Secret Confessions of a Smart Girl

I have a dirty little secret.

I like it when men look at me.

I came late to this sense that I can attract with my body, with my glance, with my walk, and, as a former ugly duckling, on the days I feel beautiful I enjoy being a swan.

It’s a novelty to me, having a figure they want to lok at, skin they want to touch, a body they want to be in, and it’s not all that often I believe they do.  Still, there are days like today, days when I feel strong, sexy, and sensual and I want to draw their eyes to me like a magnet.

I stride down the street, and I smile when their eyes slide down soft curves, linger inapprorpiateely on secret places, and then return to meet my own.

I imagine their hands, their mouths, taking a similar journey. When a beautiful boy with curly hair and golden eyes matches my grin with one of his own, I think “what if?”

What if I wait for him outside the building? What if I pull him into the alley that waits on the edge of the teeming crowd and press against him, skin to skin, tongue to tongue?  What if I take him in my hand, my mouth, my cunt? What if I swallow his cries, his lust, his body, to fill the chasm of desire that is my mind?

It’s over in an instant, but my eyes follow him as he walks away. I wonder if he’s also thinking, “what if?”

A few weeks ago, I was playing with someone who has negotiated that his primary partner needs to ask him before she’s allowed to have an orgasm. If she doesn’t… punishment.

I’d never played like that, and if you had asked me in advance it would not have been something I would have thought I would be particularly into.  I often have, after all, enough trouble having orgasms that I don’t really want to risk not having them when they seem to want to show up.

That night however, when he told me I had to ask for his permission to come, I discovered something fascinating. Asking helps.

Being told I had to ask for permission made orgasming substantially easier. It was like the responsibility for my pleasure had been taken completely off my shoulders. I didn’t have to worry about it anymore. Plus, having that intimate a decision under someone else’s control was incredibly hot.

Playing with one of my regular partners, more recently, in happily submissive headspace I found myself asking to orgasm - even though it was not something we’d negotiated or actually done before. He gave me permission, and *boom* I was  falling over the edge.

In my mind, t’s all about the control.

Sexual control, being told what to do, how to move, what is and is not allowed is incredibly hot for me. This is especially true since a lot of times I find sexual touch to be somewhat physically and emotionally overwhelming, and being told to take it makes that fact tolerable or even exciting. It makes it not about me.

I like it when it’s not about me.

I like it a lot.

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There’s also something insanely hot about someone whispering forcefully  in your ear, “I want you to come for me. Now.” It may only work, for me, if I’m already close, but god… the thought of being punished for not being able to, if it’s framed in a way that doesn’t make me feel defective or like a failure, is kind of hot in itself.

It also helps, a lot, when it’s set up as “you’re not allowed to orgasm” without permission. That takes the pressure off and makes failure, if you can’t avoid it, kind of a win win. Well, at least if you’re me.

It all started with the butt bow.

My girlfriend had kept it when she’d cut my dress off of me six months earlier, and all of a sudden she was holding the hideous thing over my head… or more accurately over my ass.

“I’m going to pierce you and stick this to your butt,” she said jokingly.

Horrified at the thought of a blood borne fashion faux pas, I tried to forestall her, “If  you wait, I’ll get you some matching red ribbon and you can do a corset piercing with the bow placed neatly at the bottom.”

“Oooh,” she said, “that’s actually a pretty cool idea.”

Thinking it through a little more, I agreed, and we made plans to make art at a party we were planning on attending the next time we saw each other. After all, we reasoned, if we were going to do something that nifty we wanted an audience for it… and photographs.

It worked out great.

Want to see? Click on the more tag below. I didn’t want to freak anyone out who is bothered by piercing or who is used to this being a text based blog and thus marginally safe for work.

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