Glitter. Real Stories About Sexual Desire From Real Women (5 page)

The Celibate Slut

Jess

I am a mental health professional, pastry chef, ex-art major, crazy cat lady, fat model, fiery advocate, and total pain in the ass. You can read more about me on my web site TheMilitantBaker.com.

I’m a twenty-six-year-old professional with a grown up career and other big kid responsibilities, but five years ago I was an ambitious and talented professional drunk. This consequentially landed me the title of ‘slut’ but I like to think about myself as being “a lady of the evening making up for lost time.”

I grew up strictly religious, scared of my body, never knowing quite fully about my anatomy, and convinced that someday I would find Prince Charming and we would get married, ride to a castle and hug all night. Fast forward to a party with what my Mom called the “wrong crowd” when I was nearly twenty-one, where after I finished my very first bottle of Jack Daniels I found myself in a hammock with a sexy bar bouncer receiving my first kiss. Twenty years old and I didn’t have the foggiest idea about how you are supposed to kiss. I think I ended up sucking a lot of hollow air. Luckily we were both drunk enough to not care and continued macking all night.

Shitfaced, I went to bed and he asked if he could sleep in my room as well. Any other person on the planet would have known what this actually meant, but I really just thought we would crash on the floor and get a good night’s sleep. But, instead I was date raped. For years I thought it was my fault, and held on to the massive amount of guilt that accumulated. I remember calling a friend, sobbing into the phone about how confused I was at what to do next, I had heard about Planned Parenthood but that was the extent. She asked me if he “came in” me and I didn’t know what that meant so I said yes to save myself from seeming even more inexperienced. It was only years later that I realized that I was simply a young naive girl who didn’t know anything about anything and was taken advantage of by someone who knew goddamn well what he was doing. This was a hard realization, but now that I look back it explains perfectly how the next few years came about.

Now, don’t get me wrong, the whirlwind of consensual sex was a riot after that. I became the talk of the town while adoring every rumor. I spent every night in a club or bar, dancing my ass off and having a great time. And every night I had a new partner usually exploring anything and everything under the sun. Er, moon. I couldn’t tell you the names of most of them and some memories are fuzzy but I had a hell of a good time. Public sex under the staircase across the street, in alleys, cars, random people’s beds and couches, bathtubs, pool tables… phenomenal. Alcohol loosened me up and quickly turned this virgin into a kick-ass tramp.

My first real relationship was a sidewalk meeting one drunken 4
th
of July night with a carney from the circus. Within ten minutes of meeting we were in a cab on the way to my house and thus started a three-year stint with toxic love and sexual deviation. I learned about everything with the carney, and there was no shame. We fingered each other at the top of the Capitol building in DC. We had riotous sex in a circus train with paper-thin walls and an old chef masturbating next door. We found a mutual love of S&M and bondage and sexted graphic wet dreams all day long, It was excessive, but it was also the basis for the relationship and so it fueled us and we ran with it.

After the devastating but necessary end of that clusterfuck, I reveled in the single life again. I placed personal ads on Craigslist and each time I did, my inbox would fill with hundreds of responses. I had a ‘date’ every night and would meet them at my favorite bar which was a five minute walk from my house. This worked perfectly as the bouncers were close friends, the beer was cheap, and it took less than an hour for me to deem them safe and get their eager bodies into my bed. It was odd for me to go without sex for more than a couple of days.

Through this though, I met my current long-term boyfriend who was different than the rest. I love him dearly and the sex was good…but only for four months.

We’ve now been together for two years and within the last year and a half we have had sex once. This devastated me for more than a year, leaving me in tears every night sure that it was because I was awful in bed or my body wasn’t adequate. We eventually learned however, that because of childhood trauma he wasn’t able to connect on a physical level after a serious emotional connection was made. I still feel cheated, even today, but we are both seeking therapy and I’m sure that eventually we will get back into the swing of vanilla sex. I’m okay with once-in-a-while plain ol’ sex, and I have my debauched past to thank for that. I’ve been there, done that, and while it’s hard, my current boyfriend is worth the wait. And that night when I do get laid, well, that will probably seem like the best sex of my life.

Kinky Girl

Lucky Girl

I’m a Silicon Valley marketing person with an MBA who came of age in the 1990s.

I've been kinky as long as I can remember.

In my professional life I'm a very ambitious, smart, take-charge person. In my sexual life, I want to be dominated, bound, controlled and used.

In kindergarten, I would play tie-up games with my friends. It wasn't sexual, in a post-pubescence sort of way that it later became, but I liked it. I preferred to be tied up, but would dutifully switch off as needed to keep my friends interested in the game. I have no idea what gave me the idea in the first place.

I was an advanced reader, and in junior high I started going through my parents' bookshelves and found all sorts of pulpy historical fiction. I specifically remember a book about Anne Bonney, the pirate, and a scene where she was tied to the bed and teased. In junior high, I had a friend who would come over for sleepovers, and we’d come up with all sorts of stories that involved us being tied up and helpless.

I masturbated a lot as a teenager. At one point I tried to see how many times I could come in a row. I think I got to seven before I became tired out. My reading material was still limited largely to romance novels and pulpy historical fiction, and it turns out there’s plenty of (gently) kinky sex in them, but at some point I picked up the A. N. Roquelaur
e
Beaut
y
books. Not sure how I heard about them. My mom at some point looked at the books when I was buying them and made some negative comment. Nowadays my mom brings u
p
Fifty Shades of Gre
y
over lunch conversation.

I didn't date in high school (I was young), and really looked forward to college.

My first boyfriend in college – first semester of freshman year – was also my first sexual partner. Unfortunately, he laughed when I told him I wanted to be tied up. A few years later, when he was dating a friend of mine, I noticed handcuffs by his bed. He apologized for laughing at me. The first time I had sex wasn't particular enjoyable, in fact I think it took two or three tries before we really ‘had sex’ because it hurt. We're still friends.

My second and third boyfriends weren’t kinky, not as far as I know, but at that point I was kinda scared off of telling people. I was in college in the early 1990s, when Usenet was active, and I spent a lot of time reading alt.sex.bondage and alt.sex.bondage.stories. I still have quite a collection saved from those days! So even though my relationships weren’t kinky, my fantasy life certainly was!

Then I started dating a guy who was kinky. Unfortunately he was also a controlling, abusive asshole, though it took me too long to figure that out and even longer to do something about it. We starting dating the spring semester of my sophomore year, then through the summer, then we moved in together for junior year. We went to play parties and did some relatively soft public scenes (spanking or whipping). I learned a lot, mostly from reading alt.sex.bondage.

The summer after junior year I had an internship in a different city – at that point I knew I wanted out of the relationship, but since we lived together I hadn't managed to extricate myself. I had met someone at the end of my junior year who I enjoyed spending time with, and he and I traded a lot of email over the summer I was away. When I got back from the summer, I told my boyfriend (we shall refer to him as the evil ex) that I wanted to break up, and he hit me and dragged me by the hair, and coerced me into having sex with him; kinky sex, at that. Midway through I freaked out, and he hit me, which cut my lip and bruised my face. It's the only time in my life I thought I might die. But I didn't.

Soon after, I started dating the guy I met at the end of my junior year. He was kinky, but really in his heart wanted to be dominated. He was willing to dominate me, and enjoyed it, but wanted me to switch. And I did, but it wasn't a turn-on. In fact, it was something of a turnoff. It made him seem weak to me, and since my kink is about wanting to be dominated and controlled, that didn't play very well together. But coming off the abusive relationship, it worked for a long time.

Eventually I met the man I married, who is masculine, has a strong personality, is incredibly attractive, loves me and takes care of me. We had an immediate connection and at some point I told him I had a secret I needed to tell him. I admitted I was kinky, and that sexually I was submissive, and was delighted to find that he was compatibly kinky.
 We have vanilla sex, but nearly always laced with at least kinky conversation, and we also have extremely non-vanilla sex with toys and bondage and play and extra fabulous orgasms.

When I masturbate, it’s always to fantasies that involve bondage and submission. I’m not particularly a masochist: it’s the submitting that turns me on, more than the pain. I’m not into humiliation; feeling awkward or embarrassed just doesn’t makes me feel sexy.
 

I feel incredibly lucky to have a partner who’s so sexually compatible with me. I realized it’s really important to me that I balance my public persona’s Type A personality by being able to submit and give up control to someone else in the bedroom. It works really well for us.

Hiding in Plain Sight

Nikkiana

Nikkiana lives in NYC with her sound engineer boyfriend, her magician roommate and her cat who can open the refrigerator. You can read her PG-13 adventures at
AuthenticExperience.org
.

“I was at a slumber party last night and my friend woke me up by touching my boobs and kissing me,” she confessed, “and I liked it!”

In that moment, I suddenly understood the meaning of arousal. My mind raced with the possibilities.

“I wish something like that would happen to me at a slumber party,” I lamented.

I was an awkward thirteen-year-old who over the past two years had developed a habit of sneaking into my parents’ bedroom and reading their porno mags every time they left the house.

She was a nameless faceless girl on the internet that I had exactly two conversations with. She went by the moniker of “Hotpants” and she claimed she was eleven years old, and at the very least she typed like one. I suppose the reality might have been that she was really a forty-year-old inner tube salesman from Ohio, but I took her on face value.

Hotpants, with her confession of a slumber party fondling from a girl friend, had just induced the realization that I had a very strong desire to have the same thing happen to me. I found myself sitting in class sizing up the girls in the room. They fell into two categories, incredibly boy crazy or completely oblivious. No one seemed to be an obvious candidate for a slumber party make-out session.

I combed the internet looking for advice on how to tell if a girl would be willing to make out with you but tripped over the reality that same sex relations had an inherit social risk to them. Proposition the wrong girl, or hell, just admit the truth to the wrong person, and then be the butt of a reputation-smearing campaign. I was already having trouble making friends, I didn't need to do something that could make me a social pariah.

I kept my desires to myself, only voicing them to random strangers that I met on AOL chat rooms who claimed to be my age but probably weren't.

As the years progressed, I grew more and more socially withdrawn among my own gender. My disinterest in clothes and makeup combined with the fact that I couldn't sit in a group of girls without having fantasies of a lesbian group sex porn breaking out caused me to feel even more awkward than I already was, and I was terrified of becoming close friends with a girl because I knew that inevitably I was going to start crushing and want to get them into bed.

I fell into a group of social outcasts, a group of nerdy kids that was predominantly male and heavily Christian. Not only was being remotely not straight not cool, but so was the idea of sex altogether.

I wasn't entirely sold on the abstinence logic. I'd spent my early teens eating up Scarleteen.com and had internalized some degree of sex-positivity despite my anxieties about social acceptability, and despite the fact that my friends seemed to think abstinence was the only way. I thought differently.

I lost my virginity at sixteen to the first guy that offered. A fourteen-year-old long-haired Wiccan boy with an alcoholic mom who would ground him for looking at the dog the wrong way, who mostly hid out at his best friend's house down the street. He was my boyfriend for a whole month and it cost me my social circle for about four months as my friends stopped speaking to me because I dared to date someone.

At seventeen, desperate to fit in further with my friend circle I professed belief in God and started attending church with my friends. Despite some desire to be a ‘good girl’ who did things ‘the right way’, the new commitment caused me to start living a dual life.

I dated people and slept around, but I kept things hush-hush. I fooled around with people who were outside of my friend circle or at very least had the good sense to keep their mouths shut. I didn't make commitments and thus didn't remain monogamous to anyone.

When I started dating the man who eventually became my ex-husband not long after I began college, I finally decided I'd had enough with keeping my actions secret and went public with the fact that he was indeed my boyfriend. I started hemorrhaging friends, but at that point I had grown weary of the manipulation and was beginning to realize that these people were not really my friends.

However, I was still heavily under the spell of the church and I traded the manipulative group of friends of my teenage years for some equally manipulative adults who, in retrospect, seemed oddly interested in our sex life and in the name of Christ were trying to convince us that either we ought to get married or break up.

This continued until the pastor of the church decided to voice his distaste for my blogging habit and we decided that we didn't need a church that felt the need to criticize our every move anymore. No longer bound by the rules or criticism of the church, we were suddenly free to experiment...and we did.

Except for now I found myself in a position that I didn't really want to be in.

My ex had a strong desire for threesomes and group sex, and while I wasn't against the idea, I wasn't for it either. It was something I wanted to approach cautiously. He made the argument that this was probably the only way I'd ever end up in bed with a girl. One day, he found a girl he thought would be a good candidate and arranged a date for the three of us. She was nice, but I wasn't attracted to her.

He proceeded to drive us around to different bars and get us drunk, then suggested a threesome on the drive home. Despite the fact that I wanted to say no, the thought that I'd never otherwise sleep with a girl pervaded me and I said yes with the stipulation that there would be no penetration between them, a boundary that ended up violated within the first three minutes of the act.

The event was bittersweet. On the one hand, the sex was good. On the other, I hadn't really wanted to do this in the first place and I had a requested boundary violated. I focused on the positive and bottled up the negative. I was so conflicted that I couldn't find my own voice on the issue.

A few months later, we decided it might be nice to move in together, so we decided to get engaged and he moved in with me at my parents’ house. Our sex life tanked, but I blamed it on the buzzkill of having a bedroom over the room where my parents watched TV. I was in denial that the real issue was we couldn't have sex without him bringing up how he wanted to fuck the girl from the threesome again.

We got married. We moved into our own apartment. We fought continuously over sex. He never wanted to have it, despite the fact that he would bog down our internet connection downloading porn. Despite not having moral issues with porn, I found myself feeling like I was being cheated somehow. Whenever we did have sex, he kept bringing up how he wanted to fuck the girl from the threesome again. Some days, I'd find myself screaming at him because of how undesired I felt. Other days, I just internalized it: figuring out a way to get off on being so undesirable that your own husband can't have sex with you without thinking of someone else.

Upon the suggestion of a friend, we tried opening our marriage. It wasn't a good decision: if you don't have a solid marriage to begin with, introducing other people doesn't do anything but introduce drama. But, briefly, we were happier. He wasn't feeling pressured for sex, and I was finding people to sleep with who were, quite frankly, far superior lovers. But it was unequal: I had a far easier time finding external lovers, and on the rare occasion that he actually did, I raged and scared them off.

Then we moved to New York City and our relationship tanked into an irreparable state. He hated the city and refused to work. I developed a drinking problem and felt further under appreciated. One year in the Big Apple and I finally found my voice to say that this was not what I wanted, that I was tired of being treated like shit. I was tired of trying to save something that never was meant to be.

Not saying I was innocent either, but I finally had found my voice. I had finally figured out how to say what I wanted.

I met my current partner five days after my ex had moved back to whence he came. Our relationship has been a constant exercise in being honest about what we want, both in the bedroom and out of life. He constantly reminds me of how beautiful I am, and I consistently remind him how lucky I am to have him. Things aren't perfect, but we try our best to work through our problems, even the ones that aren't easy.

The journey is far from over. I'm glad it's just begun.