Ever since there’s Ginny, there have been doubts and feelings of shame to deal with. And, if I’m honest to myself, shame concerning the mere fact that I’m a sexual being and need things I myself regard as deviant. Looking back at almost three years of blogging, I can clearly see that I have been writing about that from the very beginning on. In my life, there has never been a single day since I first had sexual feelings I was not embarrassed for what I feel. I always felt guilty for what I like, but I was never able to do anything about it. I’ve tried though, really devoted. There were times when I’d only allow me to wank and cum when I managed to think of “good and clean” things like normal sex with just kissing, petting and penetration. There were even times when I hit myself hard in the face with a wooden spoon or whatever was handy when I felt my thoughts drifted off. I guess that was counterproductive, because of course I liked the pain. Stupid me.
I tried to see my needs as a sort of other life. There was Blaubeermann, a nice guy trying to be a good and normal person, and there was this other guy who craved all that nasty stuff. I didn’t even have a name for him, but regarded him as evil and dirty. I felt ashamed for him, but I needed him so badly, because only he enabled me to have a sexuality I enjoyed, but still felt ashamed for. To put it short, I demonised a part of me and therefore, myself. That again led to self-harm. For a while, I didn’t cut myself, but even then I hurt myself, be it by eating not enough, be it by violating thoughts about myself. All just because of what I sexually need. Ugh.
Living together with John is a daily challenge for me. He is in line with his desires and his appetite, moreover, he is proud of having a fulfilling sexuality and enjoys it thoroughly. He doesn’t question being sadistic and dominant (in fact, he says that he questioned it when he as a boy found out that he is sadistic, but accepted it very quickly as an important part of hisself and his desire). He often says he has to stick to so many rules in his everday life that in bed he wants to be as brazen as he wants to be and not worry or even think about the ethical dimension of what he needs. When we met, we had some serious conversations about his dominant/sadistic and my submissive/masochistic needs concerning the abuse. Was it O.K. to hurt me after all my father did? I said yes, with my heart going berserk. Because what my father did wasn’t consensual, safe or sane in any aspects. John knew my borders from the beginning on. Yes, he touched them, he even passed over, he even made me do things I didn’t know I needed or wanted, but whatever he did, he did so in agreement with me. Of course you could object that I myself don’t know how to respect my borders. That’s right and that makes it very difficult for the both of us. We both know I sometimes pass beyond any border and that if he asked me to shed my life for him, I would. And that’s not chitchat. You know what you’re talking about when you allow your partner to suffocate you until you pass out. As a consequence it makes it inevitable for him to stay highly conscious of what we do. He’s the controller, so to say. If we would rely on me to say stop, I’d be lost.
For him, anything I crave for is O.K. He is not as much into certain things as me, but that’s no problem. For him, sexuality is pleasure, joy, a playground and a needed downtime from a life full of work and responsibilities. It was hard for me to make him understand that my sexual feelings are the reason for feeling guilty and ashamed. “You just need that, don’t worry”…how often did I hear that?
During therapy, I have learned that my desires don’t arise out of the blue mist. They are the outcome of anything that happened to me. Moreover, obviously some needs are genetic endowments, which all in all makes it impossible to get over them. I was only 4 years old when I got aroused by the imagination of me being tortured, which on the one hand shows that I do have a certain amount of sadism in me, which on the other hand makes it clear that I learned very early to put that sadism onto myself. My father overpowered me again and again and I had no other chance than to find pleasure in that. Otherwise I’d have gone nuts…well, even more than I did. To be honest, I need to be overpowered, because I don’t have the courage to just like what I like. To pretend I get overpowered and am forced to like what I like makes it only possible to have sexual desire at all! Truly consensual sex, like normal sex, isn’t possible for me. Maybe it’s sad, maybe O.K., I don’t know. It makes me sad that what I need is just another sign for what he did. On the other hand, nothing gets me going like humiliation, being overpowered, being hurt and used. The only way to stop that would be my castration. Not that I had not considered that and if the health issues connected with loss of testicles wouldn’t be so huge, I’d really take account of that just to make it end.
I’m seriously affected by my desires. I wish I could just accept them, accept myself and accept that I was just a child and therefore helpless. I objectively know it wasn’t my fault, but still I feel guilty and depraved for that.