Practicing a Sensation

Not really! But sometimes!

(There is/might be a new lovely human in the picture too, but I’m not quite ready to write about him yet except to say:

1.     WHOA.

2.     Yay!

3.     “Good girl.”)

Anyway trigger warning for this story—sexual assault, abuse.

During my twenties and for a good chunk of my time with Sweetie-Now-BFF, the sensation of a penis inside me felt like an elusive, impossible grail, something I wanted WAY to much and absolutely COULD NOT figure out how to get with any kind of healthiness or consistency. I think I accidentally acted out this weird story I tell myself if getting stuck on sexting with The Coach—just another (really fun for a while!) way to convince myself I couldn’t get that feeling. I’ve always thought I’d better become SOMEONE ELSE ENTIRELY to get a dick in me, like other women somehow knew the secret I just couldn’t grasp.

I know. It’s very silly. But I still feel unfuckable-in-this-one-particular way even as the evidence is mounting (ha) to the contrary.

When I was text-playing with The Coach, I got a little sick of fucking myself—all of his delightful big-dick-describing made my fingers feel inadequate and though I came over and over for him, I craved the inside release. I had toys, nice gentle still things that usually do the trick, but I wanted something to take the edge off the yearning, off the power The Coach had over me.

So, having done absolutely no research beyond remembering that one Sex and the City episode, I ordered myself a Rabbit and a whole bunch of lube. Sometimes, I do make good decisions.

My new toy did take the edge off enough, gave me enough of a self-esteem boost that I could admit that The Coach wasn’t going to give me what I wanted. But more importantly, that sensation! The coming-from-the-inside sensation that always felt like an impossible treasure now waits in the drawer for me at the end of any given day, good or bad.

Not only that, it TURNS OFF MY BRAIN long enough to just melt and bask in the pleasure.

It seems a little odd to want to learn to take this feeling, that amazing-superhard-cock-inside-me feeling for granted, but that is exactly what I aim to do.

I want to learn that I deserve that feeling as much as anyone else who wants it. I want t0 practice feeling the joy and comfort and brain-tingle without wondering who exactly I would need to be to get it.

I have to acknowledge that I am massaging out a lot of pain that lives in there too—the loss, the heartbreaks, the losses of autonomy large and small.

Some of that pain is even inherited, I think. My mom may have actually taught me this inside-orgasm-craving-lack-of-agency. I used to overhear her berating my dad for not satisfying her properly, which one night culminated in something-like-ten-year-old-me overhearing him rape her.

What a memory to live in my body along with all of the recent traumas, likes, loves, and grief. I’m happy to be taking ownership of this particular sensation, giving myself a safe, private (well) space to learn what it’s like to feel entitled to, and safe receiving, inside pleasure.

I would like this to be part of building up my self-esteem and confidence enough to actually look for a guy who LIKES me, someone who wants to be close as whole humans. It’s a pretty basic wish, the PSL of dreams. I’m glad to have written it down.