(listen to this – and you’ll understand what prompted this post)
My mom was a horrible person.
Not really, but given how she hooked me on certain books when I was a teen – she was a horrible, horrible person.
I remember when she found a book she had loved as a teen. Rosemary Rogers – Sweet Savage Love. A book written in 1974 – and a book that sent me on my way to, what I called, porn in a book. I read that book ragged – my favorite parts were pretty clear as that well worn paperback opened right to them. And I would sit there, read, with a hand slid down the front of my pants touching my clit. You think a teenage boy masturbates a lot? Try a teenage girl with such a book.
What is amazing about that book -and the fact my mom gave it to me? I could read it anywhere and get away with it. No teenage boy could do what I could do – take porn into public and be judged a bookworm, not a horny teen. That was the advantage I had.
Rosemary Rogers was known for rape scenes. Set in historical times, the heroine was always kidnapped by the hero. They always had a love/hate relationship with each other. And in the end, she wanted him but didn’t so he took what he wanted – giving her, in the end, what she really wanted but society was preventing – sex without marriage. And the sex was always hot.
I grew up loving the idea – the surrender – the power play. I would lay in bed each night, my panties around my knees as I came over and over again to the idea of just that. I knew but didn’t know that I was not supposed to get all hot and bothered by rape sex scenes in a book. But over time, the books I would find – the books that were my favorite, would have similar themes of power play – of release of control. Being a good girl for the strong man who wanted what he wanted – and loving every minute of it.
Then I realized I was a feminist in so many ways.
And felt guilty about these fantasies. I buried them – but not my sex drive.
I often joke that the boys were dumb in my high school. I was a horny girl who was willing to fuck just to get off – and all they saw was the bookworm, good student. I stopped short a few times jumping the guy I was dating simply because I was pretty sure I’d scare him off – and it wasn’t what I really got off on – which was the idea of being jumped.
I remember the first time I met G after class in his room, and he was assertive – wanting to touch me – my skin not over the clothes – and I was like “ahhh”…..and wet and horny. While he was worried he was pushing, I was a happy girl – content with the direction – and eager and willing to do more, explore more. It isn’t a surprise we jumped into bed together as quickly as we did. Two horny teens found each other in an atmosphere of no curfews or adult supervision – game on. It was no surprise we were fucking each other every chance we could get.
Over the years, as we explored, I kept feeling that teenage girl with her book creeping out – needing to get all the way out of that hidden place.
While it took years, it is so amazing being able to have those moments – have those chances to melt when someone grabs me by my hair. My body responds when someone takes control – when someone pushes my boundaries – and crawls inside my head.
And the pain element – oh, the pain element – another part of myself that was allowed to come out. I was always the tough girl growing up. Little did anyone realize but I liked the bruises – liked those little reminders of pain. It was weird until College. Then it was accepted as badges of honor as a coach once told me. Feeling sore after sex – after rough play – and I was a happy camper.
It’s funny how much of ourselves we hide when we don’t think what we enjoy is acceptable. When we are kinky – and we can trace that kink back through the years. I look at how much I suppressed. And it was when we would get invited to a private swinger party, and the host would only play with me – because I loved to be bitten and pinched and have my hair pulled and be fucked hard and long as he played with me – yeah, it was clear I was a favorite for that reason. I was kinky and willing to play that way – and he was trying to downplay his own kink.
Finding community and embracing my own kinky ways has been good. I still am trying to come out with them – trying to shine light to the things I’ve hidden all of these years. I am grateful for those who I have played with that have helped me bring them to light. I hope it continues. Because I’m a kinky woman – a dirty woman who is game for a lot …..I can only hope I find people to bring it out.
Because I cannot bury my kinky self now that she has played.
She wants more. She needs more.
If only I could go back to myself in high school. I always thought there was something sexy going on in the minds of those bookworm girls. Now we know the truth!
Hey, never assume because we are bookish or geeky that we aren’t sexual.
You missed out 🙂
I was that teenage girl too. Always with a Harlequin or some kind of “bodice-ripper” in my hand. And recently I’ve begun exploring some kinks. Great post and I’m now following you.
Thanks for the comment! Isn’t it funny how those bodice rippers at the right age can prompt some, uhm, exploration? 🙂