Shameless, Not Fearless

Shameless
Some parts of myself scare me.
My obsessive nature. My desire to control and manipulate as I obsess.
These parts of my personality are not fun, and I am ashamed of it at times.
For instance, boys.
They give me the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Why?
I don’t want my emotions to be so affected by a man.
In the past I would brush aside the feelings of rejection. Or cover them with distractions and booze.
Well today, I am choosing to sit in my discomfort.
Normally, I struggle with frigidity.
I keep my sexual energy hidden, buried, and cold. Out of fear.
Fear of vulnerability. Fear of rejection. Fear of judgement.
Sometimes I got the sense that my husband gained satisfaction from shaming me and rejecting me.
There was a night of abandon, not too long ago.
I slept with a man and left myself completely open.
This guy had the face of David Gandy and the personality of Larry David.
He was also 6’5″.
We met uneventfully on Valentine’s Day for lunch. He was dry and reserved, but nice.
When I text him later on, he was shocked, saying he had no indication that I was into him.
He then explained how beautiful he found me and how he wanted to kiss me and be inside of me.
A couple of weeks of texting and selfies, I was in an uber to Buschwick.
We made polite conversation and then he took my mouth with his. It felt so good to be touched tenderly by an affected and responsive man.
My divinity came out to play. I seduced him, teased him until I ached.
It is burned into my brain the way he stared into my eyes with wonder and sank into me. I loved it.
We were soft, slow, rough, primal.
At one point he was standing off the bed, entering me from behind.
As I clenched around him and swiveled my hips, he lost his conscious thought but kept talking.
“Dirty Bitch” left his mouth on an exhale. I was so glad my back was to him or I would have laughed in his face.
With the next 5 strokes, he would repeat “pussy” on every entrance. “Pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy”. I felt like I was in a Seinfeld episode.
After, he stood in the kitchen, naked and eating gelato. I had to ask about the coital articulations.
Surprisingly, he was not embarrassed. He just owned it, but couldn’t explain it.
I was still unsatisfied, so once in bed I began kissing his neck and caressing his body. He told me there was no way and cradled me to go to sleep.
But I was burning. I wanted him.
I laid there and fantasized about us kissing and touching. Right before he entered me in my dream, the real thing pounced. He was desperate and wild. And we almost broke the headboard.
I could feel it cracking under my hands, but he kept hitting my G spot and I didn’t care.
It felt so good.
He was concerned about my pleasure and couldn’t stop himself from kissing me over and over.
The next morning we had slow, easy sex before he had to get ready for work.
It was such a good morning. I basically skipped to the coffee shop before taking the happiest train ride home.
We texted a couple of times after, but never met up again.
He didn’t love me. He allowed me to love myself and my prowess in the moment, and that’s what made it great.
The best part- this was completely sober.
Normally, masturbation helps me to sleep. I would read a steamy novel, manipulate the situation in my mind and orgasm. But I was never a participant.
I was a fly on the wall in my sexual fantasies.
Last November, I decided I wanted to be the star. Let it be around me. And my brain fought me.
In my fantasies there would be an angry spouse, unforeseen blockages or excuses to stop the tryst.
This is something I continue to struggle with.
Today I had a breakthrough. I was doing tantric yoga with a rose quartz yoni egg. I decided I wanted a healing orgasm.
I struggled with my mind for an hour. Hot, cold, blocked, scared.
Until finally a golden light spread like veins from my belly. My back arched. My clit throbbed and my body zapped with electricity.
An outline of a man made of pure white light entered me and my orgasm rolled throughout my body.
It felt like such a huge victory.
I continued to massage my entire body in a bubble bath, feeling powerful and whole.
I was ready to seduce the world, and my date, Kane.
Except Kane never called.
My obsession to reach out to him or constantly check my phone took over.
Every message from my girlfriends sent a dash of hope through my body.
But he never texted.
I know I shouldn’t take it personally, he doesn’t know me.
Him flaking is on him, there’s nothing I did wrong or should change about myself.
So I choose to sit here in my discomfort and reflect.
Trusting that every experience I am supposed to have won’t miss me.

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