Why Do I Let A Guy Dominate Me?

I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Possibly because someone asked me to explain why I like being submissive, particularly because it’s so opposite from how I am in my everyday life. But before I do, I want to clarify just what kind of submission I’m into and I also want to address this article that was in The Guardian this week – because it asks us all to examine ourselves and why we might be into BDSM. I do note though that it mostly asks women to consider why they like being dominated by men, glossing over or ignoring the equally numerous men who like to be dominated by women.

What I am not going to do is go into any detail about the case that prompted The Guardian piece. I don’t want to feed into it and I feel the media frenzy around it has been slightly disgusting; I was told today that nearly all the Irish papers had pull out sections last weekend focusing on it? And even though I am not trying to sell papers I still don’t want to give it any more inches or use it for my own purposes. It’s easy enough to find elsewhere if you want more on it or in fact are not aware of what I’m referring to.

 

I am not a qualified psychologist but I did do a year of psychology in college and I am fascinated by why people do what they do and what motivates them to do it. And I of course try to turn this on myself, and understand why I like things a certain way and why I get such deep pleasure from things being the way I want them. I have no big answers but I have some guesses that I’m pretty happy to accept.

 

I like submission when I know I am surrendering control to someone else, when I know that they are in charge, they are directing things and they are responsible for both of our pleasures. That gets me off, the surrendering of control. It’s such a release and such a relief. I love knowing that I’m not responsible that I don’t have to think. If I just do as I’m told then everything will come to me. Only in this instance do I enjoy the not knowing what’s going to happen to me. Because I hate it everywhere else.

But why do I like this?

 

think I know.

But I will just repeat that I am not a professional and these are the musings of someone who has read too much but has no qualifications in the matter.

I am an independent person, I live in my own house, by myself. I pay all my bills and I get help from no one. (not that I should need any) but all decisions in my life; from fixing the boiler to will I go for that new job are all things I have to deal with myself. In fact I have been doing that since I was 18 and moved out. But I’d probably been looking after myself long before that. I’m not at all suggesting that I was neglected but my parents had a hands off approach to parenting. They’re great people but they’re so wholly unorganised I just can’t believe they function. Things would get promised and then never happen – they wouldn’t think about booking ahead or factoring in something and the thing we were supposed to do wouldn’t happen. They were, and are, fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants kind of people. And what this bred into me somewhat was a need for planning and organisation and the understanding that if you don’t plan and organise things just won’t happen. This is very stressful for a kid, I could never feel sure that they had remembered to get the items for the costume for the school play. Or the ingredients for cooking class. They did sometimes, probably most times, but not always and the times when it was forgotten were just so mortifying.

So as an adult I am a bit of a control freak, I just don’t believe that anyone is going to do anything that I ask them, sadly I also think that they’ll say no. And so to avoid the disappointment of being let down or the shame of being declined I don’t ask. Or I rarely ask. It makes me an awful delegator at work, I just can’t do it. I am over simplifying this but you see where I’m connecting the dots.

 

But what has this to do with submission? Well, because I am so loath to release control, if someone can make me give it to them then it is actual bliss. If I can trust you to take over, trust you to know what I want then it is the sweetest, most delicious thing. I can just let go and not think… for once. It is physically, mentally and sexually exquisite. It makes me feel looked after, cared for. Letting someone in, allowing them take care of me. That’s what surrendering feels like. And that’s very hard for me to do.

 

It probably helps that I do absolutely love a cock in my mouth and am very happy to be told what to do there or even forced to do it. Also probably doesn’t hurt that I adore being fucked from behind, again a position that can be considered somewhat submissive or derogatory, something I personally don’t understand.

And of course I don’t mind having my arse tanned a little.

 

What I don’t want is to be in any real pain. A few bruises across my arse cheeks are ok, but not many. I really don’t like to be slapped hard, pain is not a turn on for me and nor is the anticipation of pain. It’s a fine line isn’t it? And you certainly need to be very clear with your partner about what is and isn’t ok. I detest calling him sir, I rail against it with every fibre of my being, but I will say it because it’s all part of the game and what we’ve discussed is ok. There are so many nuances but essentially I know I’m topping from the bottom in the sense that I’ve told him what I like, what turns me on, I’ve given him parameters and anything within them is what I want.

 

 

What I never want is any kind of humiliation. I can see why some people might be into it, but for me I don’t ever want a facial. I just don’t want someone to wank into my face. I’ll get on my knees and you can wank into my mouth, or you can fuck my face… but finishing there is just not to my taste. I don’t want to be peed on either – I could pee on you if you wanted? But that’s where it starts and ends. But in the interest of being thorough, I’ll be delighted if you came on my tits. See, these things are just so personal and you don’t ever know what’s ok unless it’s discussed.

 

I also don’t want to be verbally humiliated – I don’t even have an example? I’m fine with being called your ‘whore’, or your ‘fucktoy’ or ‘dirty bitch’ all of these are welcome. I’m not so totally sure that I’m fine with ‘slut’ and I can’t fully say why? And of course the ever troublesome yet cunt tightening ‘Good Girl’. I hate this more than having to say Sir  – and yet, I love it. I love it because I hate it. There is something so condescending and proprietary about it that the sub in me loves. Maybe because it reminds me to rail a bit against the dom? Who knows, I can only tell you what it does to me.

 

What I mostly want, along with the cock in my mouth, is to feel wanted to feel desired. Part of my kind of submission is wanting you to tease the everliving fuck out of me just to watch my reactions. I love this more than anything. I want someone who is eating me because they want to, for their own gratification at seeing what they can make my body do, at the power they can wield over me, controlling my pleasure. Teasing me, giving me little bits, not letting me have what I want until they decide.

 

Sometimes I have to ask for this, I have to ask very specifically, which is what I mean by topping from the bottom. I asked recently and this is how it went.

We’re lying in bed kissing, properly getting fully at it. ‘You really get turned on by kissing, don’t you!’ he says, somewhat bemused. I do, and I don’t care, I know what I want and I’m miraculously about to ask. ‘I think I know what I want right now’ I pull myself away to say. ‘Well tell me and maybe I’ll give it to you’ I’m not thrilled with this but I know I am going to ask. ‘I want you to eat me’ I manage to say but am stalled when he says back ‘well climb on then, I’d love you to sit on my face’. This isn’t what I want though, I don’t want to be in control of it, I need him to be and I’m going to have to clarify that. Damn. It’ll be worth it, I know. But I’m faltering and I know my issues with asking are rising. I’m going to have to say this now before I lose my nerve and any arousal I had. I think he picks up on this and I am encouraged, something he says, something in his demeanour? I’m not sure but I’m reassured. ‘No, I don’t want to be on top. I want you between my legs. I want you to take ages before you even touch the lips. Kiss all over that freshly waxed mound. Make me beg. Oh, and you probably need to leave my arse alone, it’s out of action after what we got up to last night’

‘Duly noted!’ he laughs. But as he climbs over me to scooch down between my legs, I catch him, he is between my legs but still at head height, I have my arms around him and we start kissing again. I can feel his hard-on catch on the outside of my lips and I move my hips up to catch it more. He knows what I’m doing, he’s no fool and he lets me but then pulls away. As I push up to meet him he controls whether he’ll let my now glistening lips part further. I am excited now, swollen and wet from the kissing and breathless from the teasing jabs I’ve had of his cock. I pull him in tight to me, trying to get him in – I think I’m just going to lose control and just have sex. But he knows better. He lets me think that’s what’s happening, he plunges into me once, for a millisecond, then out, then in again, for less time and when he pulls out he swings down so he’s flat on his chest with his head between my thighs. I am gasping and out of control.

That can’t have been easy for him.

I am squirming and I want something but it’s too late, I’ve already set the rules and he’s going to abide by them. He starts with the crease that joins my thigh to my cunt. He works one side then the other. Never even glancing off my lips. He licks and kisses and then blows on it. This feels nice but when he blows on the lips, the only attention he gives them I moan and hold myself back from a begging ‘Please’. He moves over the mound with his lips and tongue, again blowing where he’s made it wet. But all this does is serve to make me want it on the lips – which is the whole point. These areas feel good but they are not what I want, their niceness only amplifies my need to feel it elsewhere. He repeats and I do then start to beg. ‘Oh god….. please. Please’. But nothing. He keeps away and all he will give me is the occasional blow on them. I start to raise my hips up to him, I am pushing my cunt into his face but he’s still not going to give it to me, I can barely contain myself, I want his tongue in me, I want him to part my lips with it and to suck my clit so hard then work it steadily with his tongue.

He pushes me back down and tells me to behave. And I try to tolerate some more. He repeats the actions, kissing the crease of my thighs and all across the mound until he eventually plants a tiny kiss on the lips. I nearly explode. Then a lick to part the lips, I’m ecstatic. He pulls back again and I think I’m going to cry but he can’t maintain it. He starts to lick and eat me properly. He could have the worst technique in the world (he doesn’t) and I might have come anyway. He eats me gently and slowly, controlling it, no wild abandon just yet, this is precision performed to elicit the responses he wants and a drawn out orgasm.

I am bucking underneath him now and raising my hips up and trying to pull him on to me. I give up and surrender to it, it’s perfect anyway. I am going to come no matter what and I know it! Is there any better feeling? I notice him lick his fingers but I don’t feel them go in. I don’t know what he’s doing but I can feel its benefit, I can feel it starting to build and then it shatters all through me a huge orgasm that sends me into spasms. I am owned. Utterly.

That. That is what I want. I want someone to own my orgasm. I want them to be in control of it.

That kind of ownership makes me feel desired. Makes me feel a connection and a trust. It’s not possible with just anyone. Not for me.

I have to trust you to be able to let you do this. That is the key here. I can only let this happen because I know it’s not a reality anywhere else but the bedroom. I can only enjoy this because I know I am his equal outside the bedroom. This is by admission my own tastes and my own personal mental release as I enjoy them and may not be to anybody else’s. It’s my idea of being cared about.

I’ve explained what it is I think drives that, I may be wrong but I suspect I’m not far off. It’s how I like to have sex when I’m lucky enough to find the right person I feel I can trust.

Things are not set out blow by blow, that would ruin it. But parameters are discussed. He doesn’t want to genuinely hurt me, I don’t want to be walloped. And it doesn’t have to be like this every time. I don’t need this to get off I can happily get there loads of ways and they can also be very vanilla.

 

I’m sure that’s not the end of what I have to say on the matter. Desires are not static, my tastes could change but what I hope is that I keep an open mind but more than than I hope to have a like minded partner I can trust these to.

 

 

*I would just like to clarify that my parents are great people; liberal, open minded, generous, kind people. And I most certainly got any good traits that I possibly possess from them and their outlook.

The Liebster Award

The Liebster Award.

 

I’m rubbish at these things – I don’t really know how to internet (someone else set up my blog for me, Jesus, I don’t even understand hashtags). So I don’t get involved in things that I want to contribute to (no Sinful Sunday posts despite loving that work, no Elust submissions either, for the same reasons, I am bamboozled by the instructions and I’m afraid of breaking things. And don’t get me started on fecking Dropbox or Evernote FECK OFF, I JUST CAN’T FIGURE IT OUT)

So if I do this wrong or somehow fall short, here’s my apology up front. I’m sorry, I tried.

I was nominated by HornyGeekGirl . I don’t know her very well, we have chats and I have a deep-seated belief that she is probably a fantastic host and is certainly someone I’d love to have a bottle (or 4) of Prosecco with. She has also been a lot braver than me and although she doesn’t know it, has made me think about revealing something.

I just know I like her so I’ll happily answer her questions, even if I don’t know 5 other bloggers who will answer. Is this like the ice bucket challenge where you might get nominated a load of times? I don’t know.

 

 

 

The award comes with rules, so if you are nominated, you are required to do the following:

 

  1. Thank the person who nominated you and link to their blog.
  2. Answer the questions provided by the person who nominated you.
  3. Provide eleven random facts about yourself.
  4. Nominate 5-11 blogs that you feel deserve the award and have less than one thousand followers.
  5. Create a new list of questions for the bloggers to answer.

 

Here are my answers to Horny Geek Girl’s questions:

 

What’s your idea of a perfect Sunday morning?

Wake up to someone I like, have sex, turn around and go back to sleep. Then wake again to find they’d slipped out to get the papers and breakfast. And then lay in bed, reading papers and havng more sex for most of the day. Bliss. Sleep in, sex, bacon and the papers – what more do you want?

If your house was burning down and you could save one item, what would it be? (Question assumes family and pets are safe).

I used to say my cameras but really, it would be my laptop. I don’t know how to back up anything, so I don’t. I don’t understand ‘the cloud’ so all my writing (except for what’s on the blog) and all my photos would be gone. And given I’m such a camera nazi, a lot of other people’s memories would be gone too.

Is the glass half-empty or half-full?

Right now, it’s half full. But for a lot of my life, without much having to change, I tend to view it as half empty.

If you could have a threesome with any two celebrities who would you choose?

Jesus? Threesomes are so much work. And as much as a dickhead as this is going to make me sound, I don’t really fancy or fantasise about famous people. I only really fancy people I know or have spoken to? But if I had to – Ok Penelope Cruz and Michael Sheen if we’re doing MFF. – God I love his Welsh accent. And Jon Snow doesn’t make the list because he’s too young and a fictional character but if he did, him and Eric Northman (Alexander Skarsgard) would make up the MMF threesome. But I feel the wrong kind of dirty just typing that.

Which is your favourite season and why?

Spring! I was born in spring and I love the newness of it, things are getting brighter, we’re leaving winter behind. I feel people are at their best in their own season. I usually am. Plus I can wear high boots and short skirts, generally wear a bit less without the pressure of summer where it’s all revealed.

Do you have a favourite book (one you read over and over)? What is it and why?

Yup! Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting, all day long, every day. It’s a spectacular piece of work. AND a great coffee table/bathroom book. You can pick it up, at nearly any chapter and that chapter will stand alone, you’ll have a little story there that you maybe won’t need to have read the rest of it to get something from. And it’s funny and horrible, and shocking and human. I could gush all day about it.

If you could be any character from literature who would you be and why?

Arya Stark. The girl is straight up bad ass and fucking amazing. I have laughed at people calling their daughters Khaleesi (swear to god I know someone who did that to their child) while simultaneously harbouring notions that if I ever had a girl I would call her Arya. (fully appreciate that Game of Thrones isn’t exactly literature)

Coffee or tea (or something else)?

Well if the Prosecco is going, I’ll take that but mostly? I’ll take the tea please, just black, no sugar. And preferably English Breakfast or Barry’s.

What are you wearing right now? (Yeah I know I’m a perv).

Pink bra & French knickers, black tights, short wine coloured skater skirt, white vest and blue denim shirt tied in a knot. And leopard print ballet pumps

If you could move to any country, where would you go and why?

Probably the UK. I’ve lived there before, I like the people. We share a sense of humour and our venn diagrams of culture have huge crossover. Plus it would be easy and I’m done with hard. I’ve lived in America and Australia. I liked the UK the best. I get away with being me there. No one liked me in Australia and no one understood me in the US! (and I don’t mean my accent, I mean my sense of humour)

What superpower would you love to have?

To be able to understand and speak any language as and when I heard them. Without ever having to do any of the work to remember them. That or photographic memory. That would be useful, if a little traumatic.

 

 

Random Facts About Myself

  1. I am an actual disgrace of a human being if you let me get too hungry
  2. I don’t have a preferred side of the bad, you can have what side you like
  3. I won’t eat lamb. I just don’t like the taste, I would cry if that was served at a dinner party (see RF no.1)
  4. I adore good bed linen – high quality and laundered well
  5. Unfortunately I will judge you on your table manners, stupid comment my mom made as a kid about knowing the measure of someone. I will actually wince if you put your knife in your mouth in front of me. And I will be visibly uncomfortable it you don’t put your knife & fork together when you’re done. Ditto on your handshake, comment my dad made to me as a kid, again knowing the measure of someone
  6. I am not at all jealous. I covet others skills or shiny hair sure, but I’m not a possessive lover. I don’t care about your ex, or if you have lunch with a hot colleague. I trust you.
  7. Lurchers are my favourite dog and I hope to own one one day, a blonde one
  8. I have not come to terms with my own height – I am 5’8” and I feel too tall a lot of the time. I’m working on it.
  9. My biggest insecurity is about my intelligence. I doubt its existence on a daily basis
  10. I really hate weddings. And absolutely abhor hen nights. I can’t understand why so many people still ask me to go on them? (disclaimer: if your hen night involves no paraphernalia and you paying for dinner in a swanky restaurant in Dublin – then I reserve the right to review my harsh but fair stance on the matter)
  11. Butter is my heroin. I think I am made up of 80% Kerrygold (obvs the best butter in the world)

 

Nominations (in no particular order)

Ruby Bell https://twitter.com/Absolutely_Rubyhttp://www.absolutelyruby.com/

Diverse Male https://twitter.com/xxavgjoehttps://xxavgjoe.wordpress.com/

Vida Bailey https://twitter.com/vidabailey2http://www.heatsuffused.blogspot.ie

Maria Sibylla https://twitter.com/MSM1647http://www.mariaopensup.com/

 

If you’ve already been nomindated then sincere apologies guys  – carry on with your day…. don’t mind me.

 

 

If any of my nominees do want to play along here are my questions for you to answer:

  1. Bacon or sausages? You can only have one…
  2. When a plane lands is it ever acceptable to clap?
  3. What do you crave when you’re hungover?
  4. What is the sexiest accent for you?
  5. Where have you been, that would surprise me that you have no interest in returning to? And why? (i.e. somewhere that’s universally thought of as great)
  6. If I made you a cup of tea/cup of coffee/sandwich and it wasn’t to your liking, would you tell me?
  7. If someone had some food on their face, something in their teeth, would you tell them?
  8. Do you have any strong feelings about your name, first or surname – or if you’re a girl, giving it up?
  9. Do you leave voicemails, or just hang up and send a text?
  10. What is an unacceptable item of clothing that would have you struggling to forgive?
  11. If you left your country for a year what would be the thing that you would miss the most (we’re assuming you’d miss your family, partner, friends and pets)

 

Thanks Horny Geek Girl – I am well and truly out of my comfortzone – but eventually in a good way.

Sex On An iPad? – course I have

I’m sitting curled up at the corner of his couch. Right by the door to the sitting room.

He comes in and finds me there, eye level with his crotch. He bends down to kiss me and as he rubs my head and his fingers run down to under my chin I think it dawns on him.

I move around so that I am now sitting on my heels, kneeling facing him and his fingers reach for the buttons on his jeans.

 

Yes! And I didn’t even have to hint or ask or anything. God I hope he keeps this up.

 

As he releases his swelling cock I look up at him with a hungry, delighted smile and his other hand reaches back around to the small of my neck and gently tugs me closer. I didn’t need it, I was going that way anyway but I like the little dance our bodies are doing.

 

Half out of his jeans I get as much of it as I can into my thrilled mouth. This is new for him, I’m not sure he was expecting such gusto every time he tried to get a blow job but it’s certainly what he’s getting. I think he thought he was in control actually, just going to tease me with it in my mouth for a few seconds before he popped back around the door again. Back to do whatever the fuck he was doing that wasn’t including me.

But that was never going to happen was it! There’s no chance you’re going to win that game playing with me.

The more I lick and suck his shaft – trying to get at his balls too the more I feel him give in. This isn’t over, this doesn’t end here – until finally he pulls his cock away from me saying ‘Fuck…?’ And I’ve won, we’re going to have sex.

 

 

He tells me to stay where I am, leaning over the edge of the arm of his couch, facing away from him. He comes behind me on the couch and I hear his belt come off from around his jeans Christ I love this sound. I look back at him and he tells me to get back in position.

And I do.

‘I like this tight, little skirt you have on Abbi’.

His tone tells me everything. He’s not about to let me away with thinking I’ve won anything, he’s taking back control.

 

My skirt is leather and he quickly slaps my arse making a lovely noise as he slides it up over my hips. I’m wearing black tights and I know that bent over like this they are stretched taut and he can see the red knickers underneath.

‘I like this underwear too’. And another little tap on the arse before he bites me gently.

‘God you should see how good your arse looks’ – he says, somewhat breaking character. Nothing happens for a second, I don’t know what he’s doing but it turns out he’s whipped out his phone and is taking a photo.

I know I’m breathing fast and I’m getting wet just with anticipation. I don’t have to wait long before he roughly pulls down my tights and then pulls my knicks to one side and slides two fingers straight into me. I let out a noise and his response is ‘I knew you were ready, I knew you were wet’. I can’t argue.

And almost without warning he slowly pushes his cock into me then pulls it out and slams it into me again. But on the third stroke he pulls out and an anguished cry of protest is all I manage before he’s round at my face. He gently kisses me and tells me to stay where I am and to keep my eyes on the floor and not to lift them.

What the fuck?

 

He comes back with my phone and his iPad. He hands me my phone and tells me to unlock it and to FaceTime him, don’t argue, just do it and hand the phone back.

When the phone is dialling I hand it to him, he takes it and then puts the iPad on the floor in front of me, so that leaning over the arm of the chair I get to see the full screen.

Then he goes back around behind me and aims the phone at my arse and slowly he pushes his cock back inside my cunt and all of this is happening to me and for me, right in front of my eyes.

 

He starts to fuck me faster, telling me how great my cunt feels clenching on his cock. He tells me to keep looking at it, to look at how good the shape of my arse and hips look being fucked by his cock. Asking me do I like it. Pointing out how slick his cock now is, covered in my juices – and he slows down to make sure I can see it, pulling almost all the way out then slowly pushing back in catching every, little, glistening stroke. And I can see every bit of it.

 

I’m actually surprised that I don’t hate it – I can’t take my eyes away but I can’t believe that it’s me either. I love hearing him, I love how mesmerised he seems.

 

He stops fucking me and tells me to move on his cock. To move back and forth, to fuck him instead of him fucking me. And I do, I want it harder and I want more purchase.

I want it faster.

I just want more.

I love his words. I love hearing him say my name and start to lose himself.

 

He hasn’t lost himself though, he has other plans. He pulls out and tells me he’s going to fuck my arse. He spits on my hole and then works his cock slowly into my arse.

 

But I want more. I want it deeper and more intense. And for that, he’s going to have to put down the phone and fuck me properly.  I need him to grab me by the hips and pull me on to him, fucking me hard with a force I know I can’t manage by myself. And he does. The phone is discarded and he ploughs into me fast, deep and hard. Filling me, hurting me, making me beg.

 

My fingers reach around for my clit and I am heaving with every thrust, spitting out his name and begging him not to stop. As if there was any chance. And just as he’s about to come he pulls out and shoots hot come all over my arsehole just as I would have wanted.

 

 

 

 

And I am delighted with myself.

 

 

I’m not sure who won that battle but I know I got what I wanted. Don’t try to tease me with a bit of cock, you will end up fucking me.

Jealousy –

You don’t need to believe me, or rather I don’t need you to believe me for it still to be a fact. I don’t get jealous. Yes I covet things, yes I have thoughts I’m not proud of but they’re more to do with flat stomachs and stellar careers and thick glossy hair and degrees from world class universities…… the list goes on of things I’m jealous of, from the benign to the malicious. But being jealous in a relationship is not usually one of them. I’m not saying that I’d be happy with anyone fucking my boy, or even shifting the face off him in front of me but if he’s just being flirted with then I don’t tend to feel threatened. I don’t tend to feel threatened at all. I’m not your average beauty, I’m not particularly beautiful for one, so I don’t trade on this alone. I suppose I never think that anyone is with me solely because they think I’m beautiful. But what I do believe I have is a certain type of sex appeal that is to some people’s taste and they are usually very glad to have found it, relieved in fact and I trust that they will stay as long as it makes sense for us both. What I’m saying is, when someone is with me I just choose to believe that they really want to be.

Nothing has changed, nothing has happened, I didn’t have my eyes opened by any particular experience. Not one that I’m especially conscious of anyway.

I am aware of just how often I say this but I have to say it again; I’m going to sound like a dickhead who thinks she knows better than everyone else and has life all sussed out. But rest assured that is not the case. In fact I’m sure it’s quite obvious that that’s not the case. But we all have some weird super power that lends us to be unaffected by things that seem to cripple others.

I also want to make sure you’re very aware that I have some stunning flaws; including but not limited to being addicted to butter, wanting my own way all the time, refusing to leave the house unless my outfit is perfect, and not forgetting the everyday common or garden crankiness I see fit to dole out to everyone. I’ve decided that Spotify is shit, don’t bother convincing me otherwise. The DART is a pain in the hole I won’t use it.

But I’ve never been jealous, I’ve never thought anyone was going to be taken from me. I’ve never worried about other girls while simultaneously never thinking that I was something special. I knew I wasn’t. I’m not sure what it was that never made me worry about it. I just always held the belief that if someone was with me, then they wanted to be. And if they were going to cheat there was nothing that I could do about it. There is nothing to worry about until there’s something to worry about.

I suppose I want to be left to my own devices and I know I’m not up to no good, so I’ve always judged everyone by that standard. I’m not advocating that, just trying to explain my outlook. If I’m talking to a guy, or laughing and I touch his arm, or even outright flirting into his face – I probably don’t mean it. And I certainly don’t want to be told to stop. So if you want to flirt with a girl in front of me, I’m not about to whip out the double standards yellow card. It’s probably appropriate to mention that I’ve never been cheated on*.  I’ve had my heart broken in several ways for different reasons, the last time where he chopped it to pieces, ground it to dust and then snorted it with alacrity, but heartbreak by cheating has never been one of them. So I am willing to admit that I may still possess some innocence in that sphere. I have claimed that cheating would have been preferable to what happened last time but that’s the last refuge of the ignorant, isn’t it. Of course the unknown pain will always seem less sharp than the one piercing us at the time.

I’d like to believe that I’ve always thought this way, even if I wasn’t able to articulate it. Because if someone is going to cheat, you can’t really stop them and banning them from talking to someone you feel is a threat just seemed ridiculous to me. All I can do is make sure that the relationship seems healthy and that we seem to be having fun and moving in a direction that suits us both. And you can’t expect trust if you don’t give trust – and I need someone who has a lot of it to give because I am particularly gregarious and I have a lot of bloke friends. Not to mention the penchant for flirting with everyone and everything (this includes food and inanimate objects. I’m looking at you Kerrygold, you know you want me)

So my starting position has always been: I trust you, I assume you trust me and that’s how I’ll conduct myself until I have any reason to believe otherwise. You have to start this way I think for any healthy relationship. Which I know is an easy position for me to adopt given that I have no baggage about being cheated on. But what I do have is baggage about not being trusted. I don’t like it and I find it wholly unattractive. Jealousy is just so ugly. Besides of course being dull witted is there anything less appealing than how neediness and possessiveness manifest themselves?

And on the other hand the manifestations of being trusted are just so thrillingly sexy. To have my boy’s eyes on me as someone sidles up behind me to dance. To have him look me up and down and smirk as someone else chats me up, or at least starts to. To watch him look so utterly calm and content not to make a move as other men flirt with me; that confidence is so delicious to experience when it hits you with its 1000w glow.

I feel like I am understood.

None of this other stuff, happening here means anything, I am going home with you and you know it well. And I will happily reverse that role; I love watching someone chat up my boy or at least try. I love watching appreciative looks he gets or him telling a story, holding court. Safe in the knowledge that I know I’m going home with him, I know he only wants me, I know I’ll be the one getting that later.

But I also know that’s a difficult dance to dance. That it’s hard to execute and it’s hard to find a partner. How do I know that he isn’t slipping his number into her hand? How do I know that he isn’t slipping off to the toilets for a quick fuck? How do I know that he doesn’t want anything from the flirting?

The same way he knows it of me. Which is essentially that he doesn’t know – you both just have to trust.

My last serious beau unfortunately never quite grasped this. Just to set the scene, he was markedly better looking than me, I was definitely punching above my weight in the looks department. But my god was he the jealous kind, in every sense of the word. After one party where I was skipping around chatting to everyone he felt aggrieved enough, and falsely harboured notions that he was right to point out, that the other (obvious) girlfriend present had sat quietly by her boyfriend’s side and didn’t move for the night. Naturally I burst into hysterical laughter at this notion. For one, I had actually thought this unnecessarily standoffish of that girl and for two I thought it was prudish. But the bigger issue here was….? Did he want a girl that sat quietly by his side? Because that isn’t and never was me. I never sold him that.

For most of the time he was always the best looking guy in any given room. Did I mention he had a PhD? Well he did. So he was smart, fit and good looking; none of which he seemed at all consciously aware of which made him adorably charming to girls. I would regularly come back from the toilets to find him being chatted up by girls, plural. Which mostly happened at festivals where me being gone to the toilet took 15 mins which gave him enough time to be spotted looking shy and unsure, and then honed in on. Sometimes I would arrive back to see this and then hide so I could just watch him, delighted in the sight and on occasion he would spot me and be equally delighted with himself. What a shame he could never afford me even a fraction of this trust. (I only needed a fraction, it wasn’t as if I was ever surrounded by men when he came back from the loo!)

And lastly, on his list of crimes (aw, I promise he wasn’t all bad!) He couldn’t stand the fact that I have close male friends. The continuous repetitive asking if I’d slept with any of them was beyond tiring. One day I told him to just assume I’d slept with all of them (I haven’t) because if it doesn’t matter and he just wanted to know, as he claimed then that was my answer. This stopped him for a while but then he narrowed his field of targets and focused it all on who he thought was my ‘hottest’ male friend. Christ I’m exhausted just relaying this nonsense.

I won’t say that was the undoing of us, it wasn’t. But it certainly chipped away. That was only the second time I’ve ever put up with that. I won’t do it again. I’m not good at it and it serves no one. I’m just not compatible with the jealous tendencies, even on the lower scale.

But I’m not totally immune. I have felt jealousy, I have the capacity, of course I do – I’m not a complete robot. But any time I’ve felt it, it has been justified. It has not been irrational ‘I don’t like you talking to that hotter girl I perceive as a threat’ kinda stuff. Any time I’ve disliked a girl’s interest in my boy it has been because I was right. Information I only ever got hold of after the facts. One time it was an ex of his – she acted so superior to me every time, she drove me nuts. Really and truly she was the only one who induced genuine bad behaviour from me. She had left him, I knew it, she obviously knew it and she acted like she could have him back any time she wanted. And instead of acting calm, I acted like an idiot. I let her get to me and she fed off it. She was shockingly mean to me – with admittedly clever and witty one liners. But my dislike of her blinded and of my senses and I never got the better of her. Shit, I never even got him to believe that she was being mean to me. She didn’t want him but she didn’t want anyone else to have him either.

So is it still called jealousy if you know the person is trying to make you feel it? Is it not called something else? I suppose it isn’t because jealousy is resentement of something that someone else has. I resented that she was able to make him besotted with her, that he was in love with her cleverness (she was a solicitor) and I wasn’t ever going to be able to compete with that. The only thing I knew I had over her was the fact I was more physically attractive and hands down better in bed. But that never made me feel better.

And now?

Well now I still am not great with anyone displaying any irrational jealousy. Any requests to explain myself or modify behaviour I deem reasonable are not met with positive responses. I don’t cheat, I haven’t cheated and if I don’t want to be with you I will, you know, just stop being with you.

But I think I have a way bigger flaw than sucseptibility to your Tesco Value Brand bouts of jealousy.

I always worry that we’re not on the same page – either they’re going too fast, expecting too much.. but more likely I am – or at least I’m further ahead than them. I hate thinking that I’m leading someone astray and I worry that someone could do that with me. So insecurity about that may be displayed. I generally turst that you fancy me but over and above that I worry that I’m not long term material. Yup you read that right. After the biggest love of my existence left me, ostensibly because I wasn’t ‘marriage’ material I have a very huge hang up about that. Not cripplingly so. But I do need to check in at certain points to make sure that I haven’t lost the run of myself and fallen head over heels for someone who is no where near that point.

But once again, I think I’m checking in too late.

Guest Piece – ultimate sex toy review

The toy is made of warm realistic skin with a good shape and a weighty feel to it. The tip is particularly firm and looks like it could stand up to years of abuse. It is permanently erect at 17cm long, but will sometimes slacken off after heavy and extended periods of use. Comes complete with an almost inexhaustible power supply and realistic balls that tighten and swell during normal operation. The unit is completely self-cleaning, and out of the packet, has a pleasant smell of mild shower gel and straining cock. The real selling point is the girth, at a slightly eye watering 17cm. Probably for the more adventurous girl who likes to be stretched and would be challenged to take it all in one “sitting”. The girth increases pleasingly at the base for added discomfort. It doesn’t vibrate, which could be an option in later models, but for many the thought of being roughly pulled back onto this may be a welcome one. Overall a sensible addition to any girls’ bedside draw. Plenty of lube advised.

 

 

I have a large cock. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not of pornstar proportions. I’m not a medical curiosity. Race horses have nothing to be concerned about. But from the feedback I’ve had it’s just a bit more than average. It’s not ridiculously long, but it is thick. Very thick. Weighty and substantial. But don’t worry I’m not expecting any sympathy.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. REALLY?”

 

Some may say I’ve been blessed. But it’s a mixed blessing. I remember seeing my dad in the bathroom once. I must have been 7 or 8. I was shocked. Genuinely shocked. Would mine get like that? Where would I put it all? What’s it for? Years later I’d find out the answers to those questions. But I thought it was normal.

 

“Sorry it’s… it’s just too much…it hurts…can I just suck it…please?”

 

After the usual fumbled attempts one of the first was in my teens. She would come to my house on Saturday afternoons after her waitressing job. We lasted about three months. I thought she was beautiful. She was patient and kind and was, I think, rewarded for her understanding. She’d ride me on the bed while my parents made dinner. Together we discovered that vaginas do stretch with a little effort. Looking back I expect they knew, but I thought at the time we were getting away with it. As I was her first I don’t think she understood it was “unusual” either.

 

“Oh my Christ where are you going to put that?”

 

Gym girl (we both worked in a gym). We were both stupidly fit and treated each other like luxury sex toys. The best days were when I was off and she was on an early shift. We’d meet in bed at three in the afternoon and play a game. We’d lay naked under the covers and whoever touched my cock first lost. The game usually lasted less than 30 seconds. We’d fuck ourselves into semi oblivion and then do it all again. She even took it up the arse, but only with lots of lube and even then only a couple of inches before changing her mind.

 

“WOW”

 

Marketing girl was altogether different. That was love. I can still feel her tighten around me still. We were completely sexually compatible. Almost always had our orgasms at the same time. She lived away so it was all hurried weekends and travelling in either smiling anticipation or with a throat lump of longing. But she was a bitch. A selfish, aggressive bitch. In the end I stayed for the sexy but not too long. One day, after I’d driven two hundred miles to see her she told me if she could take my cock, but not me, then she would. I told her to order something on the Internet and left.

 

“Harder! FUCKING HARDER!”

 

The most unexpected was club girl. I was in the middle of a massive all day bender with some friends. I seem to remember being introduced to club girl. She was no bigger than 5 foot and petite. Delicate. Tiny even, like a doll. She asked me if I wanted a lift. She made it clear it was just me who was invited. I don’t remember much. I was drunk and she as stone cold sober, but my cock was as painful as my head in the morning. It was bruised and torn. I bled. She rode me with the aggression and strength of a prize fighter. I saw her a few times after. Always just for sex and then she said she was worried about her boyfriend and I didn’t see her again, until I was introduced to my new boss years later.

 

“How much bigger does that get?”

 

Some girls do like it. But you can only be sure when the zip drops for the first time. As I got older I understood more of how to cope with it. To make sure she’s really, truly, extremely, completely ready. Surprises are not always nice. The upside is that I never have to worry if it’s big enough. I’ll probably never know that embarrassment, and for that I’m thankful. But on the down side I’ve never felt what it’s like to slowly sink my entire length into a willing arse.  Few have tried and all have failed. Blow jobs have to be restricted to the first few inches. Deep throat is just a fantasy to me.

 

“Is that thing real?”

 

If I get unexpected erections it’s almost impossible to hide it. I’ve been turned down flat at the first look. It is, at times, embarrassing, uncomfortable and, like every single one of them, my penis is a bloody massive liability. But for all that I wouldn’t change it even if I could. Go home or go large.

Guest Piece – About Submission, lucky me!

So there I was, minding my own business (I never am) not thinking anyone had anything to say to me (they always do) about the details of my penchant for submission when this pops into my inbox (or the first version of this)

I don’t know this guy, but it sounds like we might be made for each other – in another life. I always want to know what a guy is thinking about sex. Actually I always want to know what everyone thinks about sex, but more narcissistically, what they think about the kind of sex I’m into.

Yes, well done, I could of course ask the person who I’m having sex with, but that’s not the same is it? And you never know how much they’re editing.

Anyway, I was thrilled to read this Dom-lite’s perspective on some sex that I have just revealed. Hurrah! I get to hear it from the other point of view.

Now disappointingly, for the nosey-parker pseudo psychotherapist in me, Dom-lite doesn’t go into why he thinks he’s like this but he has fabulously compounded my notions that topping me is a sign of abject care and might be the most caring thing a partner can do for me. Should they manage to get me to trust in their skills in the first place.

 

 

I have a dominant character. I like my own way on many things and I tend to lead not follow. I like being in control. I feel comfortable and happy to be in charge. That’s not to say I ignore those around me or don’t take other points of view into consideration. Good management means finding a way that suits everyone. During the day you’ll find me in meeting rooms and conference halls. Two phones. Usually one to my ear. Deals are negotiated. Plans made. Money spent, saved and made.

After days like that you might think I’d give it a rest. Let someone else take the strain. But I like to dominate in the bedroom. Not in a “leather chaps and a DIY dildo dungeon under the stairs” kind of way. In more subtle ways. I’m BDSM lite. I don’t go in for the big stuff. Bit of restraint and spanking does me fine thank you. There is nothing like a willing bottom begging to be spanked. Gives me shivers just thinking about it. The quivering buttocks. The anticipation. The sound of a hand coming down with a firm smack onto yielding flesh. But most of all the response. Eliciting a moan, a whimper, turns me on beyond words. But to make her blush; that’s the biggest prize. To be the cause of that most visceral and uncontrollable human responses. To see her cheeks burn. To see her catch her breath. To have that deep emotional connection. If I made someone blush in the office I’d feel terrible for days. That would give the exact opposite feeling. That’s just bullying. Bullying is the polar opposite of domination.

 

The thing that most people seem to miss is that there is no real domination without a willing submissive. The main word there is willing. Believe it or not there are people who like to be spanked. If you read this blog I’m guessing you know of at least one. People do enjoy being tied up. Flogged. Humiliated. They enjoy the loss of control and they enjoy the things that happen to them. They can enjoy them because they trust the person who’s doing it.

 

The scene will have been discussed before. Safe words agreed. Soft and hard limits set. This has to be agreed before anyone smacks anyone’s bottom. I can tell you that you can love someone and want to spank them into a wet heap of longing because you know that’s what makes them happy and fulfilled. It doesn’t mean you care less. It means you care more because you are doing it for them as much as for you. The way all sex should be. Except perhaps a charity wank when she’s too tired but you’re still horny.

 

For me half the fun is the build-up.  Being dominant means you get to build the anticipation and the excitement. It’s a tricky balance. You need to pick your moment. Watch her breathing. Expressions. Eye contact. Making her strip in front of you is a personal favourite. Fast or slow? Is she embarrassed or more defiant? Will you allow eye contact? Will you make her turn around? Bend over? Will you run your hands over her body? Make her spread her legs? Find an excuse to punish her for breaking the rules? If you’re just demanding more blow jobs in a deep voice then you are missing the point. The most important thing is that the Sub is enjoying it. This comes above all else. I like to deny her an orgasm until I allow it. But it is always the final destination. It’s so rewarding when it comes, and if it’s more than once the satisfaction just increases. If I happen to have my cock in her mouth at the same time then all the better. But if we’ve agreed that I won’t cum in her mouth then I won’t. That’s crossing a line. I may desperately want to. I may be crying out to unload great ribbons of hot salty cum. In a way I’m being submissive in that sense.

 

I don’t understand why people are submissive or dominant any more than I can tell you why I love lemon but hate lime. I just am. It gives me a deep and profound thrill. Abbi’s blog last week gave us an insight into her kink. This is mine. Yours will be different.

Now. Bend over. Grip the back of the chair, and politely ask me for another.

 

 

 

Apparently he doesn’t know, which is perfectly fine. Sometimes like studying a book or a poem in class the dissection of it can be the undoing of it. We don’t always need to know how it became a taste but we do need to make sure that we are only doing what our partners are happy with and have agreed to.

(Once again, I’m not saying every step, blow by blow needs to be written out and verbally agreed but stop if anyone says stop. Watch your partner, look at the reactions and listen to the cues. But really, this goes without saying for your average decent human)