In the past 6-7 months, I’ve released a lot of old fears, insecurities and unhelpful beliefs. I’ve cemented in my mind the sheer joy of fucking, rather than it being an obligation or a means to an end. But it doesn’t make it any less anxiety-inducing.
Fucking is glorious, whether a lazy Sunday morning session, when I’m half asleep and responsive to gentle pinches and manipulation, or far more urgent and primal, with grabbing and slapping and being pinned down.
I’m less stressed than I was about my body, and how it looks, than I used to be. I’ll never see myself through the eyes of someone I’m fucking and think that I look sexy or hot but I have learned not to get hung up on that. To let go of it and enjoy the moment. And that’s been a huge step forward.
What makes me anxious is knowing what to say and do.
I’m trying to leave my head more and talk more but that’s hard. It’s overcoming ingrained habits, ones of self-protection and having to live my kink life vicariously while tolerating vanilla sex that’s not turned me on.
Living in a head-bound fantasy, I was been able to orgasm and make my partners feel they were doing enough. It wasn’t necessary truthful, but I didn’t know how to be different or where or how to look for what I actually wanted.
I have such a limited vocabulary during sex that I worry I’ll be called out on it for repetition. I struggle to vocalise and the sound of my own voice still surprises me. I know this is about practice and experience. One day it won’t even occur to me as a source of worry.
And then there’s knowing what to do. So many years, I’ve been passive, letting it happen to me and not interacting. Not wanted to, being scared to. Wanting it just to be over for that session. Wondering “Is this it? What have I missed?” Sure there’s been the enjoyment of skin-on-skin and having that shared emotional connection, but the actual PIV just didn’t do it for me.
Now, in kinkier play, I can wriggle and struggle and use my words to say ‘no’ and ‘please’ and react in ways that are elicited from me. And restraint truly works. I don’t have to think about what I’m doing, I just have to behave and it enables me to let go.
When I have my hands free, I feel like they’re a spare part and start hyper-focussing on them. Or I’ll shove my hands under my hips and hope I can get away with it.
I only orgasm during PIV sex in specific variations of the missionary position, so sex in other positions is still relatively new. Previous relationships have either been missionary or me refusing to go on top out of lack of confidence. And because it left me bored, I didn’t really see the point of anything else.
Now, my favourite is being taken from behind, ass up, forearms flat on the bed. But I don’t volunteer myself that way. I wait to be told or moved. It’s safer. I don’t have to worry about getting it wrong.
And that’s the crux of the physical side of sex for me. I wait to be told. And I don’t/daren’t initiate. That’s still the echoes of that one night, so long ago. Whether that will ever fully leave me, I don’t know but as long as TSH or whoever I fuck in the future understands this, I’m okay.
I know that I am making progress. Sex is joyous and not an obligation. I’ve had a couple of self-induced multiple orgasms and managed to orgasm vaginally. The latter was bizarrely an anti-climax, but it happened and means that all the re-progamming of my head is allowing my body to do more and I’m certainly having more fun.
I think it’s all about letting go and enjoying the moment. When I do, fucking is elevated from good to great, but it’s hard to get there. I’m just going to have to practice…
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