Tag Archives: fetish

Drawn to Illicit Sex

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World English Dictionary
illicit (ɪˈlɪsɪt)

— adj
1. another word for illegal
2. not approved by common custom, rule, or standard: illicit sexual relations
For the purposes of this post I am using the latter definition.

The incest I had endured as a child left me so terrified of my own sexuality and of men that it left me completely disconnected with and at times dissociated from my body. When I finally began to sexually awaken as a late bloomer at around age 24, I ended up dating nearly all abusive men, active substance using men, and narcissistic men. It seemed strange that over and over it was the wrong guys. Bad luck I thought at first, I could never seem to get it right

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Why couldn’t I have been the girl who got asked out by some nice fellow and progressed in a slow and steady fashion within a relationship? Maybe have worn his Varsity Letterman jacket. Held hands and felt all warm and fuzzy inside, which is what I am really after in the first place.  Maybe got real edgy and snuck behind the bleachers and got to first or second base. Then after a few weeks went parking at “the point” and maybe if I was really super daring, hit third base. Somewhere in the future, got engaged and then on my honeymoon he would have popped my cherry?

I’ll tell you why I could have never been the girl who dated the Varsity jacket guy. Because I was a victim of incest at the hands of my brother and it had been going on since I was 8 and it didn’t end until I was in the middle of high school. And by then I wanted to commit suicide.

So when I grew up, all screwed up as I was, I had become THAT girl. You know the one that tells my date my entire life story over a few drinks in under ten minutes and then let’s him finger fuck me underneath the table at the restaurant, while telling him as he is doing this, that I want to take things slow.

Or maybe I have a guy friend who says he’s hoping my recovery moves more quickly because he’d like to screw me. After a tongue lashing from me, on how I value our friendship, and we’ve been friends for so long and how can he do this? I climb up on his lap, straddle him, kiss him, cock tease him, while my body betrays me and I get wet all over his jeans..

Oh wait, here comes the shame again, along with guilt. Why couldn’t I have just tongue lashed him and left it there? What’s wrong with me. After restaurant guy, I hid in my apartment for weeks every time he rang my buzzer. So much shame. Eventually he didn’t come around anymore, Thank God. When you couple shame and guilt, this wedding along with a lack of ability to dialogue about your emotions… You spend your life either running or hiding. Building thicker walls to keep people out so you don’t get hurt again.

My shrink says lots of people with C-PTSD especially who are incest survivors and victims of childhood emotional and physical abuse and neglect are at higher risk for developing sexual problems and problems with setting adequate boundaries overall.

When your body is not your own as a child, because your brother has access to you 24/7 you don’t ever have a “no,” to his sexual advances. You can never escape. As an adult it was quite an easy transition to slide into the world of BDSM, fetish, and kink . At least it was for me. I did not recognize it at first, but it replicated exactly what took place in my childhood. My body became controlled by a Dominant and just like in childhood I do not have a “no” to his sexual advances either.

I was too busy figuring out how to stay alive amidst trauma in childhood and adolescence and I never learned the healthy boundaries needed to navigate adulthood. So the cycle repeated.  Early childhood sexual abuse leaves its victims susceptible to sexual exploitation later on in adulthood.

I’m a walking talking paradox. I really DO want to be the girl who goes slow and have healthy boundaries AND also, I don’t. I crave that which is taboo, I recoil from that which is taboo.

I think back to Stanley Kubrick’s film, A Clockwork Orange. If I’m wired to respond sexually in a maladaptive and deviant way for so long, what are the odds I can re-wire now? There is a saying that once a cucumber has become a pickle, it can never go back to being a cucumber again.

What if I am that pickle?

What if that person just said that cucumber shit to sound deep like they could wax philosophical?

(They could have just been really really stoned)

What if there is hope for all of us for redemption?


“Normal” is a setting on a washing machine.

I don’t know exactly what normal is supposed to be.  But I know I’m not it.

Normal isn’t sitting at Thanksgiving dinner while everyone else is yapping about how they upgraded their living room with the latest and trendiest color themes, while you are recalling yourself being tied and blindfolded to a tree in the woods while your Daddy Dominant whips you with his flogger and cane til your tits have welts wearing nothing but a pair of stiletto heels.

“Ummm yes, pass the green beans Uncle Bill.”

Normal isn’t sitting in your apartment knowing your “Daddy” is probably out with some new submissive in a motel somewhere, because he hasn’t answered his phone in several hours and his AA meeting only lasts one hour.  And normal sure isn’t spending half the night casing the local motels when you drove by the AA clubhouse and proved your theory was correct, your sponsor and friends says he never showed.

Yes Mom, I’d like some gravy on the turkey.

Normal sure isn’t dumping said boyfriend after three years because that’s what normal people do, but you’re not normal, you seem to be addicted to him,  he’s like your “fix”. Every time you try to leave, it feels like your dying inside.  So you’d rather have lit cigarettes put out on your flesh than feel that pain…..and you’ve done that.  You’d rather drink until cognition ceases to function, and you’ve done that too….. than feel that pain.  You’d rather have Daddy take his cane to your flesh until you bleed, and not safeword out, to prove you’re not a wimp, than to risk him leaving.  You don’t want to risk him finding some new younger, version of you with a more pert ass and a new boob job; so you tolerate his sadism because you know that’s one thing “they” can’t do.  They, don’t have your history, and won’t be able to tolerate or allow him to do any of the things you can physically withstand because he is a sexual sadist.  Normal.  Yes, this is normal. THIS! staying in this feels safer to you, than to feel the pain of him leaving you behind.

“Yes Grandma, I think I will pass on the pecan pie, I’m trying to watch my waistline.”

“Normal, is a setting on a washing machine” someone once told me, “and that’s about it.”  They went on, “there is no such thing as normal.”  I took some comfort in that, I really did.  But deep down, I knew that I wanted to be. Somewhere deep inside me, the healthy seedling in me was germinating.  I started setting limits with him.  Taking small steps.

The truth was, I am not a masochist.  I hate pain.  I only endured it so he wouldn’t throw me away.  He always promised me that if I did these “things”, I would be his good girl.

The way it rolled off his tongue….it was as if the promise of coming home has been re-awakened right then.

Maybe this Thanksgiving, I’m a tiny bit closer to normal than last year~