Recently Mr. Right and I have reached a road block. I knew it was coming, and while I’m pretty sure he knew too, we just ignored it and kept swinging along with no contingency plan, or any plan for that matter. Sure as shit, we ran into that beast head first. Now we need to fix ourselves up, let
our my wounds heal, and figure out how to get over it. Or around it, but fucking past it for sure. Back track…
I was raped at a high school graduation party when I was 12 by this senior named Tom. I was almost 13, but regardless, it was the end of 7th grade; I was a naive kid. I was there because it was my best friend’s older sister’s party. I don’t remember being raped. Not to say that I don’t remember my emotions, or the things that were said, I just don’t remember how it felt physically. I’m sure it hurt, but I have no recollection.
However, I do remember that my vagina got really, really dry. So dry that Tom could hardly penetrate me. He stopped and went down on me and it was THE WORST. I mean, yes, it’s already THE WORST being raped in the first place, but my vagina was so sore, and I was in such shock, that when Tom went down on me everything started to catch up. It’s almost like while he was raping me it was an out of body experience, but when he stopped and started going down on me I came to. His wet tongue on my vagina was so gross. He was telling me he was only trying to make me feel good, but all it did was draw attention to how sore and swollen I was. Barf. I get the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it. I had never had anyone go down on me before, let alone even thought about sex. I was just starting to experiment with boys, and had never even had a period before. It was terrible. I was crying, Tom was frustrated that I couldn’t be quiet even though I was trying to be. He had to cover my mouth while he finished….you get it.
That was the beginning of the Yuvonna Pussy Crisis (YVC). For a long time, nearly 17 years, I never let anyone go down on me for more than a minute. I didn’t/don’t get flashbacks, or think of Tom AT ALL, not ever, I just start to panic because I’m so uncomfortable. I guess my brain just automatically subconsciously starts going into panic mode and all I can think about is how severely uncomfortable I am. I can try to think about things that really turn me on, it can be someone that really turns me on, but I just can’t focus on anything but the discomfort. My chest gets tight, I cringe, I feel (and probably look) like this:
I let 3 boyfriends who insisted try once or twice, but honestly no one lasted more than a minute, 90 seconds max. So for anyone else who attempted, it was an easy “no way creeper McFink” response.
The thing is, I have always been a very sexual person. Tom just like REALLY fucked up my sexual psyche. I became really promiscuous after Tom for all the wrong reasons. I thought I liked sex, and I would sleep with just about anyone after enough liquor. But really, I just wanted to be wanted because I felt worthless. I wanted to feel mature, and in control…whatever, who knows.
But in my mid-20’s I really started to take control of my sexuality. I went through a significant emotional growth spurt. I gained some self-worth, I really started exploring myself, and low and behold, turns out I’m pretty fucking amazing. Obvi.
I started to venture out of lesbian porn, and started enjoying porn with men too. I started fantasizing about someone going down on me and really enjoying it. I realized that I didn’t want to go my whole life not knowing or exploring that area; the notion is completely absurd. I wanted to be comfortable and confident and feel sexy about my lady trophy. #bestinshow
But I still couldn’t do it. I had a few steady sexual partners between 26-28 who tried to go down on me, but I continued to say no and they didn’t ask again. For one, I still got a lot of anxiety thinking about it, but now the anxiety was more a fear that they wouldn’t like it. Can you imagine? You don’t give anyone a real chance going down on you until you’re in your late 20’s, and then you take the leap and they don’t like it?
And when no one seemed to pursue wanting to eat me out, or asked twice, I convinced myself it must not be good. To clarify, I know I have a great tight little pussy. I can milk a cock with the best of em’ (#bestinshow). I just had no confidence in its taste and smell.
Mr. Right came along. The FIRST FUCKING DAY we were intimate I let him go down on me. Because he begged, and he is so damn convincing, and handsome, and I couldn’t say no to him. I told him I was weird about it, and I was worried he wouldn’t like it, but he pursued, and I gave in.
At first it was the same old story. I cringed at the touch of his wet tongue (even applying lube makes me cringe), but then I told myself to breath, and focus, I wanted to give him a real chance, and it was the first time I felt comfortable enough with someone to do that. And you know what? I lasted a few minutes. I didn’t like it, but I could stand it. Mr. Right continued to want to go down on me, and it built my confidence. Eventually I let myself enjoy it. I trusted him like I’ve never trusted any man other than my dad, and eventually, Mr. Right was even able to make me cum.
Wow. That was really uncomfortable mentioning my dad in the same sentence as enjoying having my pussy eaten. Moving on…
About a year ago Mr. Right stopped eating my pussy. Just stopped! I started dropping hints that it didn’t go unnoticed, and after a few months I was calling him out on it weekly, sometimes even in public. Whatever I thought it would take to get an explanation, or confession, I pushed it.
He does this thing where he blatantly lies to defend himself, like for the longest time he would say, “what are you talking about? I do eat your pussy”.
Um…how the fuck did I get left out of the loop there?
One time someone I’d mentioned it to (in front of him) asked if he had made an effort to start going down on me again. He was all, “I have tried so many times, she won’t let me.”
I was shocked. I shook my head and let him shake his tail feathers. When it comes to the ego, it’s not worth trying.
I know he does this to protect my feelings, because the truth can hurt. But I am also reasonable, and very forgiving, which makes me a better candidate for honesty than protection should the two compete. I appreciate his intention, which was not to make me feel bat shit crazy.
Eventually, I broke him. It had been well over three months since he had gone down on me, and I was nagging him, and nagging him, and he finally spit it out:
“Fine, you want to know? Sometimes it smells.”
YPC was back…
Let’s be honest, I was waiting for it. I had asked him if that was the issue long before that, but he denied it. I knew he wasn’t cheating, so what else could it be? I was upset to say the least, because what was the plan? Just not go near my pussy until someone else told me?!?!?! HELLO! But fuck did it feel good to have honesty.
This blog is “to be continued…” because it’s too much for a sitting, but I will leave you with this: