Getting Handsy

I continuously lull myself into thinking that because something interests me, then that something has always been my thing, and thus I’m justified in acquiring it by any means necessary.

Since my libido returned I’m plagued with desires I haven’t felt since I was in my twenties. If all women were judged by their actions between the ages of 15 to 25, we’d never leave the house–those twenties. I won’t elaborate on my morally ambiguous history, but there were things I liked, and things I wanted to like, but never tried.

I’ve noticed when I’m watching porn that when something strikes my arousal, it becomes a mental worm that eats away at my imagination until there’s no dividing line left between fantasy and reality. It’s not as earth-shattering as it sounds, it’s just a mere “shit, I want to do that,” and if the spouse isn’t game (usually he’s not), then I relegate myself to enjoying the fantasy without hope of ever engaging.

For example, I do not watch porn in English; weird, right? I get off on the sounds foreign men make when they’re having sex. Also, I cannot stand being spoken down to, and American porn is notorious for the dirty talk that’s all about calling women names to humiliate them. Don’t get me started on the lack of tit attention in American porn, but I digress. Foreign language porn rocks my world because I can’t understand anything except da, tojo, oui, and ci. There’s also a solid culture of breast play in groups and multiples that aren’t confined to amateurs. I used to engage in this sort of stuff in my younger days, but getting the spouse on board with my current desires is next to impossible.

Tits and DP’s aside, my latest desire is fisting.
Stay calm, I won’t be posting pics or typing literals.

I’ve seen fisting live on two occasions at a sex club I used to frequent when I was younger, neither of those times were vaginal, and so it wasn’t difficult for me to put fisting on the HELL NO list. Mind you, that list used to be tiny before expanding and then retracting. Like a child with a craving to consume that thing in the box that’s being kept from my reach (no pun intended), I’ve developed an unnatural need to engage in fisting. It’s been on my pleasure docket for weeks and the temptation to rouse the spouse with some well-rehearsed schlock about how I was into it for years before I met him, isn’t something I can do. My therapist says this is lying, and my mental history being what it is, this route is a no go.

I broached the subject with the spouse and got an immediate ‘that shit does nothing for me’ response. I’ve heard this line so many times I’m tempted to put it on a t-shirt and make him wear it. I know what you’re thinking: Tina, just fist yourself. You think I haven’t thought of that? My arms are too short, and let’s face facts, DIY orgasms are not as pleasurable.

Do I really have the right to pressure my spouse into doing something he’s not into just because it happens to be something I’ve convinced myself I’ve always been into? I just dawned on me that sex this is completely out of the question because the youngest has a friend flying in my Texas to visit this week. Seven days without sex of any kind.

Sigh.

See you next Sunday.