Notes on the child I used to be

When I was a little girl I was obsessed with sex. 

I didn’t know exactly what it was but I had scattered clues gleaned from older children, careless parents whose bedroom doors didn’t lock, my mother’s “female health” book and a tattered Mills and Boon found somewhere.

My best friend and I hid behind the curtains in the window of my living room and pored over line drawings of penises and vaginas and wombs in profile. Giggling. Snickering. Terrified of being caught looking at bold things. 

Sometimes there would be a little boy over to play, his parents friends with mine, and we might play doctor. I don’t remember very much except that I thought it was fun to play doctor and I didn’t feel at all weird about cold plastic stethoscope or thermometer.

I wasn’t clear about sex, about bodies, about intimacy… but I was very aware at a young age that you couldn’t be too eager or make suggestions. I knew I would always be more weird than other people and so I took a passive role, delighting if someone else’s mind allowed for us to do something bolder and more likely to get us in trouble. I’m not necessarily talking about sexual activity, I wouldn’t really call playing doctor or playing “more realistic” house, sexual activities. But across the board, I was adventurous, curious, and only behaved myself if there was a real risk of getting in trouble.

I dreamt of sex as a child. I wasn’t molested or corrupted by any adult, but sex was on my mind. It wasn’t a bad thing, in my mind. It was an exciting, mysterious part of adult life and like all things adult and prohibited I wanted it immediately. 

I was an impatient child. I snuck cider from my mother’s glass when she wasn’t looking and pretended to smoke cigarettes made from rolled up note paper. My mother noticed I loved those candy sticks a bit too much because they looked like child-sized cigarettes in a box, and I wasn’t bought them any more. I wanted to be an adult. 

At this point I didn’t share my thoughts with my friends. Again, I was aware that somehow I was weirder than most. Maybe I wasn’t afraid of the places my mind would go. I wasn’t afraid of where my thoughts might lead me, until I was 12 or 13 and developed the very real fear that if I let my imagination run wild, I might find out I was a lesbian.

I loved breasts. I thought about breasts. Hard nipples, full breasts.

I couldn’t tell if I was just jealous of people who had them- my modest handfulls didn’t come in until I was eighteen, and they didn’t really get that nice round shape until I was in my twenties. They were high up but droopy, with big soft nipples, very big for a white girl I thought, and formed a pyramid shape. I hated them. 

So I thought about breasts. I wasn’t sure if I just wanted to have them or if I wanted to hold them. But I was a teenager and the real worry, the idea of how AWFUL life would be if I were a lesbian… the idea lodged itself there. I started to close my mind off at the edges, keeping my thoughts inside the box for the first time in my life. Afraid, terrified that in one more way I would find myself to be different.

I was already an atheist, my parents weren’t married, I was unbaptised and my family was international. I spoke three languages and I didn’t have brothers or sisters. All together, I was the weird, strange child. I didn’t want to be more strange. God, it was hard enough building myself up to resist the mere fact of being different…. in ways that would later turn out to be positive, mostly.

I didn’t want to be a lesbian. I wished at night. PLEASE DON’T LET ME BE A LESBIAN. 

But breasts were lovely, and I thought about them. Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears came out with their first albums. Christina was pure and sexy in a genie in a bottle. I thought about her. The lines between being her and touching her were blurred in my fantasies. I didn’t know what I wanted.

there was a mounting sense of frustration.

I thought about my friends sexually. Not my girlfriends- that was a sort of taboo. I thought about the boys I played with, who I was playing with less and less as it became clear that sooner or later we would have to part ways and become awkward teenagers. 

I thought about them at night.

I was maybe eight or nine, and I had this dream….

Of a dungeon. It was’t a dungeon really, it was nice.

Before I figured out how to masturbate, I guess my frustration was so high, I learnt to control my dreams. Sometimes I could choose to go to my dungeon. At night I would wake up in my dream. In my bed. The wall against my bed was made of jelly, but only I knew this. No one could pass through it except at my invitation. I would slip through the wall and find myself in a dungeon. 

Stone walls, a fireplace. Fur rugs. Candles on the walls. A huge round bed covered in red and purple and black drapes. This was my aesthetic vision when I was a child.

In my dungeon I was an adult woman, curvy, beautiful. Long, thick hair like a 1970s star. Big breasts. HUGE breasts. I went naked in my dungeon or else I would wish myself into beautiful dresses. Sometimes I would wish myself into clothes that were just corsets or rope wrapped around me, squeezing my breasts and my skin… 

I have no idea where I got these images from. Perhaps vampire movies? Probably vampire movies.

In my dungeon I would be like a goddess.

I would wish dozens of men to come and queue. I would inspect them one by one. I was rude to them. No, no, no… Go home. Stop wasting my time.

Then I’d kiss one. Yes, you can stay. Maybe. I sometimes wore skin tight catsuit type outfits. I was a sexy, adult dominatrix. I kissed all the boys I liked, and then I’d fuck them. Usually when I was just about to fuck them in my sexy adult body in my sex dungeon, the alarm clock would go off and I’d wake up in my stupid little girl body with my stupid little girl life and I had to put on my uniform and go to school and talk to my little girl friends about Harry Potter or Pokemon or whatever we were into at the time. When I put on my uniform I had to take off my pyjamas and I had these little girl titties that were so awful, just flabby nipples. God I hated looking at myself. In my dream I was this sex queen. In real life I was just this awkward girl with puppy fat that was far too young for anyone (that wasn’t a paedophile) to want to fuck her, and of course in real life I wouldn’t even think of actually doing anything sexual. It was a separate, secret part of my mind.  I didn’t actually WANT someone to have sex with me. I just wanted to be an adult already and have men fall at my feet and worship me and do what I said.

In reality little boys, little freckled stupid boring boys, would tell me to shut up because I talked too much and when they finally started fancying girls, they treated me like a boy and talked about my prettier friends. 

It took me so… fucking… long… to get where I dreamed of being.

And now I’m older I don’t WANT to stand before I queue of men, deciding which was yes and which was no, and demeaning them all with my power. And yet I could. Because I’ve grown up. I don’t have those massive breasts I dreamt of as a child but I have a woman’s body and I’m comfortable in it. I’ve battled my thoughts and those edges of the box, I’ve come to terms with my love of breasts and I know I’m not a lesbian. And if I was a lesbian, I wouldn’t give a shit. I’ve started digging into the darker corners of my mind and what I find there isn’t scary or disturbing. It’s just me. I’m not afraid of what I’ll find there. 

Since I started to dig deeper, beyond my pure and simple love of a good ride, I’ve found myself in interesting situations, exciting situations. I’ve been dabbling in BDSM. I haven’t reported on that because I’ve been quite consumed with it and haven’t felt inspired to write a report of being tied up and spanked….

I just felt like writing this now. Maybe I’ll write about the other things, but this is what I felt like writing so here it is.

Obligatory new year post, featuring resolution: Give BDSM a chance and my top five men of the past month, And other stories.

I’ve been quiet here, sorry. I’ve been very very out there in my life, however.

Christmas was an endurance test of the most ridiculous and hedonistic proportions. It started some time in November, maybe, when I moved into Dublin city, it started at a rate of three big nights out a week and steadily upped the tempo til mid December was just a barrage of inseparable nights and days drinking and sleeping with people and laughing and making new friends and drinking and waddling home with smelly armpits and heating up frozen meals and maybe washing and definitely changing clothes and RIGHT BACK OUT THERE INTO THE CARNAGE

All came to a head New Years eve where I uncharacteristically took a mystery drug offered me which turned out to be 2ci, and I went a bit weird and groped a guy’s thigh and he said (maybe influenced by the same drug)

“Sorry, I just find all of your friends more attractive than you”

despite the fact that I was wearing the shit out of a velvet skin tight  long sleeved and legged catsuit and my face was barely registering signs of liver abuse.

I went and sat in a room on my own for a while trying to send dirty messages to someone I met online (see point 5) but found my condition didn’t work with predictive text, I kept writing messages and ending them with “so he can” completely nonsensically. “I’m alone so he can.” “I wish you were here so he can”. etc.

I was later found by friends sitting alone in the room kneading my own arms and muttering “their bodies are so warm” and was put to bed where I slept through most of the party.

New year, new you, no more mystery drugs.

Not the first time I said that?

Well. But that’s not the thing.

The thing is… I’ve been enjoying the single life. I get too bogged down in individual menfolk, to the point that I get obsessive. So I’ve been casually seeing a few, and boy does that suit me. No obsession, I don’t even feel compelled to write back to them several times before getting an answer. Progress, progress!

I have a few men I like on the go.

One I fucked wonderfully a few months ago, he’s been away but has kept in touch intermittently and is keen to meet when he’s back soon. BUT he seems like the sort of guy who’s decent, and serious, and you don’t just mess around with. A total boyfriend type, and I’m not sure he’d be able to fit in with my friends, he’s not a drinker at all and that’s an awful criterion for a match but it’s true, I would hate to have to see friends and family all separate from whoever I was with. Actually no, that would be IDEAL. But he’d judge my drinking even if I cut it down to like 20%. Also, he’s a medical student and I DO NOT NEED THAT in my life. I’d be waking him up at 4am being like “honey, please, I know you said it’s not cancer but seriously is it cancer?”

Two, I’m actually sick of him now. Just use him like a short metal implement good for scratching an itch, that doesn’t quite get there. Phasing him out, although there was a relapse new year’s day when he gave me a lift home from the party I woke up in and I had the low self esteem of the weirdly rejected for a thigh grope, and I was wearing a velvet catsuit and I required some kind of validation of my rockin bod. (He gave me the validation but the sex was beyond awful and then he fell asleep which I didn’t like, in my bed! I had to get up and turn the lights on and  pretend to be looking for something noisily so he’d finally leave…)

Three, a guy I meant to tell you about ages ago because it was quite a good story. But now I have too many fresher good stories. Suffice it to say, met online, we had great sex and good conversation but it’s a feelings-free zone for both of us. But I’ll keep in touch with him, he’s a good guy. And the sex. But mostly just, he’s not the sort of person I’d usually ever meet, businessman and obsessed with getting rich, unfortunately not rich yet, but just… an easy going and different perspective.

Four…. Not from the internet, for a fucking change! Met at a party, took a little bit of a pill, got all loved up and gazed into each others’ eyes for hours talking about everything. Found we got along very well, plenty of similar interests. Unfortunately the pills made us more forthcoming and taboo-less than usual and we found ourselves discussing how we are both chronic cheaters and would be interested in open relationships. Which I didn’t really mean, because I only ever cheat from boredom or out of spite. And I’m WAY too jealous to do an open relationship, really. I think. Yes. But we had a great night, eventually great sex, and when he tried to make a second sex date I took a great leap from my usual silly position and said, BRING ME FOR A STEAK. Actually I said lobster dinner but we made a compromise. He took me for a lovely, lovely meal where we didn’t have any pills but still grinned at each other like teenagers for hours. Great easy conversation, smiling, smiling, lovely food, lovely sex… and he’s a fairly successful writer and other things. Damn. Intimidating. So I’m totally intimidated and totally into seeing him again, but there’s that silly prelude of us talking about cheating, and although yes I’ve done it and know I wouldn’t ALWAYS cheat, he said he does, always, absolutely. So that’s a bit of a red flag. But you know I’ll probably ignore it completely. Also he does seem quite keen, but he recently broke up with a woman who he says was great but he just couldn’t keep hurting her. Urgh… Yeah. Bode well, it does not. But he’s hot, and he got me steak, and he talks about books and he fucking writes. I’ll risk it probably.

FIVE… another internet one. this time, we haven’t met. It’s odd. He wrote to me a few months ago saying he’d be over in Ireland for a few days, did I want to meet. I said probably not, I’m busy. At the time I was seeing two men and felt that was enough. I’ve since stretched my….stomach? to the point that I would quite gladly add another to the mix, just to up my chances of winning. He wrote me a few times over the weeks, months, and every time I wasn’t too keen, I said maybe, maybe, he looked quite gentlemanly but dirty, tall and cocky, like the sort of person who’d fuck you proper but not get attached. But then I’d get attached. My kryptonite. But I was so damn busy, the party season kicked into full gear, I was so drunk all the time and so hung over in between, and then I didn’t have the money (read: it was being spent on alcohol) to pay for a professional wax, so I didn’t want to show up for a sex date with a guy who clearly knows how to dress and likes the finer things sporting DIY wax job and three day session face.

So I replied to him a bit but I was obviously giving him a good interesting challenge. Not a solid no, but not interested.

Eventually one night there was some sexting. I was drunk, I wrote back to a filthy message, and we got into a full on night of sexting. And surprisingly for me, the next day I didn’t recoil or lose interest. He actually spoke to my fantasies. He was filthy in a way I am, but never really let to the surface for anyone. He tried to coax me out to meet him. I was busy! I just met guy number four, I was going to a good party, I didn’t want to bring a guy over to my single bed and cold apartment. Then we had another night of intense sexy texting and I thought, fuck, I DO want to meet him. Desperately! We must meet. And then I got my poxy period. And no way was I going to meet him with that, because I was really keen on him going down on me as he promised, for ages.

So he came and went, and as he left we got into a very intense and constant discussion of fantasies and fetishes and fuck, it was like the floodgates opened. Normally I have a high sex drive. Since talking to him in the last… five days? Maybe? I’ve been constantly humming with the need to fornicate. I’m light headed with it. Giddy, distracted. We’ve stayed up chatting for hours. We’ve had phone sex, cum incredibly hard, discussed really out there things and somehow landed in this weird we’ve never met, sort of…. dominant and submissive relationship.

I’m kind of reeling from it. I’ve never considered myself in any way submissive, except for one time years ago when a friend and I got into some jokey game where I had to call him master and he called me his pet, and I sat at his feet and obeyed him, but it was silly, a game, and the only reason I remember it is because I remember being really excited by it and thinking if only I could let him know I wanted to do that for real, without having to ASK.

But with this guy… he’s confident. Authoritative. His voice enthralls me. It’s so steady, it commands respect. I’m weak with him… But I’m not a submissive person. I’m not! I’m an outgoing, loud, vulgar woman! I’m dominant, obviously.

And then I found this blog post that described Alpha female submissives…. and it was all about me.

http://dominantsoul.wordpress.com/self-understanding/alpha-submissives/

I’m not saying I AM a submissive, fuck I haven’t tried any of this stuff for real and I have always tended to cringe when it comes to templates for relationships… why the whips and chains? Why not a bit of fucking subtlety? Why pvc? WHY PVC?

BUT.. in the article which I can’t find now, it’s bookmarked on my phone, I’ll add it later..

I read about myself, my past relationships, why a strong supposedly great woman can’t find a fucking man who suits her.

Because I’m a strong woman, men think I’ll be a dominant one in the bedroom. When really I just want a really strong man to hold me down, be rough with me, and maybe not exactly punish me or do any cliché stuff like in that recent book I won’t dignify by naming, but definitely make me feel smaller, weaker, less in control.

I’m in control of my own life. Hence why it’s in such disarray… but yes, I make every decision. No one influences me really. I have to make every bloody decision about everything. I don’t want that, but I’m not just about to give up my power for anyone.

It would, I believe, take a very special man to make me cede the remote. But if I meet that man, then cede it I will. Because I don’t want the control. I never did. I’ve been independent in some ways since I was a child, headstrong and unwilling to accept authority…. unless I respected the person. I never had a problem with authority, just with the wrong people having it.

Now, I don’t know where I’m going with this.

I haven’t met this guy, we’ve just talked. And there’s a lot going on. The sexual thing is clearly very strong. But there’s something else here, something that excites me far more. The idea of exploring this, well, we’ve already started exploring some parts. And it wasn’t like he said “I want you to submit to me”. Fuck, most of it was my idea.

He lives in England, but said he’ll come back soon. We’ll meet. We’ll see what it’s actually like. I kind of hope nothing happens because I have college to go to next year and I NEED to make something of my life, and the last thing I need is to fall madly in love with someone in another country. Again. I can clearly not be trusted to make the right choices.

And yes, it’s premature saying that, but you don’t know… it’s been so intense lately. Just talking to someone. I’ve never felt this excited about a stranger, I’ve never felt so keen to please someone while so free from the pathos that has always come with my being overly nice and eager with regular vanilla type boyfriends.

So I’m finally getting to the point….

New years resolution

Give BDSM a chance.

if this is the right thing for me…. well, it wouldn’t surprise me. At all. The submissive alpha thing I read makes a shit ton of sense to me. I felt like smacking myself in the forehead and not just because I’m also slightly masochistic. It was like DUH!

Of course your relationships with “nice guys” don’t work, because they don’t treat you roughly in private.

Of course the dominant guys don’t go for you, because you seem like you’d dominate them in private.

And it made all my relationships look like jigsaw puzzles for toddlers. Four corner pieces. How could I not see this before?

Even if my new internet dominant ends up being an evolutionary dead end in my sex life, he will at least have flung up all these things that must be some use to me in my quest to find a good man who doesn’t bore me to tears. Like maybe I could just stop being so damn overbearing all the time and maybe let men I meet realise I’m not actually an ogre in the sack or kitchen. Just the bathroom.

Anyway. I haven’t written anything in ages… I’m tired (drunk also)

I have another NY resolution, it’s to write a motherfucking book.

I have decided to take the pressure off so I am not planning on writing a good book just A BOOk. I think that’s a good plan. Anyway it’s going to be an erotic novel, because that’s a pretty shitty medium, so again no pressure.

But I’m into the first chapter (sorta) and I’m finding it very hard because I keep having to masturbate because it’s really turning me on. I take that to mean I’m writing a very good erotic novel. I’ll keep you posted.

On both the novel and the masturbation, probably.

G’night

NEXT DAY UPDATE:

last night, weird footnote with my supposed new dominant. He was being pushy, asking for a video, saying he’d send one in return. I wasn’t comfortable so I said look, I just don’t think it’s right you remaining a complete stranger while I totally submit to you. I think it’s more important to establish trust first, than keep mystery. What do you think?

No reply. He’s been online all night and all day and no answer.

At first I felt crushed, like I’ve pissed him off with my disobedience. Why did I have to do that?

and then I realised I’m being pathetic, not submissive, and he’s being pushy, not dominant. I may not be cut out for the world of BDSM but maybe I am, maybe to some extent. And from my little bits of research on the subject, I think this guy is a bit too domineering and not quite enough into making me feel comfortble.

So. Don’t feel shit about letting him down any more, think he might be a bit of a dick really, just like all the men I go crazy over.

But now I’m in this position where I desperately want to push my limits, try something new that scares me a little, be dominated… and I’ve no one to do it with. I have zero intention of showing up to some latex and dyed black hair meeting and finding some new guy purely to be dominated by. I liked how this kind of happened organically, although he was pushy from the start, which I liked. Now I have my other guys left, well, realistically I have guy 1 and 4, but guy 1 is too romantic and guy 4 doesn’t have as high a sex drive as I’d like and is a self proclaimed incorrigible cheater.

If my sexuality is a scab, I shouldn’t have started picking it. But then who can resist picking at something?

Or maybe it’s a door that I should have left closed. But you can reclose doors, can’t you?

Yeah, it’s probably a scab.

Or floodgates! I’m not sure what they are but I’d say they are harder to close than doors.

Stupid metaphors.