Nic Narrates

It’s not that I don’t like doing it. It’s that I can’t stomach the expectation.

I found out once that a boyfriend of mine was outsourcing our sex life. I’d like to say that it was a one time thing or that it only involved one party. But you know I can’t. So let’s skirt the obvious accompanying emotional fallout and instead consider the context.

He was unsatisfied. Were the warning signs there? Sure. From day one. He had made it perfectly clear that-to him- sex was VERY important and- to him- was the foundation of any healthy relationship.

He was insatiable. He didn’t, couldn’t, get it enough. When he did get it, it wasn’t how he wanted it. If by some chance it was, it only made him want it more. I wasn’t affectionate enough, didn’t kiss him how he wanted to be kissed, didn’t touch him how he wanted to be touched, didn’t go down on him enough or didn’t do it “all the way.” I wasn’t a willing participant, wasn’t giving, wasn’t loving, wasn’t, apparently, more than a warm body.

What began as an early discomfort and intimidation owing to my own inexperience grew into a complete inability on my part to do anything even semi-sexual. Nothing kills kink more than feeling inadequate or obligated to perform. But I loved him and wanted desperately to please him, and from time to time thought I had, until such sentiments faded along with that post-coital glow.

So, does all this make it my fault that he began said outsourcing? Does it mean that under these circumstances it becomes okay to do so?

What it did say to me at the time, and still says actually, is that my job review was in and I wasn’t performing as expected. Unbeknownst to me, the boss had already decided I was unfit and had begun training my replacement(s).

For my part, I began to question my abilities. Should I swallow? Wear only thongs and v-strings? Stop wearing underwear completely? Surprise him naked at the door? Buy porn? Fuck every man that smiles at me to prove I AM good in bed? Lick his ass? Really???

I’d venture to say that every woman who has been cheated on was forewarned either by her husband, boyfriend, whatever it is that you call him, or some unthinking “sagacious” female friend, that if you don’t put out, he’ll find someone else to relieve his plight. What’s that all about? Is it really so simple? Is loving someone or being good in bed about never saying “no?” About never wanting to?

Is it fair to infantilize a man into nothing more than pure animalistic hunger, depriving him of his own ability to control himself or be anything more than, well…a dick? Is it fair to define a woman based upon her sexual prowess and her dedication toward pleasing men at any and all cost? Should we really reduce men to nothing more than walking phalluses? Should women stop being pseudo prudes and unleash their inner slut?

I wasn’t a prude by any means, but neither was he a walking penis. I just didn’t want to feel like I had to use sex to keep him happy or interested in me, or that I had to be something or someone or a certain way to keep him from walking his penis over to some bitch named Christina, Holly, or Paula. I didn’t want to do anything- not even kiss his neck- purely to keep him in bed with me alone. What it came down to (no pun intended), was that I wasn’t willing to fuck my way into an identity.

I won’t be someone’s sex toy. I won’t be limited by the constraints of my cup size. I won’t serve as a repository for penis. Adore me or hate me, but don’t base it solely upon whether I can tuck my ankles behind my ears.

I know there’s at least one head that’s nodding in agreement out there–and many others, with much shorter hair, that are scoffing at what can only be construed as “excuses” for not wanting to have a load shot in my face or to take it up the ass.

Maybe I am too much of a feminist for my own good. But the most sexually liberating thing, the very thing that would bring me to shackle myself willingly to the bedpost, is knowing that it would be by choice. And the truth of the matter is, I might never want to unshackle myself, but knowing that I could makes all the difference.

Filed under: the sex, WTF by Nic