The Unpretty Pieces
After all was said and done – you know, the realization, confession and contemplation of my cuckquean fantasy – the initial excitement and tornado sex calmed down, and the ugly began seeping out.
Master J, as you know from Date with a Dom, has much more experience in the BDSM world than I do. Whether it be through sexual exploration or his own research (reading, internet, etc.), Master J was already much further ahead of the game. He in fact was the one out of the two of us that discovered the term “cuckquean,” which I hesitated adopting at first. Why? Let me share.
We went from Portugal (vacation), to Rennes (France – friend’s apartment), to Dijon (France – Master J’s parents’ house). Portugal and Rennes were explosive regarding the sex and conversation we were having over my newfound fantasy; however, once we hit Dijon all hell seemed to break loose.
It seemed every second Master J and I were alone together, all we spoke about was sex. Specifically, my fantasy. He’d begun surfing the net almost every night before bed to find articles on women who had fulfilled the same fantasy. He looked for sex events in the area. He created a profile on FetLife. We even created profiles for online dating apps, specific to this kind of lifestyle. Every time I was tucking myself in to sleep, he’d bombard me with a multitude of (very specific) questions, most in which I didn’t have answers to. And with every new development, and with every new question, he reinforced this strengthening belief that:
Master J, like any man, just wants to fuck another woman; and I, his naïve fiancée, just opened that door for him.
My mind slowly went from opened, excited and curious to closed, overwhelmed and judgmental. For me, being a cuckquean suddenly meant being manipulated into letting the man I love sleep with someone other than me.
How dare he ask such intrusive questions about my fantasy that has to do with putting another woman between us!? How dare he be so aggressive and pushy!?
Remember that green monster that came to visit me in the past? Ya, well she was back full force, and it was my doing. I handed her the invitation; hell, I even gave her a ride into the relationship.
How could I be so angry at him?
I didn’t know why, I just knew I was. It felt like he was suddenly so preoccupied with this fantasy, that he’d forgotten about the woman right in front of him. Me!
Can we stop speaking about it for one god-damn second!
I’d say that repeatedly. And he would blush with embarrassment and regret having brought it up. Perhaps I was being selfish. I felt I had put gold in his hand just to snatch it away. He had a right to know things. He had a right to ask questions and explore his own curiosity, his own feelings on the matter. Right?
No! Because, if he did, that meant…that meanr…he’d never just want ME again?
My brain became so sexist sand stereotypical against the male species for, although a short period of time, long enough a time for me to be ashamed of it. It was torture. I’d suddenly put him in the same category as every other man on the planet (as if I knew every other man on the planet!)… especially the ones from my past who only sought their own pleasure. You know? The ones who wouldn’t dare turn down the opportunity to sleep with more than one woman, because, if they did, it would make them less of a man. Have you met the type?
Well, I assure you, Master J is far from this. Does he like exploration? Yes. Does he like sex? Of course. Does he want to please me? Damn straight. So…why was it so difficult for me to grapple that maybe, just maybe, I’d found the perfect man to share this fantasy with, without the overhanging threat of destruction?
Because I’d never had it before. Because I’m an insecure freak who absolutely HAS TO BE the best woman he’s ever had in bed (or in any other way!). Because I have to be the prettiest, the smartest, the sexiest, most beautiful… The. Only. One. He. Wants
Do you see where I’m going with this?
I’m a bit of a fuck-up. And the more this sank in, the more insecure I would get about the fantasy. So, one night it all came to a head. One night, after FAR TOO MANY sexless nights (due to my deep belief that every time we were doing it, he was thinking of someone else), I blew up:
I feel like I just opened a door that I can never close. I feel like I just gave you something you want, and I may take it away. I can’t promise that this will ever happen. And I don’t want you to hate me for it. I don’t want to hate YOU for it. I want to let it go.
And then, his saving words:
If we never have sex with another woman, I will die a happy man. You are all I want, and the thing you don’t understand, TRULY – what I’ve been trying to tell you this entire time – is you are the main ingredient. What turned me on about the fantasy is the simple fact that it turned YOU on. Without that, it doesn’t work. It never will, never could. You are the centre for me. Your pleasure is my pleasure. If this never happens, it’s okay. I love you, and I didn’t go into this relationship thinking one day we’d bring someone else in. I went into this relationship completely happy (and believing) that it would just be the two of us. I proposed to you long before you told me, or even realized this fantasy. What does that tell you? I wasn’t messing around when I gave you that ring. So, please, you do what you need to do on your side to figure out what you truly need, want, whatever, and I’ll be here waiting and happy to talk about it when you’re ready; regardless of what you decide. I love you, and that will never change. Never.
Of course, five minutes after he said this, all weights lifted, and we fucked! I mean really fucked. Like, crazy, wild animal sex. It was explosive and beautiful, and relieving.
I am his. He is mine.
Even if everything else changed, that never would. Our bonds are too strong, our love too powerful, our trust, honesty and communication too tight. Nothing can break in and destroy this. Nothing.
Master J and I have since recognized that there were moments he did push too far. It was my fantasy, and I needed my own time to grow comfortable to or distant from it. He has apologized profusely for his overstepping. He is a goal-oriented human. A planner. A pleaser. And he loves me profoundly. What else can one expect of such a human when professing such a fantasy? His natural reaction: research, plan and please the one he loves! I can now look back and appreciate him and his effort, but also his ability to give me the space I needed after the fact.
I understand the process now. Just like with any great change in life, people need their buffer time. Let it out, let it sink in further, contemplate, freak out a little, or maybe a lot, then decide if what you brought to life is really what they want existing in their world. If not? Kill it (this obviously doesn’t include pets, children or any other living thing, PLEASE! I’m being metaphorical here, thank you).
For me, I decided to keep it alive (hence the blog). Why? Because after the freak out had passed, and all of my insecurities subsided (which were just fear’s way of manifesting itself), I see that this is who I am. At the core. I live, breathe and think sex. I need it, want it, wonder about it, believe in it…think that it isn’t just meant for two people to share alone for the rest of their lives (at least in my case). For me, sex is just another thing in my books to explore: another adventure. Like traveling or language learning: I want to see, feel, taste and touch all that I can before I die – why not do it with a little bit of pleasure?
And I want him by my side all the way down. My lover, my friend, my Master.
Until next time,
Fuck-well, my friends.