Sex was a compromise between fantasy and reality, the venn
diagram of the two brushing up against each other like melons in a fruit cart,
with the friction being about as sexy. So instead she’d learnt to find the
appeal in one and the other separately, compartmentalising her expectations and
her desires as two different entities. It made life just that little bit
easier, and it made sex just that little bit more fun.She’d tried asking, a subtle request that they pull her
hair, perhaps, before inept fingers would grab a handful far too low down, pull
far too hard, and make her yelp in exactly the wrong way. Or perhaps the grip
wasn’t so bad, but the fear was inherent in the hand, and the tug was never
more than exactly that, as if she would shatter like an expensive antique at the
slightest pressure.Then she’d tried guidance, her hand on their wrist, taking
them from the vanilla regions of her body to the perverse valleys, fingertips
brushing between her cheeks, palm hard against the meat of her. Spank me, she’d
whisper in their ear, an order dressed up like a request, need lending it the
costume. And maybe they’d pat her a little, or if she was lucky there might be
one or two good wallops in there before the hand went back to the default,
underneath her leg or up against her ribs.One long term boyfriend had had the conversation, a
confessional in a coffee shop, something that felt like a breakup but should
have been anything but. He had listened, to his credit, taken the time to try
and process what she was saying, but even as she spoke the words she could see
them dying on his ears, the meaning understood but not recognised, that same
interest not shared. It had taken a little effort not to cry. The consolation
was three clumsy attempts at creating what she had talked about, but if
anything the way he was making the reality bleed into her fantasies felt like
it was killing both, and on the third occasion she had to ask him to stop.It became something internalised, tucked away in the
recesses where it wouldn’t get any sunlight to grow, but also wouldn’t be
debased or destroyed by incorrect attention. It wasn’t something she hoped for,
because cultivating expectation only made it hurt the more when it inevitably
withered. It was why she never thought of it with him, just enjoyed the company,
relished in everything that wasn’t the sex, or the thought of sex. Besides, sex
was still fun, still had its own merits. It just felt a little… unrealised.
Like playing ‘I’m a Little Teapot’ when you could be performing ‘Flight of the
Bumblebees’.It was why, then, a shiver ran down her spine when his hand
ran over it, the trajectory shorting out her thought process, taking her out of
the kiss and making her blink a few times, as if trying to reset her mind. It
was why her hips rolled against him as his fingers slipped into her hair,
tangled themselves, and began to pull.
It was why she felt an explosion go off in her head, illuminating all she’d hid
away in darkness. It was why, when he asked if she liked it, she couldn’t do
anything but nod.
