i was sexually open and adventurous. i enjoyed a good fuck and i liked it kinky, even though i somehow ended up sleeping with people who weren’t that interested in kink or at least never explored it with me. it didn’t matter, though, because i had fun. i didn’t care who thought i was a slut, if indeed anyone did, because i knew i was being safe and enjoying myself. who cares what other people think? tallying my number of partners, i shrugged. i rejected the double standard and reveled in my sexual freedom.
i got my heart broken many times, just like everyone in their 20s and early 30s. and like many other young people, sometimes i would mistake lust for love, thinking i could fuck my way into someone’s heart. it doesn’t usually work that way, i’m here to tell you.
my self-confidence related to sex was strange. i knew i was a sensual/sexual being who had strong energy. i felt like i could draw to me those i wanted to fuck. indeed, i ended up in bed with people who i perceived to be out of my league. (that’s a whole other post to come, dear reader.) i couldn’t make them love me, but i could sleep with them. and that felt powerful in a way.
but stud status aside, i just wanted to be loved. i wanted to be loved and accepted for who i was and i wanted to be the object of someone’s lust. but it seemed to me that you had to choose one or the other. you might be with someone who adored you and showered you with affection, but the sex would be totally boring. and the people i had hot sex with were the ones who didn’t want a relationship (with me) and who, truth be told, weren’t going to be the best partners for me anyway, even if they did care for me.
sex and love… never the twain shall meet. right?
there was never a strong sexual spark for me. i liked being cute with him – cuddling and being cozy with movies and being homebodies. i ended up being his caregiver for much of our relationship; his mental illness was often the center of our life together and it wore me down. i don’t want to be specific here about what happened, but aspects of his sexuality were pathologized by treaters and that meant that sex became very proscribed and limited. and eventually, we just didn’t bother. his guilt had transferred to me and it was awful. i felt resentful and angry that there were such tight restrictions on what sex could be and that it was so unpleasurable. i closed myself off to him and after time, even his touch would turn me off.
i had really lost my way. a few years into a relationship that later turned into an unhappy marriage and then a divorce, i realized i no longer knew how to have sex without guilt, no longer knew how to please myself and my partner, and perhaps the saddest part of all was that i didn’t want to bother anymore. sex felt like an ordeal; it was so negotiated, it was mechanical. there was no room for desire, passion, curiosity. there was no room for me.
in the months and first year or two after my divorce, i started exploring again. i started reconnecting with my body and feeling pleasure again. i bought a new vibe. (i had thrown my only one away during my marriage. what was the point?) i had fun sex with new partners and especially enjoyed fucking women again. i had a blast, but i still wanted that combination of love and lust. deep down inside, i feared that this was an impossibility for me and wondered if maybe everyone in this life has to choose one or the other. in this context, polyam made total sense to me and i started reconsidering this as a life choice, but didn’t seriously explore it.
then i met Daddy. everything changed.
the second time we had sex, we were lounging about and cuddling before we got down to it. i remember kissing him and saying, “i want to be your slut. i want to be yours.” and he smiled and got a little melty. and it was true – i wanted him to have all of me, even so soon into our relationship. i just knew…
and then later he said to me, “you know, you can have both.” and i sighed. i might have cried. i don’t remember. but it was like he knew, even before he’d heard all my stories, that it was what i desperately wanted. i still wonder if it’s what he’s been searching for all this time, too.
he still tells me “see? i told you that you could have both” when we lie in dark, side by side, sweaty and catching our breath in the glow of orgasm. he’s absolutely right. he spanks me, he holds me, he bites me, he consoles me. we aren’t limited by anything but our own negotiated boundaries and our imaginations. we’ve been together a couple of years now and we’re still exploring our edges together, still finding fun things to do with each other. we’re still playful and flirty.
i don’t have any regrets about the past. no apologies about the present, either.
i can have both. i can have what i want.
i am in love. i am in lust. and i’m over the moon about it.