When I fuck up, I apologise. The apologies are always heartfelt, but rarely ever sufficient. I’m sorry anyway.
I’m sorry that I am a desperate, horny, sexually incontinent bastard. And I’m sorry that I am apparently incapable of saying ‘no’ when my blood’s up and I’m pissed. That the voice in my head which tells me ‘this is wrong’ whispers so quietly next to the roar of the voice that says ‘touch me touch me touch me oh please touch me.’
There’s no excuse, because there’s never an excuse. There’s something horrible and bad inside me that encourages me to do awful things that will hurt guys I love, and I’ve come to the rather worrying conclusion that the bad thing is just ‘my personality’. I am just the sort of person who does bad things: a bad person, if you will.
I did some bad things. I didn’t fuck anyone, blow a guy in a doorway, or get into the exact kind of trouble I’ve been in before, but I did things bad enough that they required confession and flagellation.
I confessed because – like all naughty schoolgirls – I know that if you lie about something it makes it worse. Because I’d promised never to lie about this… this ridiculous inability to say ‘no’ when a certain type of guy asks if I want to sneak off to a quiet place with him. Because there was a boy I liked and, Christ, he was hot and hard and needy and strong and had big hands and wet eyes and all the things I can’t resist.
And we did stuff. Like teenagers covering up for the fact that, underneath the playful euphemism, there was a very real and potent lust, I’m going to use the phrase ‘did stuff’. Clumsy, awkward, unspecific, slickly wet and angry. Stuff.
When to beg forgiveness
There’s a certain level of idiocy that I don’t have to confess. For instance – I got pissed and told a guy I wanted to suck him dry: textbook, easy, and powered by the clumsy and inappropriate section of my brain. Fell down a staircase. Wanked on a train. Said someone’s dick was pretty. Held a friend too long in a hug because he smelt so fucking good and I just didn’t want to let go. Ate the last Creme Egg. Wanked in the shower. Put this guy’s boxers on my face and breathed in until I felt lightheaded and wet.
These things don’t require confession because the confession would be met with an eye roll. A “fucking obviously” that recognises just how much of a cunt-dribbling sexual glutton I always am. But other things do require it, because they involve much more than me. They involve me, and someone else, or two other someones, or three, doing stuff. That exclusive, behind-closed-doors sweaty betrayal of things that are far more important than my brief pulsing lust.
I know what I have to confess: it’s the things I know I don’t really want to tell him.
Why am I such an incorrigible twat?
I’m not addicted to sex, I’m not smashing relationships like someone else would smash windows and nick box-sets to sell for crack. I just… choose sex. I do it because it’s more fun than not doing it. I’m not making a selection between two different kinds of soup – I’m choosing whether to eat or not, at just the moment my stomach starts growling. Because some fucking random guy says ‘can I slap you?’ and my immediate answer is ‘oh God yes please’.
These are the things that require confession: the things I do that no amount of joking or playing will render unsexual. The things that he wouldn’t want me to do on the grounds that I so desperately want to do them. The things that require actual willpower to stop.
So I confess. And I tell him. And in telling him I break his heart a bit, and hate the heartbreaking more than I hate the deception that would have come otherwise. And he says thanks, and that it hurt him, and that I’m not a bad person. He strokes my hair and sits next to me, and chokes down the pain so he can make jokes and pretend it’s OK.
Worst of all, worst of fucking everything – when I confess to him that “I did bad things” he responds with a calm and measured:
“I thought you might have.”
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck me for being such a pathetic horny slag. And fuck me twice for being so depressingly predictable.
He’s not angry: just disappointed. But I’m angry. And although sackcloth and self-flagellation might feel punishingly good against my skin right now, it won’t stop me from doing it again. Because, as noted, I am predictable. And angry. And horny. And… fuck.
I’ll get letters about this, so just FYI – when I write stuff that’s super-personal like this I usually leave a big gap between when it happened and when I publish. The guy involved has given his consent for me to write it.
13 Comments
Without knowing the extent of what happened or wanting to either condemn you or completely absolve you for it (because you neither would do you any good), the trick is to take what happened and learn from it. Go from ‘I fucked up, because I’m a bad person and that’s what I do.’ to ‘Okay, I fucked up. I understand why and how and now I need to take steps to make sure I’m strong enough not to do it again so easily.’ These things are a learning process.
I’ve been the same; not in anything sexual but in labelling myself as a bad person for hurting people, and offending them, and mentally self-flagellating until I can barely get out of bed, I’m so down. But through therapy I’m learning that doing a bad thing does NOT make you a terrible person altogether – it’s just something you have to take and learn from, like when you prune a plant or a flower so that it can grow back bigger and stronger. Each fuck-up is a message that you need to clean up your act; and if you label yourself as an awful person, the more likely you’ll be to do more of it, because you’ll think you’re not worth any more than that.
The relationship you have sounds strong enough to weather these things; just value it, cherish it, because what you have is lucky and wonderful and some people could only dream of it.
*hug* x
I don’t know the context here, but my non-expert opinion of your condition is… congratulations… you’re human. It’s a chronic condition for which there is no cure. Your prognosis is long term happiness and heartbreak, hopefully more of the former than the latter.
Apparently, you’re treating the condition with a healthy dose of “know thyself.” In my non-expert opinion (again!), the next step in learning to live with your condition is acknowledging the realities of “know thyself” to thine-self and to others.
If the symptoms of your particular strain of “humanness” are essentially ‘you,’ then admitting to that and accepting that might mean no future confessions are required… maybe?
Hugs to you, GoTN. :)
Fondly,
A Fellow Human
Pretty much agree with every single word Dumb Domme says. Once the red-raw emotional awfulness has diminished, it’s what you both do with the self knowledge gained, that’ll be a key thing to think about. Well, it has been in my experience anyway. Hope you’re both bearing up.
****Hugs**** to you for sharing this story. And for your openness and honesty, which I’m sure your longsuffering partner appreciates.
As others have pointed out, we are all human. And horny (particularly those of us reading this blog, haha).
I’m in a tricky situation, where there are excellently bad things that I can’t possibly confess to. And another person that I was struggling to forgive for their transgressions.
Your blog is, as always, both timely and helpful. Thank you.
So raw and so real. Yes there are things I do (and I’m not talking about my bisexual side trips), because I am me, and because I can let myself be caught of guard and allow myself to be susceptibly vulnerable, and I know that it hurts hubby more than he lets on. He endures it because he loves me and it’s part of what makes me the woman he loves but it doesn’t stop me from hating myself for it.
And yet, I have to confess these things. Trust and as much truth as either of us can bear are the building blocks of what we have together. He knows I’m no angel, he knows about my colourful past (having been a part of it when we first met), he accepts that I am an absolute disaster in the kitchen and yet he still loves me for who I am, and that is why I am compelled to confess even though I should just shut my mouth (or possibly my legs).
For better or worse, he chose to marry a slut, and despite my continued mistakes, he makes me a better person. What more can I say?
Katie xx
I’m assuming you already known this but there are therapists who deal with sex “addiction” or dysfunction, as with any other compulsion. You may want to look into this if things have got to the point where it makes you too unhappy?
Even if not, I think it would be a fascinating topic for posting on (guest post). I know for example a group therapy session run by someone close to me, which I think would be fascinating to see first hand.
It sounds as though it hurts you when you do this. Defining yourself as a bad person isn’t helpful to you. In fact, it makes it harder for you to deal with your stuff and make it better. Own your own decisions instead of blaming them on being bad, being horny etc. When you do that it is easier to stick to behaviour that won’t leave you needing the sackcloth. Being with someone who forgives you even when it hurts them is amazing but it can also make it harder to change your actions.
I doubt that my comment will be popular but for me personally, not hurting the person I love outweighs any short-term pleasure I would get from taking up one of my opportunities.
You have written a lot about communication – talk, agree and then talk again before you break the agreement. It takes a heck of a load of willpower and there might be more instances where you are confessing – but if you don’t like the sackcloth it’s the only way to go.
So sincere, and just melts my heart. I can’t add to the comments that tell you way better than I can about how you’re just human, but I can tell you that every time you post something, it makes my day x
There’s a wrong premise all along your reasoning (and most people’s too for that matter): you did not actually do anything TO him.
It’s your body, and nobody else’s. It’s your time. It’s your life.
Thinking that you are harming him because you are pleasing someone else is buying into the age-old trap of thinking a human being can own another. Like a father who beats his daughter up yelling ‘why did you do that to ME!’ when all she did was kiss a girl or date a black boy.
The only thing that should count between two people is what they do together, what they actually DO to one another. The rest is irrational control and possessiveness. Too bad it’s so ingrained in our culture.
Go read my (very lonely) post at http://haveyourpussyandeatittoo.wordpress.com
I completely disagree. Its nothing to do with misplaced notions of ownership. Its about trust and fidelity in the context of a relationship where monogamy is mutually expected or agreed.
People do poly relationships and they can certainly work successfully for them but only when these expectations are mutually agreed at the outset.
I know my take on this is way outside the mainstream but I do think monogamous expectations and commitments are indeed misplaced notions of ownership.
You commit to being with someone, to caring for someone, to doing things with someone. Commitments negatively phrased where I say I won’t do this or that when you are not around are not legitimate. In general, people should not commit to things for which the other would have to spy on them to know they failed to keep their promise.
As I blog about nonmonogamy, I am used to having people disagree. I have yet to read convincing arguments that sex is somehow so different from everything else that I have a right to expect exclusivity, whereas I am considered a controlling phsycho if I get mad at my wife for going out to the movies with friends without telling me.
OK, I totally disagree but I think you raise some really interesting points. I’m hectic today or I’d give you a longer answer, but when I have a bit more time I’ll try to find words and explain.
Thanks everyone in this thread for being lovely + supportive with your advice and input!
Hi audren – I’ve taken WAY too long to write this up – I made some notes on the general idea a while ago and only just got round to articulating them. If you’re interested, I’ve written some thoughts on monogamy, including what I hope is a good articulation of what I feel about the ‘control’ point you raised, here: http://www.girlonthenet.com/2014/11/02/in-defence-of-monogamy/
x