This year has been all about looking inside myself and being completely honest, raw, and real. I want more out of all I do. I want more out of my relationships. I want more out of my writing, my art, my life! I am learning to use my voice to state my expectations. As I have been examining all aspects of my life a very important one has taken center stage, my sex life. My desires and needs as a woman.
Sexual relations have never been a topic of comfortable conversation for me. Don’t talk just do it type of thing. Maybe it’s the Pisces in me where the stars aligned and created this hyper sexual being who has always been too shy or embarrassed to address her own needs, while making sure a partner or random fuck was never left wanting. Or it could be a more sinister reason. The little girl in me who was taken by a grown man and filled with his carnal knowledge is still just keeping it all secret. Whatever the reason, silence is no longer an option. So I came here to lay it all out on the table.
Sex being a good thing after being abused was difficult for me. Did I do it? Sure. I did it a lot. I had a couple longer term relationships. And quite a few “Hi, my name is… back of random stranger’s truck bed” then never talk again escapades.
No matter what I was never satisfied not that I couldn’t achieve an orgasm or I didn’t love the attention. I was just always left feeling incomplete. This was my life for a good while.
Eventually I slowed my roll and married a really amazing man who I love deeply. Shortly thereafter we started our family. I quit working after our oldest was born and devoted everything to the kids, forgetting my own needs. I was consumed by my new life of being a suburban housewife.
Sex was a chore and about as exciting for me as washing dishes. Through no fault of my husband – he tried – but the communication between us was broken… because I refused to be open with him.
There were a lot of factors involved. I had severe PPD, my fear of abandonment, and our family being tied to a religious cult in the earlier years. I opted for silence. It was just easier for me at the time.
A few years ago, and after nearly thirteen years of marriage, I started having a sexual awakening. There was a strong desire and need for completion, and I was feeling neglected by my very attentive husband. I was lost in my own fantasies of how I wanted it to be.
But could I say this to my husband?
No. I stayed silent too long.
I honestly could barely hold a complete conversation with another adult. Only recently have those walls finally begun to come down and I’m still finding my voice.
I had to dig deep to find the root of what I was really expecting and really wanting. I would never go so far to say my experiences being sexually abused alone made me who I am as an adult. However, I can say that it did and does affect my sexual needs and nature directly.
My father, when it came to the abusive relations he had with me, was always gentle. He had soft touches and passionate kisses, always reassuring me it was being done out of love.
I’m older and have a better understanding of love now. Even still, I would just rather, when it comes to the bedroom, that the love be left at the door. When it comes to sex, I don’t want gentle. I want hardcore violent sex. The kind like if the neighbors walked in the police are getting called. I’m not talking rape fantasy here at all. It’s not rape when its what I want. I have a need to be dominated.
The gentle abuse gave me a hatred and boredom with the typical sexual relations turning me into a masochist; not a little rough sex with some ass tapping and none of that humiliation bullshit – but if that floats your boat, go for it.
My take is bruises heal. And if it still hurts tomorrow when I’m walking through the grocery store, it’s just a fun little reminder of the night before. Grab me, beat my ass, drag me, bind me, yank my hair, use me to take care of you and your needs. Then, if you so desire, reward me by fucking my pain away.
Can I have “normal” sex? Sure. I can lay there or climb on top and I will make sure he’s satisfied while my most basic of needs are met. But it is straight-up raw manhandling sex where I come to life and I die.
Is this desire a direct result of the way I was abused as a child? Perhaps.
Am I still allowing myself to be a victim? No. In it being one hundred percent consensual, it’s exactly what I desire for my own sexual gratification.
It empowers me.
Being able to talk about it is comforting. Knowing that I’m not alone makes it feel less embarrassing.
In beginning, communicating these things with my once-shy husband has had a few challenges as some of my desires are found pretty far outside of his comfort zone. But he’s becoming open to a little more exploration in these uncharted territories and learning quickly that I’m not as fragile as he thought me to be.
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