Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby

06/06/24  

I was recently listening to a podcast episode, aimed at women, about self-care and its importance to mental wellbeing. 

Within this context, the subject of masturbation was discussed; it particularly resonated with me when the hosts talked about how it can feel slightly shameful, that ‘nice girls don’t’ bullshit. Additionally, they discussed the sense of it being almost like a failing – having to do it for yourself because you don’t have a partner. 

They helped me to see that this body is mine, for me; it can give me pleasure and release, and I’m perfectly entitled to seek that.  In fact, it’s advisable I seek that. 

Up until listening to this podcast, I’d been so lost in emotional pain that solo sexual pleasure hadn’t really been on the radar; when it had blipped up, the idea felt so hollow and lonely, it had been utterly unappealing. 

Post-podcast, I’ve been working hard to keep in mind that my body is not his, and it doesn’t need to please him; my focus is on figuring out how to bring about the most pleasure for myself.  However, when I’m actually touching myself, I’ve still been thinking about him, I guess because I don’t have anyone else to put there.  

We had mutual kinks, although they were only briefly explored before it soured.  I’d never had any opportunity to explore that side of myself before.  I came close once or twice, but, wrong people; their responses left me feeling shamed and dirty so I ended up shutting all of those desires away.  

Some 10 years after we got together, in a rare, desperately vulnerable, can’t-hide-myself-anymore moment, I told him what I wanted.  To my utter surprise he responded with enthusiasm.  

At first it was great; our entire relationship felt regenerated, not just the physical side.  As ever though, our inability to communicate effectively meant it rapidly ended up being yet another thing that caused misunderstanding, emotional pain and distance between us.  

So, we’re only talking light bondage here, very much at the vanilla end of the BDSM scale, but what I was finding difficult was this underlying sense that he meant it.  The things he would say, the way he would treat me were all agreed, and I’m not saying it gave me no pleasure, but it was a mixed experience; I struggled a lot with his lack of aftercare for me – the absence of tenderness and reassurance made it feel on the wrong side of abuse (although that’s not a word I would have thought to apply at the time).  

I tried to raise it, he took a sulk and decided I was just telling him he was wrong, so the whole thing was abandoned, and for quite some time our ordinary, boring sex life was abandoned too.  Drought.  

Guess who got the blame for that?  

I’m not sure how I feel about that kinkier stuff now.  I could never, in a million years, have told him this, but the way it felt doing that stuff with him triggered way too much from my past.  I don’t know if that was specifically because of how he approached it, or if I’m attracted to it in the first place because of that shitty familiarity thing that keeps people like me repeatedly cycling through abusive situations.  That’s a conundrum for another time…  

Aaanyway, the point of all this is to note that a few nights ago I ended my mental-physical (mensical?) relationship with him.  I didn’t even set out to do it, it just evolved that way.  

It’s a little bit of a vengeful scenario, but hey, it’s my make-believe and I enjoyed it:

Basically, at some point future to now he calls me up and asks me to go out for dinner.

Throughout the evening, there’s an ever increasing build up of sexual tension.

We end up in my bed, fucking each other’s brains out, multiple orgasms, in a super kinky session, me appearing fully submissive. 

Afterwards, I immediately pull away, roll off the bed and slip on my dressing gown.  I turn to look at him, still lounging on my bed feeling pleased with himself, and tell him thanks for that, it was OK.  Now fuck off. 

He starts to protest but my reaction is to laugh:  

“Did you seriously think you could do all you’ve done, then just waltz back in?  I was horny and my regular guy wasn’t available. All this has done is remind me what a shit shag you are. It won’t be happening again. Now, as I said, you can fuck off.“

To be absolutely clear, none of that is going to happen.  Ever.  Well, apart from the bit where his dick never touches me again, not even in imagination; that bit’s factual.  

Since then, I’ve been slowly creating my new imaginary bed partner.  Interestingly, I have very little in terms of how this person looks; it’s been less about visuals and more about feelings; going with the emotions I want to experience before, during and after; being able to fully let go and be in the moment, rather than feeling like I’m performing for someone else’s pleasure.  

I’ve been successful enough, that on one occasion I experienced in actuality the emotions I was imagining.  There I was in my imagination, first time with Mystery Guy, moved to tears by the power of the whole experience.   There I was, in real life…  

It was a first for me.  I’m glad to know that I can climax through tenderness, even if it’s imagined.  When I’m healthier, when I can be sure I’m able to stay true to myself, I’d very much like to experience those feelings with someone 

I genuinely thought I could only get off with a more brutal and forceful approach.  I realise now that may be due to grooming, before and during my marriage to him.  As I said, I’ll look at those complexities at a future date. 

For now, I’ll bask in the contented glow my imaginary partner helped to bring about, and I’ll continue to do the self-improvement work that will maximise the chances of them one day being a reality. 

JP