I started writing this post late at night, with my ear phones in and music blaring in an attempt to not overhear the sounds of two people fucking. I wrote it while blinking back tears, refusing to cry as I struggled with lustful jealousy and a desire to be spanked by a specific sadist. I wrote it to process the emotions I was feeling, so this is probably a clusterfuck of a post – sorry folks.
Last night I discovered something new, namely that you’ll really know if you’ve achieved compersion when you can hear your ex-friend-with-fucking-and-flirting spanking one of their other partners. And I haven’t, by the way.
I’m still making tentative steps into polyamory and exploring my identity as a self-proclaimed ethical slut. I develop feelings quickly, and I struggle to differentiate between love and lust and friendship. I’m still working on communicating what I want and need to my play partners, even though I have a good grasp on what those things are. Maybe it’s because I’m not dating anyone, but the casual sex I have means a lot to me – to the point where I don’t like describing it as casual: almost all of my fucking includes intimacy and vulnerability and laughter.
I’m good at convincing myself that I don’t care as strongly as I do; adept at pushing down those emotions and pretending they don’t exist. Because if they don’t exist, the hurt that accompanies them can’t exist either. But this is how I ended up listening to an ex-friend-with-fucking-and-flirting having enthusiastic sex, and struggling with jealousy.
When we were fucking, he pushed me in deliciously dominant ways to work for the sex we had together – he pushed me to take more pain for him, to take his dick deeper in my throat… Fucking him was hot, and it stopped sooner than I hoped it would. As someone who overthinks everything, especially sex, I haven’t stopped thinking about him. I’m not saying that I fantasise about his voice or his hands or the wicked things he told me he’d do to me – my curiosity tends to far more self-deprecating.
I wonder if the sex stopped because I was too much. I wonder if it was because my pain tolerance wasn’t high enough for him to get sadistic pleasure out of hurting me. I wonder if I hadn’t fallen apart and cried, overwhelmed by my depression, the last time I saw him, that I might . I banish the thoughts from my head, hating myself for lingering on a man who, no matter how kinky, should have known that he’s the one who’ll be missing out if he stopped fucking me. I remind myself that the reason we stopped fucking has nothing to do with me.
I also make sure to carefully consider what I wear when I’m going to run into him. I want him to want me – even though we’re not having sex any more.
Because ultimately, I still desire him. Having fucked someone, I struggle to spend time around them and not read every action as sexual. And this friend-with-fucking-and-flirting, who can greet me so causally yet still make me melt a little inside? It feels like every single thing he does feels like it is designed to turn me on. It isn’t, of course, but I can be very self-centred and I want him to be teasing me, to be thinking about me.
I’m self-centred, but also stupid, because I put myself in a situation where I have to deal with the fact that I am in a near-constant state of wanting to fuck him on the kitchen floor, while hearing him have sex with other partners. And if I’m being honest, I hate it.
I’m embarrassed to admit this, because I assured the friends who asked me if I’d be ok with putting myself in this situation that of course I’d ok. Sure, frequent fucking with an eloquent sadist is utterly delicious, but it stopped a number of months ago. I hadn’t thought about him for months – I told my friends, wondering if they believed me, if I believed me – or weeks at least. My libido has also been up and down recently, my mental health affecting my sex drive so my desire is largely responsive or I don’t want to fuck at all.
I said I’d be ok so many times that I convinced myself that I would be, and even though I knew he’d be having sex, and I thought I would feel compersion. It’s almost funny how wrong I was. While defining compersion as the opposite of jealousy might not be completely accurate, I definitely know which of the two I felt last night. I sat with jealousy mixed with lust churning in my stomach, as my cunt clenched sadly at the sounds of the impact play. At that moment, I wanted to be the one getting hit – I craved to be the one who was pinned down on his bed and getting beaten.
Lustful jealousy… It maybe could be hot if I could jerk off, imagining him fucking me up with his belt while I buried my face in a pillow so I didn’t have to hear the sharp slapping sounds of him spanking hair. But even writing those words made me think about him tightly holding my hair and slapping my face. I can pretend that I’m in control of my emotions, but the reality of hearing someone else get what I do desperately want was too much for me. I know that it’s my shit to deal with and I will deal with it. I just needed to first acknowledge that I am jealous, just a bit. And maybe that’s ok.
There isn’t a point to this post exactly, except to share these emotions with you. As I finish writing this, I still want to be spanked. That in itself is not a problem, or unusual – I have a huge spanking kink frequently jerk off to thoughts of being beaten. The thing I’m struggling with is that I want to be spanked by him, after swearing to everyone that I wouldn’t. And now I have to sit with the lustful jealousy.
It’s so very fun. Not.
This post was brought to you by hitty things I want to get hurt with, specifically this rattan cane that you can get for just £14.99 from Lovehoney. If you’re tempted to offer me unsolicited advice on how to deal with my lustful jealousy, please purchase a crop or paddle using the link above first!