I think I was a bit of a sex freak before I even knew what that meant. I don’t like to think of myself as a screw-up, nor have I had any kind of traumatic childhood experience I can recall; no weird touchy uncle or exhibitionists parents. Nothing.
My earliest memory of this is being around 10 years old, taking a shower and some sort of fortunate accident brought the water faucet to “a pleasant position”. I didn’t think much of it, I wasn’t even that curious about it, the only thing I thought is that it was an interesting sensation and “yay for that!”
As I grew up I learned the connotation behind it and, living in an specially conservative society, I got the feeling that it was wrong and I should probably be ashamed of it. However, I never considered stopping because, have you ever masturbated? It’s freaking awesome! So, maybe, just maybe, that’s when I started developing forced sex fantasies. It wasn’t just incredibly sexy to be desired and used, but it was a guilt-free trip where I could pretend I didn’t want any of that.
I didn’t feel comfortable enough sharing this until I had a boyfriend. I’m going straight to the point: roleplaying is fucking fun. I must have done a bit of growing up between such games that made me more comfortable with my sexuality. I didn’t feel ashamed anymore and I was ready to take it to another level… I just didn’t know that yet. Without being aware of it, my sexy games were lacking something; there’s even this (relatively) funny story when I, in the middle of a consensual rape session, begged my “rapist” to care about me, to be with me. You can image it was a bit of a shock to everyone involved. That was a few years ago.
British Man and I, as some of you may know already, get our sexual getaways from time to time, but the rest of the year we have to resort to ‘mental sex’. Feel as sorry as you want for me, but you’d be amazed what can be achieved if you don’t get straight to the action. This guy not only knows my general kinks, he also hears about my everyday fantasies. As for me (and he may deny this), I learned he’s the kind of guy who gets his kicks out of protecting and spoiling his little princess… Somehow, we ended up complementing each other.
It’s still rough and there’s still this feeling of pain and pleasure; I just stopped pretending I didn’t want it. I do want him to fuck me, nice and hard… And that’s ok. Not only that, I have to be a good girl to earn that fucking.
It also stopped being a game, it’s not a temporary role that lasts as long as the sexual encounter. He’s my Sir while I’m sucking his cock. He’s my Sir when he’s sending me dirty e-mails ordering me to pinch my nipples in the middle of a lecture. He’s my Sir right now, while I’m typing this and he’s out there doing whatever.
Most importantly, sex stopped being “impersonal and wrong”. Yes, I do all sort of shenanigans but, as a “reward”, I get such cute glances, soft kisses, sweet compliments and, you know… All that romantic shit girls are supposed to cream for, because, really, who am I to think I’m better than that?