When I first skirted into the land of sex, despite all evidence to the contrary, I was quick to claim myself to be dominant. I never really took control, I never suggested anything, I never did anything...But I claimed to be dominant. I was pretty much full-blown-you-can-have-control submissive, but I refused to admit to it. It took 1.5 years and an experience with being asked to dominate and realizing I didn't know HOW to go about it before I came to terms with being submissive.
I've always been curious, since then, why I couldn't handle the thought of submission. My best guess is that it has something to do with how my father was acting around that point in time, the way he was treating my mother and I at that point in time. I saw the way my mother would defer to his assholishness and vow to never be that submissive. I didn't quite get that there was a difference, a marked difference, in being submissive out of fear and being submissive out of desire.
Never mind that my most frequent fantasies usually involved myself being tentacle-raped, or forced into sex by strangers, or flogged, I identified as a domme.
At least, until my first experience with someone who wanted me to take control. Then I floundered, shook, and luckily he was able to see that, not press it, and take over. Which was just fine with me, and I have maintained a contentedly submissive position to this day, brief experience dating another submissive not-withstanding. The moment a guy showed himself to be dominant, I was already trying to figure out how well we'd mesh. Although even with this, I only have had three dominants actually dominating me offline (and one online, but that ended within three days of beginning), and a whole lot of guys who were more submissive but were good at giving me what I wanted (to be treated rough and tossed around a bit, and then cuddled). One of those dominants, I'm getting married to.
It would just figure that it's when I'm finally in a happy, long-term, at the moment in our personal hopes, dreams, and foreseeable version of the future til-death-do-us-part relationship with the guy I was hoping I'd find all along, that my sexual desires took a turn from pure submissive spank-slut.
My little inner domme is getting stronger and stronger. She wants to wield the whip, crop, and paddle now. She wants to be worshiped and leave marks. And she isn't shutting up.
Take this, add in a not-at-all-submissive fiance (except when he's getting a handjob, then I'm in full control since he's too busy writhing around to give orders), and you have a complicated situation, pushed further by my intense-if-ignorable interest in pegging.
An interest that, for the time being, is not being brought up. It's something that makes me glad he doesn't even know I have this blog - and if he does know, he's doing me the kind favour of not mentioning it. I like my privacy, a fact he knows all too well.
But sometimes, I wish...I wish I were strong enough to say that I really want something. It took 9 months, 3 of which had a book in blatant hint-sending display, him saying something, and then him doing something for it to come out that I want to try fisting. I don't do well with opening up about my more 'out there' interests.
Hell, he's going to have to draw his own conclusions about my complete willingness to randomly start giving him foot massages, not to mention the fact that I've licked his foot. Willingly. Mainly because he thinks foot fetishes are gross, and, well, I have a foot fetish. I pretty much hump air/the bed while giving him massages. The combination promises to evolve into a very interesting conversation when it finally gets brought up, that will likely culminate in 'Well, I want to be worshiping YOUR feet, I'm not asking you to start licking mine. Just enjoy the damn massages and worship', since I have never seen why anyone would have a problem with someone wanting to give their feet that much attention. Hey, fuck, massages feel good and tongues feel pretty damn nice too. And I use nice lotion and give good pedicures. Hell knows if someone wanted to pamper my feet that much, I'd be a very content little lady.
Let's not even get into the golden-shower fantasy that keeps springing up, since I'm not even into those. They just keep popping up thanks to the taboo.
That all said, I AM quite happy. A bit frustrated, but happy all the same.
Although some days I'm still quite tempted to bring up that one of the guys I had an online thing with before we started dating is a furry, just to see his reaction. I am guessing at it being along these lines: o_O;;;;;;;
To which, I will be responding '...Hey, there is NOTHING wrong with wanting to yiff, and seeing as he understood it just wasn't my thing and instead indulged my fondness for naked men holding weaponry, I don't see what the issue is with me dating a furry. Plus his fursona is drop-dead-sexy.'
I dunno. I think I just live for making my laddie go 'WHAT THE FUCK?!?', and now that he's gotten used to me showing him extreme stuff on Modblog, I have to up the ante. Eventually, I will have hopefully gotten him to the point where nothing will squick him out.
Although having kids in three years will likely do that just as well. From what I know from my goddaughter, kids do wonders for raising ones tolerance of what once made ones stomach turn cartwheels at a mere suggestion.
I seem to be developing quite the skills when it comes to going off on tangents here. I attribute this partly to the fact that, where I focused on the less-shocking fantasies and real-life encounters when I began this blog, now I am more interested in actually sharing my thoughts and such. It's still so very sex-centric, but reading back, in a different way.
As the lines of communication open in my bedroom, so does my writing on here. Maybe it's time to bring up that foot fetish. See what I write here next time.
Ah, well, waiting a bit won't hurt any.
Have a gooder.