Some people realise they’ve got “unusual” sexual needs from a very early age. We explore it but wonder if there’s something wrong with us. Some of us are taught sex is something bad, dirty, or secretive. We shouldn’t talk about it, think about it, and certainly not do it – until we’re married.
I was raised in the latter category. At age eight, I asked my mother to explain sex to me, and her response was emphatic.
“We’re not talking about that.”
As a parent now, I imagine I surprised the hell out of her. It didn’t help that we were in public when I asked or that I was so young. The lesson I learned, however, was not to talk about sex.
Sex was something secretive, mildly wrong, and – when I finally fully engaged in it – wildly rebellious. Never one to do things by halves, once I started fucking, I didn’t stop. The week before I graduated high school I lost my virginity and had frantic, drunken, and bad sex in a dark room. I spent the rest of the summer fucking my boyfriend until he begged me to stop. He couldn’t keep up.
For the next year or so, as long as I had a boyfriend, we had sex. Not kinky. Not even all that good. No orgasms for me. But plenty of wet, sweaty sex.
By the time I met the man who would become my husband, and later my ex-husband, my childhood beliefs had caught up with me. By having sex, I was doing something wrong. I shouldn’t want so much of it, and I definitely shouldn’t want the wild, animalistic sex that made me scream and writhe.
That my husband at the time was less than stellar in bed was both a problem and relief. When we had sex, it was boring, and I experienced very little pleasure. Never having had an orgasm, I didn’t miss what I’d never had. I’d already internalised the mistaken belief that orgasms are rare, elusive, and (worse) unimportant.
Bad Sex in Marriage is “Normal”
What do you get when you combine incompatible sexual partners, a stressful marriage, and kids? Some would say you get a completely “normal” situation. I used to be one of those people. I’d been raised on movies and television that depicted an always-horny man and his long-suffering wife who suffered chronic headaches that miraculously occurred whenever the lights went out, or he offered a back rub.
This was my reality. We had sex to improve his mood or to negotiate favours (I’ll fuck you if you do the dishes). It was quick, quiet, and always in a dark room. He would roll over quickly and snore. I would pull myself out of bed to clean up and find a book to read. The times we used condoms, it was over quicker and with less mess. Condoms were my preferred method.
It was a sad existence. We were both miserable on multiple levels. If we’d been honest with each other, the marriage ended many years before the divorce. It wasn’t until I had a sexual awakening of my own that I realised that part of our problem was what happened (or didn’t happen) in bed.
Owning My Sexuality and Sexual Needs
When I divorced my husband, I promised myself I wouldn’t date or fuck around until it was final. I needed to be truly free and single before I could contemplate sexual enjoyment. Of course, even then, my idea of a good fuck was quick and hard. The fact that an orgasm or anything other than basic “vanilla” sex was an option never occurred to me.
I went through a few flings and sexual partners until I was ready to do something different. And without the rejection of a man who found my lack of orgasms a turn-off, I might never have cared. What started with masturbation and allowing myself to swim in my sexual fantasies, turned into a deeper exploration.
What was it that turned me on?
Power. Control. Dirty sex. Not having the words for my sexual desires, but the images in my head were clear. To be pinned down. I would be ravaged. I would be lead, controlled, and told what to do. Call me names. Make me cry. Make it hurt. I found the language for my desires in erotic writing and personal sex blogs. Kink, BDSM, Dominant, submissive – it was new and a little scary. It was also exciting, and it was who I was.
I am a submissive woman.
I’m Better as a Kinkster
As a kinky woman who has embraced her sexuality and found a Dominant partner, I am a better, healthier human being than I was in previous years. The principles of BDSM and kink are trust, communication, and openness. Without those three things, it’s impossible to have a healthy and fulfilling relationship. You can barely play safely without them.
Could I have had a different type of marriage or better sexual experiences as a younger woman if I’d accepted and believed in trust, communication, and openness? I think so. Was the man I married someone who could have fulfilled my need for power and control? No, he’s not wired that way. The few times I tried to express my desires, I learned through rejection and disgust.
We were doomed.
In the years since, however, I’ve found a community and a partner that not only accepts my desires, he and it celebrates them. I’m free to be the woman I am and the submissive I’m meant to be. I live a life that not only expects me to be open about my sexual desires; it demands that openness. Without my willingness to admit what I want and need, kink doesn’t work.
After 15 years or so denying my sexuality and being afraid of it, I was an unhappy woman. Life was less colourful, more difficult. All these years later, I know how important my sexual needs are to me and a healthy, thriving relationship. There’s no way I could go back to anything less than what I have now.
Model Photo colourbox.com