Image via Pixabay
I’ve spent a lot of time in the archives of this site in recent weeks. And in that time, I’ve been reminded of things I’d long forgotten — like how naive some of my viewpoints about love, relationships, and BDSM could be. That happens to all of us, but I’m one of the lucky (?) few who get a written archive of it.
I don’t mind the old views, even if I find them a little silly now. At the time, they were my real thoughts and feelings, so they’re valid-ish. Every time I meet a new and (overly) enthusiastic submissive who feels like they have everything figured out, I smile. I know how much things shift as you learn and grow.
While I’m amused at those recollections, there’s one I didn’t miss until I realized just how gone it was…
My sexual fantasies. Where are they? When did they leave? How did I lose them?
The rational side of me (which like water, accounts for about 60 percent) knows they’re probably there somewhere, lurking. Or they filled my head because I was so sexually repressed for so long. Without a way to express my sexual side, all those thoughts had to go somewhere — and maybe they came out as a sexual fantasy. Many, many sexual fantasies.
The irrational side of me (40 percent on a good day, 75 percent on a bad one) says the fantasies are gone, used up, never to return. Maybe because I’m submissive and allow so much of my sexual pleasure to be controlled, nothing is left to fantasize about. (My rational side is telling me to get a grip because that last statement definitely isn’t true.)
Sex with John Brownstone feels good. It’s fucking amazing, even when it’s hurried and quiet.
Mutually checking out people is fun and exciting, even though I know I’d be lost if some kind of opportunity came from it.
I have no idea how to flirt and can never tell when someone is flirting with me, so even seduction fantasies escape me…unless they’re in control, and I’m not. But we call that “life” around here, so what’s there to fantasize about?
Of course, I also have one of those annoyingly analytic brains that doesn’t always find it easy to be imaginative. Sometimes I do, as evidenced by the very early archives. But when that creativity is missing, I’m about as imaginative as a brown paper bag (by myself, kind of boring and invisible, but when someone else decides they see something to be done, a bit of a blank slate and willing participant). In that long-winded analogy, I don’t meant that I don’t have thoughts, desires, wants, or limits. Only that my imagination isn’t gearing up to make something up for me. Instead, I wait and respond based on someone else (namely John Brownstone).
So where did my sexual fantasies go? Where are all the stories that used to play in my head like a (sometimes annoying) movie? Why am I not getting lost in thought with all the kinky, sexy things I want to try? Is it because I can have it whenever I want it so there’s no need to imagine it? Or have we lapsed into the stereotype of the boring couple that only has routine sex?
Random thoughts hit me, but they’re very much grounded in reality (or derailed by it)…
Ya know, I’m making good time on this project. What if I grabbed the Hitachi and soaked a towel or two?
Maybe if I lay a paddle out on the bed and waggle my eyebrows suggestively he’d beat my ass.
My skin is soft, and I love the swell of my breast. Gawd it feels so good. Oh wait, what’s that itch over there? Ugh, I’m hot and sweaty. Get this blanket off of me!
Having followed enough sex bloggers for long enough, I know these things (like desire and sex) come in cycles. But I kind of miss that optimistic, energetic, slightly naive, sexual being from the early days. She didn’t always use the right words (these days I usually do), but everyone in her head was naked and wet and filled with desire (these days, I’m usually not). I wouldn’t mind pairing a little of the old me with the newer version. Together we might melt a few screens. And I think we’d have much better sex.
Welcome to Masturbation Monday. Due to mutual nasty colds (the couple that swaps germs together, stays together?), there was exactly ZERO kinky fuckery and sex in our lives. Which was sad, because at this point, I’d take a quick fumble in the dark. Which meant I had time to think…ugh. But for actual sexiness and smut, you know where to go.