Where Sex and Love Intersect

To me, physical intimacy is someone giving or taking *with* me in a circumstantial moment, with love, that I would only allow that person to do, at the highest level that makes me borderline uncomfortable but connected and content in spirit during the act.

I've had two conversations today surrounding intimacy around sexual moments. Both very different situations, one from a man, and one from a woman and for completely different reasons, both convos felt quite raw... understandably. I'm also astounded that either would trust me with their stories... Neither has known me very long, and I'm not so sure I could turn over my story so quickly to someone... but that is obviously my perspective and caginess... as you'll find out.

This led me to think about my own intimate moments. I was surprised to realise through the day, that I can't name my own intimate moment. Once, I allowed something to happen a little more than usual, (Edit: and actually there was a second night with the same guy...) but I'm clearly not sitting here feeling that "magic memory bubble". I've barely had that generous circumstance, I'm positive I wouldn't I have allowed it anyway. Somehow today, I just found this realisation a little confronting.

The second conversation made me realise in a different light, just how shitty the men have been that I've chosen to date lol. Not the worst by far, but, pretty damn crappy. Apart from that one guy, they wouldn't know the meaning of intimate if it fell on their head, out of sheer ignorance. And... maybe I chose them at the time for that reason amongst others?

Because I'm sitting here thinking... nah... it's taken me this long to let someone love *me*. The real me. And the whole me. And I cherish that... deep down I had wanted to be loved for *me* all along, but few bothered to look. And those few didn't look deeper than my initial reactive words, let alone see anything worth trying to push past those words for. Master knows how difficult it was trying to tell me the first time He loved me lol. (Edit: As I sit here editing, I realise, this is actually quite intimate to me... knowing that someone loves you but then the mic drop when you realise they are actually are trying to tell you now, but hell, what if you are misreading the situation).

So if I think about being intimate with someone... that's a pretty tough wall to drop. Once I'm not *me*, but a section/alter ego, say my submissive self, nup... I'm not sure there is room for love or intimacy. Respect me, value me, treasure me, humble me, care for me etc, that's all fine and equally, I enjoy that in return... but don't you dare look at me with anything but sexual hunger. Don't you dare touch me with anything but sexual hunger. Don't you dare speak to me with anything but that Devil's tongue.

The picture says it all: love me, but don't make love to me. I'll likely run, or potentially break. My body is to be used and abused, I don't particularly have an emotional attachment to it regarding people I know touching it or looking at it. There are very few people who can make me feel "ok" in my body and sometimes they can make me feel attractive for a while. Hundreds of others can write how sexy it is, how perfect my boobs are, they would like to do whatever to it... they may as well be telling me their grandmother's cookie recipe, my body is just a meaningless object. So if someone is lucky enough to enjoy this body, it's exactly that - a vehicle for pleasure for the both of us. Don't be using it to try to make me feel loved - that's not what I'm there for. After all, I am a slave... I'm there to provide and hopefully leave with a quieter content mind.

This mess has all come about as I was taught very young that love is not a good thing. Since I was 8 years old, my love has been shunned and shamed by the people who should have valued it most in my childhood, and it even angered an adult up until the time I was able to choose to cut her out of my life. I was maybe 12 when I was told I was making someone jealous. Crazy. I was 14 when the last straw broke my back, I was old enough to know then, that I loved "too" hard. It is clear as day to me, that time, consciously deciding to not love again. I wasn't old enough to realise, it was all of their problems, not mine. I can't say I ever felt loved, only cared for and guided as a kind of obligation.

At 37 I've finally learnt to love wholeheartedly again. Even though that leaves me open and very vulnerable, I'm able to not hate myself now for giving love to someone if it is used or rejected - again, it is their problems that make them unable to receive it or have to use it to get something in life - love is now a wonderful gift I can give carefully.

But intimacy is too great a request. I'm really not sure I could open myself up that much. I'm not really sure I even know how to accommodate it all inside me. Maybe I just wasn't wired that way. It's a little sad, the realisation. But it is what it is.