Are you scared of sex? I am. Given how much I write about it, that might be surprising. Given how little I do it, I suppose not. I’ve been wondering why such a basic thing for all humanity is so agonising for me.
Please don’t misunderstand. I love feeling sexual, sensual, love the erotic. I love it. I love it more than anyone I know. At least as far as I know.
But what could it be? Is it fear of intimacy? I don’t think so, because I love intimacy. I pursue intimacy with all of my partners, and in life. It is how I connect with people. But is sexual intimacy the same thing?
Of course, intimacy achieved through sexual relations is different…and for some reason it isn’t “foreplay” or touch, but the act of intercourse which does me in. We are beside ourselves when making love. Is that too much? Is it more intimacy than I can handle? Does being animal in that moment make me feel too vulnerable?
Looking back over a life of partners, there was such arousal and excitement when we first coupled, but in most cases, once the relationship crossed from being just intimate and friendly with a sexual vibe, or had just moved from kissing and petting to actual intercourse, I almost always began to lose interest.
These are my pet theories.
This love of innocence of mine is also pre-sexual. It is innocence without request. It is pure love and joy. When I think of what “little space” represents, this is a kind of emotional and spiritual safe place that allows for a very particular kind of softness and love and intimacy. And yet, there are few things in life that arouse me more.
Is this because being “diapered up” means it is physical impossibility to have sex, so everything is safe to proceed? Maybe.
What about the female body? I think most people find the female form delectable. Me too. Though the nude female has always struck me as less desirable than the clothed one. I know that many people feel that way. The imagination seems to prefer clothing and the mystery.
No, I am not anti-porn, even though have never been a consumer of such. My disinterest in that kind of porn has always puzzled me—it was certainly not caused by a premature look at Hustler, it was already there. I am not wired for that. Stories on the other hand, especially ones which lead room for the imagination, have long titillated me. Nudity can be innocent, but it can also be alarming. An image of a naked woman that is overtly sexual is sometimes an overload for me.
I’m going to chalk this up to seeing Hustler-style, legs spread wide, and other things spread wide, images of my mother in a state of sexual ecstasy, or perhaps camera love, when I was still a child. It was traumatic. It wasn’t the first time that I saw something pornographic, though. One of my older siblings had a copy of Hustler which somehow one day I had in my hands…I can’t quite remember the circumstances. But I do remember being totally and utterly freaked out by the explicit images. First, I felt so angry that such a publication could exist. Second, I became angry that men looked at those images. Third, I felt mad at myself for not reacting how I was supposed to. And Fourth, I think I became terrified of the vagina in that moment…
This was not the innocent vagina that I saw as a young boy of 5, when my best friend, a girl, took me into her bathroom to show me something important. There was an innocent beauty to her desire to show me, and a kind of poignant insistence that I look. No, this was something aggressive, being shown to titillate and seduce. I do not fail to see the irony in wanting a vagina of my own and being scared by them. Is my desire to be female in part informed by wishing to put to bed this demon? And I had this sense even then that the vagina, as a symbol of female sexuality, had tremendous power, but that its power was being subverted, hitched to the wagon of the male gaze. And when I looked at that picture in Hustler, the main feeling that struck me was how much I hated men. I can still feel how I felt then, and what a strange way to react to a girlie magazine.
Could this be what has been in my way sexually? I feel as if I need to know because I have had an uneasy relationship with sex my entire life.
Before I began my D/s journey, I was thinking about how I should just go back to square one…relearn everything I had ever learned about female anatomy, and perhaps go and see an escort who specialises in this kind of body positive journey. I have a kind of twisted logic of why doing something like that wouldn’t be “unfaithful”, mainly because I don’t want to do it, and so it would be done purely from a desire to get over it.
Another part of my issues with sex are my abstract relations with my own anatomy. While objectively I might recognise that it isn’t a bad appendage, it works, is not bad to look at compared to many, possessing a certain elegance and earnestness, but it is not a part of me that I have ever enjoyed being reminded of. I love being aroused, off-the-charts hard, so excited that every cell of my body comes alive. That does not mean I need to touch it, or even stimulate it. I am perfectly happy, nay happiest, when I don’t even use it…it still gives uncommon physical pleasure.
But what is really going on here? It seems contradictory and unhealthy. Shouldn’t a healthy adult have the desire and ability to have meaningful sexual relations with a partner in a way that includes intercourse? I am not saying that I never have. There have been a clutch of partners who related to me very differently. They were kinky in some way, and that kinkiness was just enough to get my mind out of chatter mode and into being with the person I was with.
And as I loop and loop around this, I understand more and more what it is about the Dominatrix that makes this even more so. For one, how convenient for me that there is not even the slightest hint of “sex”. What I can feel is all of that energy without the “danger” of intercourse…
But also, what I need is to feel as if I am being despoiled. It isn’t okay for me to be the instigator, but rather the innocent party…and being despoiled makes it all okay—I had no choice. And isn’t that funny…Ravage me is the ticket to my sexual heart. Where have I heard that before?