Now, if that’s not a title guaranteed to kick up some crazy-ass Google traffic, I don’t know what is.
I have a love-hate relationship with porn. By porn, I’m including video, photos, and written erotica.
Like pretty much every other typical chick, I default to the written erotica variety. I’m a word slut, but I do like video too. Still photography doesn’t do much for me as far as titillation goes… I like art photography.
I like stuff that wouldn’t surprise you, given what you’ve read about me and my preferences. I like butch-femme porn, power play porn (within specific limits, I really do not like rape scenes at all), and some BDSM.
It depends on my mood as to how graphic I like it. But it has to be well written, or I’m checking out, fast.
So I was reading on Butch-Femme.com last night, on one of the older threads that must have gotten started while I was on my temporary queer hiatus somewhere around 2006-07. It started out being a thread about the technical aspects of giving a butch a blow job (fun!) and was pretty damn amusing, honestly. Then, at some point, it went from technical to torrid.
It. Got. Hot.
So I was laughing at myself, and entertained, and completely turned on. Accidental porn! Yay!
Except that somewhere between getting turned on and getting off, I got… well… stuck.
I got self-conscious before I even got started. I put my toy back in the drawer and curled up into a ball on the bed.
It kind of pissed me off.
This is me, so the number of hangups I have about sex are infinitesimally small. I just don’t have many. I like sex, in pretty much all of its incarnations. I like pushing boundaries, exploring new territory, trying new things. I’ve lived in a relationship where sex didn’t exist, and I’m the only one who missed it then. I’ve lived in a relationship where I was the one who had no interest.
I prefer the alternative, thanks anyway.
I stay at a fairly high idle, as Rhett would say, meaning it’s easy to get me going and not so easy to get me to stop. And once I’m going, I’m going. I have a very hard time going from playing around to stopping, unless there’s a “happy ending” in between. (I actually really like that kind of play – where I get all hot and bothered and then have to stop. I have to be careful with it; too much anticipation just makes me bitchy because I get physically uncomfortable!)
That should probably give you some indication of just how hard I must have tripped over that piece of luggage about the porn last night. I wasn’t a happy camper.
There’s a couple of reasons that this is occasionally an issue for me.
First is my inherent pleaser mechanism. My taste in porn has never matched up to a partner’s, and so the porn that I had access to (other than my collections of erotic writing) in my relationships was not my style. In one case, really not my style. But it’s what my partner liked, so it’s what we had/used/watched.
In the other case, it was straight porn, which is very hit and miss for me. The stuff that I like, I really, really like. The stuff that I don’t makes me throw up in my mouth just a little.
Which means that, since my taste didn’t match up to my partner’s, I was made to feel a little uncomfortable about what it was that I liked. Yes, I realize that this wasn’t healthy, wasn’t good communication on either of our parts, blahblahblah. That’s not my point. My point is that this is how I felt.
My taste in titillation was bad and wrong.
Second among the pieces of what I tripped over was the fact that I get embarrassed, every once in a while, about exactly how high my sex drive is. Especially at moments when my estrogen is at… um… high tide. When I get fidgety about that, it gets very, very difficult for me to articulate exactly what it is that I need, and to ask for what I want.
Combine all that in a blender, hit puree, and watch Jolie turn into a paralyzed mess.
Temporarily.
Then I went from paralyzed to pissy, in nothing flat.
I was completely irritated by the fact that other people’s issues were inhibiting my ability to scratch my itch and go the fuck to sleep already. It was late, I was tired, and I was horny.
And I was not going to get off.
Goddammit.
I wound up just going to sleep, in a semi-horrible mood, knowing that this was going to kick around in my brain for a while.
I seem to be over it this morning – by which I mean I woke up turned on and happy about it. I haven’t done anything about that particular itch yet, but I have big plans for later today…
But it still pisses me off a little that I’m carrying any of this around at all.
