In the decade that I’ve been experimenting in kink, I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve moved a particular activity from the “maybe,” “I guess,” or “I honestly have no idea” categories in my brain over to the “hell yes!” column. What I have not experienced often, however, is the near-sudden migration of a hard limit into constant fantasy fodder.
Face slapping was one such rarity.
“Are you…studying me?”
My eyes, which I had reflexively closed in the throes of my passion, had managed to flutter open, and they landed on the face of my (relatively new) partner. The expression upon it contained the expected lust, but even more noticeable was a look of intellectual curiosity, one I’d seen on him in sexual situations before. It was like he was cataloging me.
We’d been dating for a few weeks at this point, and our chemistry was undeniable. We were entangled on my couch, with me in a disheveled state of undress and him knuckle-deep in my cunt.
“Something about the way you look at me when we’re fooling around, it’s like…like I’m an intriguing science experiment to you.”
He laughed, kissed me, and asked, “Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” I breathed in a reply that was more sigh than word, as at that moment, he began again with his machinations below my waist.
I first realized that I was submissive about 10 years ago, at the age of 20 and in the middle of my first “adult” relationship, i.e. my first relationship that hadn’t begun in high school. Looking back now, my kinks manifested in various ways prior to that – including a childhood period of fascination with historical methods of corporal punishment – but it wasn’t until college that I was able to attach a label to those desires.
Labels can be helpful. As I’ve written before, discovering words to accurately describe my queerness was a revelation, and finding labels to reflect my burgeoning kinks was equally eye-opening. But labels can also be restrictive, when they almost fit but not quite – like a pair of leggings that’s just a bit too tight. Suddenly, you find yourself uncomfortable, self-conscious, and questioning why you ever put the damn things on in the first place.
I drove down the highway, singing along loudly (and badly) to Janelle Monáe. The prospect of what I was hurtling toward in my little Toyota Corolla both thrilled and terrified me: I was about to have sex.
For the first time in over a year.
With someone who wasn’t the man I loved for over 4 years until he utterly broke my heart.
I’ll be honest, y’all: I’m not really one for New Year’s resolutions. I do tend to get introspective at the end of the year, reflecting on the previous 12 months and the things I’ve accomplished, and I try to begin January 1st on a positive note, mindful of certain intentions I’ve settled on for the upcoming year. But when it comes to standard, straightforward, concrete resolutions? It’s never been my thing.
But this year, I have a resolution: I’m keeping an orgasm spreadsheet for 2018. Continue reading
I first wrote this a couple of years ago for my old blog, but I rediscovered it recently when going through some old documents. I still really like it, so I decided to polish it a bit and post it again. Enjoy. ❤
Hermione Danger Recommends is a new series where I recommend a piece of media – TV show, book, podcast, etc – that centers on sex, feminism, and/or social justice issues.
When I started planning this blog series, I began making a list of media I wanted to discuss. Soon, I had enough material for a year’s worth of monthly posts, and the ideas kept on coming. However, it was never a question which one would be my first-ever recommendation; it was always going to be The Dildorks.