An inability to relax has characterised much of my fucking over the last few months – maybe longer. Sex, in my opinion, is incredibly important and something I take very serious… but it should also be fun and playful. I hate feeling stressed while fucking, but recently it feels like that’s all I’ve been feeling.
Recently – while dissecting a morning fuck over breakfast crêpes – I thanked my fuck buddy for the glorious head he’d given me. His response surprised me. He told me that he thought that I needed oral sex that morning, that I needed to lie back (or sit on his face) and let him pleasure me. He was right, it was exactly what I needed – but I’m not good at lying back and ‘accepting’ oral.
How is it already the last Thursday in July? Not only am I completely unprepared for July to be over, but there’s less than an hour left in today for me to write and publish a “thinky” post so I can at least pretend to be sticking to my blog schedule this week. And I’m hoping that maybe there’s a bit of ‘un-sexy but important point about sex’ in my attempt to claw some thoughts together.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about being fuck-positive in public. Mostly because I got an awesome butt-plug sticker that colour-matched my poetry notebook perfectly, but I hesitated before sticking it to the front cover. Why? Because I’m an enthusiastic kinky perv and solo poly slut, but I don’t necessarily want the whole world to know that.
Writing this post made me realise that I could put a name to the frustration I feel towards myself whenever I’m crying over men. Namely internalised misogyny, which – as well as sexist, patriarchal societal structures – still plays a role in why I feel especially un-feminist when I get upset about men.