Your Face (kandigurl) wrote,
Your Face
kandigurl

LJ Idol - Topic 8 - Reprobate

My mother said that due to my poor showing last week, I should probably write about sex this week.

Mother knows best! Very probably NSFW, unless you work in an unsavory place, like a phone sex office or the sewers. Also I'm kind of terrified of my mom reading this, but here goes nothing...

** ** **

There was a man in my bed. He lay next to me, naked, fondling my breasts, and making a concerted effort to fondle more than that, despite my careful and constant repetition of the word "no". The stupid part? All I'd wanted to do today was come home and go right to bed, because I'd had a long couple of days and I had loads of sleep to catch up on.

I had not intended to bring a man home with me. And even after I had, I'd no intention of letting him share my bed. Even once that had happened, I'd even less intention of letting him remove any clothing, his or mine.

The problem is that I'm just too damn hospitable. I see a person in need and I want to help them out. No where to sleep tonight? Well, you can stay at mine. The futon mattress is too uncomfortable? I suppose you can sleep in my bed, then. It's too hot for you? Oh, I guess you can take your shirt off. You can't sleep in jeans? Well, go ahead and take those off, too.

The boob fondling, however, he had no excuse for. And neither did I. Mostly, I was too fucking exhausted to exert the energy involved in telling him to cut it out. Also, that might hurt his feelings, and would break my streak of superb accommodation for the evening. Somewhere in the back of my head, a voice asked me if I had developed a numbness to the action. Very possibly. It was so much easier to just lay there and let a guy squeeze and pinch than to constantly bat their hands away. Besides, that always left me feeling like the bad guy somehow, as if I were to blame for ruining everyone's fun. "Everyone" being whichever male I happened to be squeezed next to at the time, because I was too nice to tell them they had to go home and sleep in their own fucking bed.

"If you want me to stop, you just say so," he whispered in my ear, "and I will. Most guys wouldn't do that." This proved his hackneyed way of trying to show what a nice guy he was. Unfortunately, I quickly deduced that he'd muttered this statement in mock chivalry, because when I asked him to stop, he would only cease for a few minutes, then reach right back over.

I sighed and rolled over onto my stomach, hoping that taking the temptation away would stop the unwelcome caress, but he just moved his hands down to my ass. I can deal with someone playing with my breasts. I can remove myself from the situation and pretend I'm somewhere else. But if there's one thing I hate, it's anyone dwelling too long on my butt. There's something about that area that makes me feel so dirty and used.

I wondered why I let him do all this. I had myself convinced that the problem lay with me. I felt guilty of being a tease, letting him rub all over me but not making any effort to move things along for him. If I loosened up and got over myself, I might even have a good time.

That wasn't going to happen, though. I can't do one night stands. I've tried and they make me feel miserable, wasted. I need to have that emotional connection with the other person in order to enjoy myself. So why is this guy not the only one I've ever brought home upon first meeting?

As I drove him home the next morning (he had no car, at least not that night, it was the least I could do), I knew he would be the last. The sun climbing slowly up in the sky brought with it an epiphany. For all the growing and changing I'd done in the past several months, I still had this feeling that sex is something that shouldn't be taken so seriously, that it should be had and enjoyed and feeling uncomfortable about it just means you're uptight.

But feeling uncomfortable about it means there's something you've got to pay attention to. And maybe that something is to stop feeling guilty about not wanting a guy to put his hands all over you. Maybe that something is not letting yourself become an object when you deserve to be treated like a person. Maybe that something is that I am worth so much more than a night of discomfort at the hands of a man who slimed his way into my bed under the guise of being "a nice guy".

This is the last time. My body is my temple, and I'm honoring it as such from now on.

(This post has been brought to you by therealljidol™)
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