We all know it: I'm flawed. I'm eating disordered. I got beaten up growing up. My self-esteem is somewhere at minus three thousand. Stuff like that.
But there's one thing that flaws me all the more, but I haven't confessed it yet. Because I am ashamed.
I'm a freak. A freak who doesn't know her own body. And who feels unbelievably stupid for it.
I don't really know where to begin. Back when I was about to have sex for the first time? One and a half years into my relationship? When I ended things and started discussing scenes with Doms? Or last Friday, when I broke down during play with C and started crying uncontrollably?
I think I may as well start at the very beginning.
You know how there's this big discussion about the G-spot, right? Does it exist? If so, where is it? Does every woman have it? But there's never been a discussion about the female orgasm. It's a thing. Women cum, too. Some squirm, some don't – but they do have orgasms. If penetrated in the right way and given the security for her to let go mentally, too, women cum – most of them do.
I don't. At least: I don't think so. And that's the humiliating part. What does an orgasm feel like? How do I know it's there? I am fucking 23 years old and I have no goddamn clue. I'm a freak. I don't know anything about my body at all, apparently.
I remember being sixteen, walking to the park. It's one of those rare situations of my childhood that I really remember clearly, though at 16 one probably isn't considered a child anymore. Anyways. I was on the phone with my best friend (of that time) who lives in Berlin and who had a boyfriend and who had had sex. She told me how her guy could arouse her to a certain point but that was it. How she was not able to orgasm. How it built up and up and up and then no further. I was still a virgin, so I found it all pretty fascinating stuff. A couple of weeks later she called me, having had her first orgasm. And a couple of months later she told me she was able to cum when someone licked her earlobe. Erogenous zones, I guess.
I guess that description of being aroused to a certain point but no further kind of stuck with me. Sex with my ex was awful. Well. Okay, that doesn't do him justice. He tried. He really did. But he finished after a few minutes. And he just didn't know how to use his hands or tongue. Being naturally shy and submissive, I just cannot ask for anything. So for six years and a few months, his tongue had not really touched me. I shrugged it off – if I was him, I wouldn't wanna have my tongue down there, too. If he didn't like it, I wouldn't ask for it. It was awkward enough that after 6 years, he still needed help „finding the hole". I felt like an alien. And when his fingers touched me, he sometimes did a good job, but most of the time it wasn't all too pleasing. Because he started fine but kept repeating the same movement over and over again until it hurt. – Am I weird that it starts hurting at some point? Hell, I don't know. He also never seemed to get a grasp of the fact that it's not fucking pleasant to rub my clit with sanddry fingers. There's a reason women get wet.
Anyways. I remember our frustration in the beginning. When we were so fiercely in love and full of passion. When we had sex every time we saw each other. I remember how he was frustrated that he finished to early and that I never had an orgasm. I remember smiling and telling him it was alright (though it wasn't) and that we had all the time in the world. I remember how he was afraid I might seek sexual pleasure elsewhere if he wasn't able to do the job. „I'd never do that. I'm not unfaithful!", I said. „Don't worry, hun, I'm not going to break up because of this." And jokingly I added: „I give you another two years. If I didn't cum after three years of having had sex, then that's it."
I broke up after six and a half years. And sex was one of the major reasons. It's easier to tell myself that it's because of his poor performance that I never came, but I don't think it's the whole story. I still think that it's his fault for the most part, because even for vanilla sex, it was not good. Another huge part, of course, was the fact that I discovered what I was really into and desired and that he just wasn't dominant enough to fulfill me in that regard.
Know your own body. Know what pleases you before another one will ever be able to please you. That's what they tell you. When I tell a friend I never had an orgasm, the first question that comes is „Not even when you touch yourself?". „No", I answer then, „but it's extremely different from when someone else touches me." Of course it's pleasant and pleasing – but it's far from breathtaking. My hips don't start shaking, my breath hardly accelerates. It's ... fine. But it's far from what it feels like when another person touches me, plays with me, teases me. So I gave up on that. I even gave up on the whole orgasm issue itself.
About 2% of all women can't cum biologically. Their bodies are just not able to. Am I among those 2%? Or have I just not managed „yet"? Or maybe, did I cum and just not realize it? I feel ... so dumb. Like Jon Snow. I know nothing. Not even how to touch my own body. It's humiliating.
I love how open the BDSM lifestyle is. There's rarely something that's not accepted. You are the way you are. AD did a great job building my confidence in that regard. Faust, my first online Dom with whom it didn't work out at all, so we gave up after a few days (I was so new and so eager to try that I didn't see the signs that we weren't suited for each other at all), he once said something which I really took to heart and still would love to live according to: „Forget about the whole orgasm issue. It's clear you're having fun even though you do not cum, so let's focus on enhancing the fun without the pressure of an orgasm hanging over our heads." – And it's just what I'd love to do. But as open as the lifestyle is, there's still some kind of fixation on orgasms. I haven't met a single Dom (except Faust and AD) who didn't focus on it. Orgasm control is such a common thing among D/s folks. I'd make it a hard limit, but I'm scared of the message that might send. „So she doesn't want me to control her orgasms, she's no true sub" or „So she can't give up on orgasms?" anything along those lines. Messages that are so far from the truth. I'd be easy to make it an hard limit, but I'm sure it'd immediately be a topic of discussion with everyone. I can by now almost admit easily that belts are a hard limit because my Dad used to hit me with a belt (this one sentence alone sends me shaking) – I now see that it's important for potential play partners to know about my past and that physical pain might result in me slipping mentally back into a place I don't ever want to go back to. It was not my fault that he hit me. It's his fault. No matter how difficult a child I was, it's no justification for physical violence. – But not knowing your own body? That's just humiliating.
Or, and that's even worse, I think, guys get this ... ambitious focus. „She's not had an orgasm because she's not met the right one who knew how to please her – well, now I'm here." With all the issues with my own body I have, guys still believe that I'm able to let go the first time I am with them, let myself fall enough to be able to cum. It's one of those things that I know from friends that even those who cum mostly need a few times with a new man to be able to relax. The bigger the issues with themselves, the longer they need. Being a submissive and a pleaser, it's hard for me to disappoint guys. „Did you cum?" – one of the hardest questions for me to answer. I'd love to say „no, I didn't, but it was still great" – but most men don't hear the last part of that answer.
First time I played with B, he used a magic wand. And it was ... great. Beyond words. I was so exhausted afterwards, it hurt and was pleasant at the same time. It was just sooo good. He was like „so, how many orgasms did you have? Four? Five?", and I just smiled and didn't answer. „Ha, so you stopped counting!" I let him believe that. Truth is that I'm still not sure I came. Sure, it was awesome. But ... how do I know that I had an orgasm? I tried googling it. That's really humiliating, isn't it? And most answers go like „if you ask yourself, then you didn't have an orgasm" or „you just know". Which leads me to believe that I didn't cum. But hell, what do I know?
T knew about the whole orgasm thing. The one and only time we played, he used a vibrator to stimulate my clit, and my hips shook and it was nice (though not as good as with B) – but that was it. Mid-session he said „it's really hard to please you" and he could've stopped right there because after that I just felt awfully awkward and wanted him to stop. I don't want it to be „work" in the sense of being „hard work" that the man doesn't enjoy. And fucking hell, if I feel that the guy is focused on making me orgasm, it takes the fun out of it for me. Because I know I won't be able to give him what he seeks. And being submissive, it's fucking hard to know that.
When C and I discussed playing, I told him that I did not want him to focus on orgasms. I'm not sure I told him about not having had one, I think I did, though. I think I even told him that B was sure I had had one, but that I wasn't so certain. He said he wouldn't focus on it and that he gave up on it anyways because women were just too good at faking.
I was relieved. And he knows how to touch me. He gets better at it each time we play. Makes my hips shaky and me whimper and everything. Three weeks ago, after sex, he asked: „So did it work?" – and I froze. I was pretty sure I didn't have an orgasm. Yet it was still great. I shook my head. Later, I texted him to please not ask that. To let go of it. Two weeks ago, the next time we played and had sex, he played with my boobs and lead my hands to my crotch to play with myself. It's something I've always been afraid of – have someone watch me masturbate. This is a hilarious thought, I know, but what if he thought I did it wrong? So I was reluctant but did it. When we discussed the scene (in texts, because it's so much easier for me), he said that he wanted me to ask next time. He had realized I was reluctant. And I was confused. Did he refer to cumming? (No, he can't. Because I didn't. Can he? We said we would drop the issue, didn't we?) Did he refer to masturbating? Why should I ask? It was his hand who led me to do it – nothing I wanted. So I asked him: „Ask for what?" – „You'll see."
Had he clearly said then what he meant, last week wouldn't have happened the way it did.
I had been cheeky and slightly disrespectful to provoke him to be more strict with me. And I got punished. It's a longer story, but I'll cut right to the core (this post is long and humiliating enough). After punishment, I apologized. And I was so very submissive mentally – it was awesome. It was this state of mind that I needed to be in, that I crave. This absolute weakness. I knelt, wearing a mask so that he could only see my lips. And he said he wanted to establish two rules. „The first rule: You ask for permission to cum."
I froze.
„Do you understand?"
I said nothing. I couldn't say anything. Had I not been wearing a mask, he probably would've been able to see the agony in my eyes. I wasn't able to say anything. Mentally, I was so submissive that I couldn't logically tell him it was against my limits. I couldn't say no to him either. But I also couldn't say yes because that'd be a straight lie. What if that shaking was an orgasm? What if I did cum? I had no fucking fuck clue how to influence that. IF that was an orgasm, I needed training! How could he ask that of me? I felt stupid and violated in my trust.
He misinterpreted my quietness. He thought I was challenging his rule. Being disobedient. And he started caning me.
After the first stroke, I began sobbing. By the time he hit me the third time, I was a little bundle, crying out loud. That's when he realized something was wrong. Stopped, wrapped me into a blanket and led me to the bed. He tried hugging me there, pulling me into his arms – but I pulled away. I felt betrayed. By him. Violated in my limits, in my trust. So extremely betrayed that he'd go for a limit in a situation of absolute devotion. And I knew that he didn't know what was going on. I could feel that he thought it was because of the pain and my father, because I had warned him that physical impact scenes might turn bad quickly when I had a mental relapse.
After a while he left me alone. Which made it worse. I didn't want to be in his arms, but I didn't want him gone, either. Yet I was unable to talk, sobbing heavily and feeling humiliated, betrayed, stupid, betrayed, naive, betrayed – and betrayed.
I calmed down slightly. Was able to talk myself into seeing it through his eyes. Remember that I trusted him. That he wasn't abusive. That it must've been a miscommunication. That he wouldn't violate my limits knowingly. That it was goddamn C I was talking about.
Objectively, I knew he didn't do it willingly. That he didn't know it was such an issue.
But subjectively ... the trust was gone.
I don't know how long I needed till I was able to get up, sit across from him. I knew I had to tell him what had really caused my breakdown. But the thought of having to say that oud loud just sent me crying harder. He had offered to leave beforehand. Big mistake. If you're a guy reading this – don't ever offer to leave in a situation like this. If she's crying, no matter how much you messed up, if she doesn't push you out the door, stay. Leaving makes it worse. He then asked if there was anything he could do. More tears. Then: „You can tell me what made you break your word."
It dawned upon him then. And he realized what the problem was. And we talked about it and he apologized and was startled and we kind of solved it. Or so I thought.
Until the next morning, after waking up and having a little fun, he asked „did it work?" again. And I'm extremely certain that it didn't. But by asking he ruined what he had really achieved, which was having me submit mentally again.
After he left, I texted him and told him to never ask that again. It's a couple of days later and we touched the topic a couple of times, and I explained to him why it was such an issue and he promised to never ever talk about it again. But ... I am not so sure yet. After all, I had asked him not to a couple of times before. Time will tell.
What kind of make me go soft, though, was that he texted me „you know, that wasn't easy for me either, seeing you like that. Unable to do anything." So I know it wasn't his goal, that he cares about and for me.
But still. I'm sick of the whole orgasm topic. So very sick.
The next post'll be on the first private play party that I attended (and had SO much fun at). But guess what topic haunted me there, too? Right. Orgasms.
Having reflected all that today, I'm seriously sick of sex. For the moment. Won't last long.
And sorry for the extremely long post. If anyone except my own personal stalker M read this far. (Yep, M, I am super humiliated and extremely ashamed by the fact that I know that you read all this.)
xoxo
Kiwi
