Why Asking Is Hard

I’ve already discussed one form of asking for what you want here but it is still something I struggle with.

Theoretically I know that asking is ok, I know too that receiving a “no” is not the end of the world. I recently came across this blog post which describes this here and offers a positive message.

“I deserve good things. I am entitled to my share of happiness. I refuse to beat myself up. I am attractive person. I am fun to be with. I can ask for what I want because I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and, doggonit, people like me!”

The problem is that I often don’t feel all those things. I feel that being told “no” means that I have done something wrong. That I have relied on more emotional commitment than there is. That I will be seen as greedy or selfish for asking, and that the other person will resent my demands. I feel that each “no” is a little tally against me and when they reach some unknown value the other person will leave the relationship and that it will be my fault for asking for too much.

Even worse I may get a “yes” but it will be a grudging resentful yes, and that invisible tally count will mount up just the same.

So really the only safe ground is to only ask for things you’re very sure they wish to give. Perhaps if I give everything and don’t demand too much I will be loved, perhaps then they’ll stay with me.

This little voice, this certainty that affection is weighed and measured, is hard to shift. Even knowing that my own love is freely given does not allow me to truly believe that I am loved unconditionally. Without that confidence asking for anything is very, very hard.

Can I have a hug please?

Asking For What You Want

I sometimes think I have a very split image of myself.

On one hand I am a beautiful, sexy girl. On the other I’m an almost middle-aged (when does middle age start these days) woman with a little more wobble than I should have.

That particular issue isn’t helped by the difficulty of taking a good photo of my face. There are some good ones, but equally there are some which can only be described as ‘unfortunate’. This is partly due to my ability to blink faster than a flash can fire, but it does leave me wondering which image other people see when they look at me.

Equally I feel a tension between ‘good girl’ and ‘slut’. My careful preservation of my virginity in my youth has left me with a limited experience of penetrative sex (there’s other stuff you can do, it’s also good fun). So, in some senses I am a very good girl. On the other hand my sexual feelings and fantasies land me firmly in the slut category. I think until now though, there’s been a sense that I was actually a good girl, to the extent that I have been very uncertain whether I would ever actually be able to unleash my behaviour to match my fantasies.

Then finally the opportunity occurred to have sex with another man, and even more delightfully as an MMF threesome with Perrin. Surely slut heaven.

My mind had been bouncing back and forth between desire and terror contemplating this, a terror increasingly composed of the fear that my hesitancy would result in me being unable to take the opportunity presented, and the disappointment in myself I would inevitably have felt.

When it came to it, things started gently enough. I became aware of my own desire, and longing for sex, but felt utterly unable to express it. I’m very aware that ‘good girls’ don’t express that kind of desire, and I had suddenly no idea how to handle the situation. My awkwardness was reduced slightly once I’d managed to get naked. There’s a certain implication of a naked girl in a collar in that kind of situation, which helps.

What happened next, was incredibly wonderful. As things heated up, I was encouraged, if not forced, to vocalise my desires. At one level, I was immediately aware that this provided a nice sanity check. “I want you to fuck me now”, is fairly unambiguous, and lessens the chances of ending up in an “I thought they said yes” type situation.
Equally, it pushes my submissive buttons in good ways.

Most of all though, it felt good to say, and be accepted. To let myself acknowledge, I’m a slut, I want sex, and that is ok. I’m not a bad person for being this way. I’m allowed to want this, to enjoy this, and revel in it.
Yay, I’m a slut. A beautiful, sexy, slut. It feels good.

And, yes, I did get what I asked for. In spades.