having their whiskey on the rocks knew they were in trouble.

At some stage in the evening, in an attempt to be responsible, he got them both water and they were sitting at a table talking when Michael and Maddi sat down in the two spare seats.

Beau had forgotten that Michael and Maddi were going to be there and greeted them both very happily. Maddi explained that they had managed to convince her parents to babysit for a few hours and told them she felt like she was missing a part of her body, not having Benjamin around. They spoke about Jane and Maddi promised Leah that the fatigue would start going away after the first trimester. Beau’s eyes glazed over a bit with all the baby talk – and it wasn’t entirely due to the alcohol consumption!

After a few minutes later Maddi and Michael left to look for ‘little nibbly things’ to eat and Beau led Leah inside in search of another drink.

With a fresh drink in hand, Leah and Beau explored the enormous penthouse suite. They eventually found themselves in a secluded hallway and both laughed when they talked about the shenanigans they could get up to in such a secluded part of the suite.

A look passed between them that left Beau unable to do anything but put his whiskey down on the sideboard they were standing next to, take Leah’s from her hand and put it beside his, then press her up against the wall and kiss the hell out of her. Leah kissed him back just as hungrily and when he tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth she moaned quietly and pressed her hips against him. When he broke off the kiss to catch his breath, he put his hands on the wall – one on either side of her head – and looked down at her.

“You know we don’t have to….” Beau started and Leah nodded.

“We probably shouldn’t… drunk and all,” Leah replied.

“Bad intoxicated decisions,” Beau agreed.

“Pregnant girlfriend home in bed,” Leah added.

“Drunk and all,” Beau noted.

“Boss kink… suit….” Leah said and ran her hand down his chest.

“Boobies… heels… boobies… boobies…” Beau replied, running a finger down her cleavage.

“Horny, so…. horny…” Leah said then bit her lip.

“Very very…” Beau replied, and when Leah pulled on his tie she smiled sexily at him.

“Need it…” Leah stated, firmly.

“Badly,” Beau added, and then moved his face very close to hers. “Jane did give us her express permission so how about we go to my house?” he suggested and Leah pulled on his tie as she kissed him.

“Now,” Leah exclaimed insistently against his mouth.

There was a cough to the left of where they were and when they eventually broke off the kiss and looked up, Beau was surprised to see Michael standing there, grinning.

“You are both going to be so hungover tomorrow,” Michael exclaimed and shook his head, then left the hallway. The exchange was over so quickly that, a minute later, Beau wasn’t sure if it had really happened or not. Had he imagined the exchange with Michael? What the hell would he think, seeing him and Leah kissing so hungrily? He was too drunk and horny to care…

Beau took Leah’s hand and led her from the hallway and out into the main part of the suite so they could get the elevator. When the doors opened no one else followed them, so for the 30 second trip down to the ground floor, Beau had Leah pressed up against the wall as they kissed passionately. Leah’s fingers snaked into the waistband of his pants and Beau let out a frustrated groan – he desperately wanted to be naked with her – but an elevator on New Year’s Eve was hardly the time or the place.

While they waited for a taxi to arrive, Leah went to the bathroom and came out a couple of minutes later smirking. She took her handbag off her arm then held it open in front of him – looking inside Beau could see Leah’s panties – and again the need to be buried deep inside her became overwhelming. He shot her a pained look and she smirked knowingly again. The taxi finally arrived and after what felt like a very drawn-out trip they were outside his house. Beau paid the driver and led Leah up to the front door, which he proceeded to press her up against and kiss her, while fumbling with his keys to open the door.

The door opened and they fell through, laughing as they stumbled and fell on the mat in the entry way. Beau laughed as he rolled on top of her and they started to kiss again, but this time with more ferocity than any of their prior kisses – most likely due to the fact they were finally alone – and in a sex appropriate locale. Leah moved her legs around his waist and pulled him against her. Even though he was fully clothed he began moving against her, enjoying the way it made her moan.

The kissing continued until they were both frantic and finally he moved off her and removed his pants and boxers. Leah’s handbag was beside her on the floor and when he looked back at her she was removing a condom from the box he had purchased earlier. She grinned as she pushed him onto his back and straddled his legs before carefully putting the condom on his cock, which was getting steadily harder.

With that little matter taken care of, Leah moved up until she was straddling him at the hips; after lining herself up she plunged down on top of him, letting out a loud cry as he hit the back of her pussy. Leah moved so her hands were either side of his head and as she rocked her hips against him they kissed, tongues tangling and grazing against each other while he moved his hands to her hips and pulled her down more snuggly against him. Leah’s began to move her hips harder and faster and even though he had a condom on, he was still very conscious of how good her pussy felt around him. As he began nipping at her neck Leah started to moan loudly and he found that the more contact his mouth made with her neck – and the harder the contact was – the harder and faster she moved against him.

Had he been sober he probably wouldn’t have started biting her so hard, but couldn’t control himself as he dug his teeth into the soft flesh of her neck, spurred on by the way she responded to the biting, her hips bucking wildly against his. He started to grunt as he felt his orgasm starting to build, and again pulled Leah down harder against him, enjoying the way she screamed as his cock hit a new spot inside her. Beau could feel her pussy clenching tightly around him and while he wished he could feel her without the barrier of a condom he also liked the fact that the condom was prolonging sex for them.

It couldn’t be prolonged forever though and when Leah started to move harder and faster against him, Beau felt the tension in his cock get to the point of discomfort. Leah started to scream loudly and he felt her pussy start to clench madly around his cock her entire body going rigid as her orgasm hit. Beau pulled her down so he could hit deeper and Leah managed to keep moving her hips until the tension inside him finally burst free and he groaned loudly as his orgasm hit. Leah continued moving her hips against him until his orgasm had waned and then she collapsed on top of him, giggling as he rolled them both onto their sides.

“Oops,” Leah exclaimed.

“I did not mean for that to happen!” Beau replied and they both laughed loudly.

“Who are we kidding, that was going to happen whether we wanted it to or not,” Leah giggled drunkenly and Beau nodded in agreement.

“Your fault, your boobies looking all… boobyish, with that deviously designed dress,” Beau commented.

“No, your fault, all suit and tie and boss-man looking,” Leah countered.

“Actually I blame you because of those damn heels you were wearing,” Beau decided.

“Wait, let’s blame Asher! If he was in town, me and Jane would be with him tonight,” Leah giggled.

“Yes. It’s Asher’s fault we got drunk and ended up having sex on my floor!” Beau agreed and they both laughed.

Beau got up from the floor and helped Leah to her feet before leading her into the lounge. He had been about to suggest they go to bed when he noticed that the clock on the wall read 11.56pm. So, rather than suggesting bed, he ran through to the kitchen and got the half-full bottle of whiskey from the cupboard, along with two shot glasses and took it back into the lounge where Leah was sitting on the couch, looking rather dazed.

“Almost midnight!” Beau exclaimed as he turned the TV on, and put it on the offical New Year’s countdown.

“Oooooooooooooooooooh, it’s the law to do shots then!” Leah said excitedly.

“It’s the ultimate law!” Beau agreed as he opened the bottle and filled the two shot glasses.

“What do we shot to?” Leah asked, giggling.

“I don’t think ‘shot to’ is the right word, but I can’t think of what it is, so… let’s shot to…. Jane being with child!” Beau proposed and they raised their glasses.

“To Jane being with child!” Leah said loudly and they both downed their shots.

“We can’t do a shot to Jane being with child, without doing one to baby daddy!” Beau noted as he filled the two glasses again.

“Yes! No! Yes! I mean….” Leah rambled.

“To baby daddy!” Beau yelled, and again they clinked their glasses and threw back their second shots.

“I know! We need to do a shot to whiskey too! Without whiskey, we wouldn’t be shotting whiskey!” Leah exclaimed and Beau nodded as he filled the glasses again.

“Very true!” Beau agreed.

“To whiskey!” Leah proclaimed, they clinked again and gone was the third shot.

They took their next shot when the clock officially struck midnight and, after having another four shots, saw in the New Year with a lot of kissing. Kissing that started out with them sitting side by side on the couch and ended with Leah straddling him, his cock buried deep inside her. Before she started to move her hips Leah literally tore his short off him – buttons popped off as it opened – and he moved forward so she could take the shirt off.

Finally she started moving against him and it seemed only natural for him to move his hands to Leah’s back and undo her dress zipper. Leah assisted him by moving her hands from his shoulders so he could pull the dress up and over her head, eventually casting it aside on the floor. Beau buried his face in her cleavage and grinned like a lunatic as he felt the soft skin of her breasts against his face. Naturally he felt the need to explore further so, in one easy movement, reached behind her and undid her bra – which soon joined the rest of their clothes in a pile on the floor.

Leah sat up taller so her boobs were in his face and as he took one nipple in his mouth, he could feel her pussy squeezing at his cock. The harder he sucked, the tighter Leah’s pussy squeezed his cock and the faster she rode him. Beau couldn’t get enough of her boobs and for a while all his concentration was on the way her nipples felt against his tongue and between his fingers. When Leah put her fingers under his chin and brought her mouth to his, it was as if he was snapped out of his nipple-rific daze and suddenly all he was aware of was the fact her pussy was drenched, and how hot and silky it felt as she moved against him.

Things progressed very quickly from there, one moment he was enjoying how hard her nipples were against his tongue, the next minute he was feeling the presure building inside his cock as she rode him speedily toward orgasm. Her pussy was tight around him, their pelvic bones were grinding together, her cries were loud and high pitched with his grunts and groans equalling hers in the noise department.

With arms tightly around his neck Leah rode him harder until she came undone, screaming as her orgasm burst free, seconds before his own hit.

Afterward, Leah collapsed against him and he buried his face in her neck, trying to catch his breath. Somehow they made it into his bed – with the premise of having sex all night – but that turned out to be wishful drunk thinking, because moments after their heads hit the pillow and the room began to spin, they both fell asleep.

Low self esteem & bad sex decisions

I need to print this out and put it somewhere I will see it on a regular basis...

I need to print this out and put it somewhere I will see it on a regular basis…

I posted earlier in the year about the sexually abusive relationship I was in, you can read that post here.  I know that part of the reason I allowed myself to be in that relationship for as long as I did was because of my low self-esteem issues and being convinced he was the only man who would ever find me attractive and want me.

My low-self esteem got me into other bad situations sexually – the moment a man paid me attention I would do anything to keep him happy, whether that was having a threesome with him and his friend or going home with him when I knew I had no way to get home in the morning.  I had more one night stands than I care to remember, if I am brutally honest I can’t actually remember how many I did have.  My late teens-early twenties were a blur of alcohol and one nighters, meaningless sex that made me feel good until it was over and then I felt even more worthless than I already did.

It was a horrible circle.  Attention would generally lead to sex, which would then lead to feeling good for a few hours, which would then lead to feeling worse than usual… then the following week, month, etc a man would pay me attention and I’d end up having yet another one night stand.  I couldn’t stop and looking back, I don’t think I wanted to stop.  The attention was something I craved; I liked to feel pretty, I liked to feel sexy, I liked to feel like a woman, I liked – for one night anyway – feeling as if I mattered to a man.

Sex destroyed some of my closest friendships.  I was a shitty, horrible friend for a while then.  The whole ‘chicks before dicks’ saying didn’t really mean anything to me, I needed sex.  I needed that attention, that reassurance I was just as desirable as any other woman.  I am ashamed when I think back to what I did, about the friends I hurt.  One friend was amazing enough to forgive me after I did something truly heinous (and if you are reading this, you know who you are…)… I still struggle with what I did to risk that particular friendship and really don’t know how she had it in her to forgive me.  I am pretty sure I wouldn’t have been able to.

I am a believer that sometimes our brains block out memories we don’t have the capacity to cope with.  Today I had what I like to call a mental unblockage.  Driving Miss 4 to preschool I suddenly remembered something that had happened when I was 24/25, I began shaking and found it hard to breathe, I needed to tell my wife about it before I had a complete breakdown.  Nope, I hadn’t even told my wife about the relationship in question – that tells you how bad it is – I share everything with my wifey.

As with my relationship I posted about earlier in the year, I chose to believe that this at-the-time boyfriend was just sexually adventurous, that what happened was all innocent fun.  With the benefit of hindsight I can see that he was actually grooming me for a pimp/prostitute type arrangement.  We decided one day it’d be fun to have a threesome, put an ad up on an online dating site and pretty soon after we had our third confirmed.  The night came and for whatever stupid reason I agreed it could be at my house.  Literally minutes before #3 was meant to arrive my boyfriend text to say ‘something had come up’ and he wouldn’t be able to make it, so how about I have sex with the guy then tell him allllllllll about it.  It would be kinky, he said

I had sex with the guy, I told my boyfriend all about it… we had pretty awesome sex afterward.

The following week he suggested I could do the same thing, that he would find me a guy to have sex with and then I could tell him about it afterward.  Deciding it would indeed be ‘kinky’ I agreed… I wanted to keep him happy after all.  If I wasn’t adventurous enough surely he would leave me?  I had sex with a stranger, again.  I told my boyfriend about it, again.  Before he even left to go home he suggested I do it again.  I didn’t really want to but knew I needed to be more open-minded so agreed.

Four or five times this happened.  A man would turn up on my doorstep.  We would have sex.  He would leave.

Each time I felt worse afterward.  I felt like a tramp.  I felt like a whore.

One day it occurred to me that that was essentially what I was to him.  I was his whore, he was my pimp, only there was no money exchanging hands.

That I knew of.

I broke up with him soon after my little epiphany and swore that that would be it, no more relationships that involved me doing things I was doing just to keep the man happy.  No more one nights stands, no more strangers, no more risky sex, no more risky situations.  What type of example would I be for my daughter/s in the future if I continued down that path?

Again with the benefit of hindsight, looking back I am pretty sure those little sex ‘arrangements’ weren’t as innocent as my ex made out.  In fact, I would be willing to bet he was actually making money out of it.

That end of that relationship brought with it a huge reality check.  For the first time since I had become sexually active I thought seriously about what it was that motivated me to seek out sex and to crave male attention so badly.  That period of time was full of self-reflection for me – and admittedly a lot of self-loathing – but I eventually came out the other side with a little more respect for myself and with a newfound understanding of the importance of being in control of my own self.  My dreams, my desires, my needs.

As the mother of three young girls I am going to do everything I can to make sure their self-esteem is high, that they have self-worth and know they are special, that they are important,  that they deserve only good things.  I want our daughters to grow up confident and to have  the mindset that they don’t need a man to be happy.  It might sound cliché, but I want them to love themselves.  I have never loved myself and I wish I had because I know certain choices wouldn’t have been made if I did.

Trust, respect & kinks

I try to insert my own thoughts into my blog, even if it is possibly not as often as I should.  Since I began embracing the erotica-author side of myself, my eyes have been opened to a whole new world.

I have met, mostly through Twitter, women (fellow authors) who are from a variety of sexual
lifestyles.  I have met monogamous women, I have met women who are single and enjoy casual sex, I have met women who are in polyamorous relationship, women who enjoy BDSM, women who are dominants, women who are submissives.  I have heard stories of dog collars, of spankings, of masters. I have heard about fetishes.  I have heard so many first hand accounts of lifestyles that until now made me blush slightly.

These women are just like me, and do not fill the pre-conceived notion I had of the ‘type of woman’ who would ‘be into that’… some of these women are the loveliest, sweetest, most intelligent women I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.  During all my discussions, there has been one constant, ONE factor which has been the same for all of them, regardless of what gets them off, regardless of the configuration of their relationship, regardless of the type of their relationship.

All of them have mentioned TRUST.

They trust the person/s they are in a relationship with.  They may call their boyfriend/husband/lover ‘master’, they may have three boyfriends, they may be submissive in the bedroom (or you know, the kitchen, the bathroom, the backyard, the secluded area in a very public place), they may be any number of things, but whatever the relationship dynamic, they have TRUST in the other person/s.

It got me thinking about my own life and the various situations I have found myself in.  I had the most deathly boring sex life with two of my exes, who I see now I was with for the wrong reasons.  I was with them simply because I wanted a boyfriend.  We had sex, it was very vanilla… we both got what we needed, but that was as far as it went.

In between those men, I found myself in a sexually abusive relationship, he forced me to be the submissive to his dominant.  At the time I was in my early 20’s, he was closer to 30, and for a start I thought it was great fun… I had never been with a man who was ‘a bit kinky’, and for a small space of time, I thought that was all it was, a bit of kink.  Looking back now, I can see he is a man that is very much a dominant, but what he did with me went far beyond dominating me.  He was sexually abusive, he was cruel, he was mean, he had no respect for me whatsoever, and though he said he loved me, I know he didn’t.  I was too weak to say no, to stop him and say ‘I don’t like this’… on the few occasions I did say no, or ask him to stop whatever it was he was doing, he would tell me that NO, he would not stop.  I was his ‘slut’, and I had to ‘take it’.

I think part of me knew it was wrong, that the relationship wasn’t a ‘kinky relationship’, as I called it to try and justify his behaviour.   In the end it took me six months to finally see the relationship for what it was, and then proceeded to have an emotional breakdown, right there on the spot.

I briefly, STUPIDLY let him back into my life for a month, three years ago, and in that month I realised he hadn’t changed, that when he said he ‘missed me’, what he really meant was ‘I am single, I need someone to control and hurt’.  Thank goodness I was wise enough to realise that I was a fucking idiot for letting him back in, and then closed the door on him for good.

After him, relationships scared me, men scared me, and when I would hear of BDSM and dom/sub relationships, I would screw up my nose and think about how awful the men who enjoy those relationships must be.  He really clouded my view on sex… and I went from being a woman who wanted to experience and explore sexuality, to a woman who wanted very vanilla sex, with a man who wouldn’t have the balls to tell me what to do.

Turned out those relationships weren’t very satisfying for me… not emotionally or mentally anyway.

THEN I met my wife, my wonderful, beautiful, amazing wife… and over time, my outlook changed.  It didn’t take long after we met (and were friends, nothing more) that we started talking about sex, and various fantasies.  I explained about my abusive relationship, and that any form of kink had been ruined for me, forever.  I was destined to a life of purely vanilla sex, I was sure.

Fast forward about 2 1/2 years… I am now married to that wonderful woman, and we enjoy a sex life full of kink.  Because I know some of our friends will be reading this post, I won’t go into specifics, but let’s just say, vanilla is only an ice cream flavour in this house!

WHAT made kink okay again?  Why do I get so incredibly turned on by certain things my wife does to me, that a few years ago would have terrified me?

Trust.  That is why.
Respect.  That is why.

If I didn’t trust her, there is no way I would be living out my naughtiest fantasies right now.  When we enter our little world of kink (not that it is very extreme!), we have fun, we enjoy it, we RESPECT each other… we are equals, I feel safe, and further, I feel loved.

I guess that is the moral of this little story… who gives a fuck what others do in the privacy of their own home (or secluded public space), as long as they have trust and respect?  I am sure there are ‘straight’ ‘vanilla’ couples out there who treat each other like shit, and then judge those with ‘alternative’ sexual lifestyles, and in that case, who is worse off?  The woman with 3 boyfriends who all love and respect her, or the woman who can’t trust her husband, who treats her like a maid?