I am a very, very bad girl and I’m writing this after it’s technically due, but the submit link is still open, so I’m going for it. I feel like a naughty student trying to slip my homework assignment into the stack on my teacher’s desk in hopes that he’ll still accept it. [Shakes self free of fantasy] This Last week’s Kink of the Week topic was dirty talk.
Generally, when I think about the idea of dirty talk, I imagine a conversation like this:
“Oh, oh fuck me. Fuck my cunt.”
“Oh yes, you like my cock in your wet pussy don’t you, you filthy whore?”
I then proceed to be really not turned on after thinking about that.
See, for me, I’ve always struggled with what I want sex to be vs. what I thought sex was supposed to be. For about the first five years that I was having sex with males, I had a lot of very unsatisfactory sex and it included a lot of conversations like the one above. It was a sexual routine: I moaned the way that I thought it sounded right to moan and I tried to control my body when I was aroused. I think that my aroused face is stupid looking: it’s bright red and squirreled up looking (see also: many of my masturbation videos) and a lot of the time, I was more focused on trying to look good than trying to enjoy myself. That whole period of my sexual history seems very sad to me now. Fortunately, I let go of all that and embraced what turned me on. That meant that dirty talking went away pretty much entirely for a while. I got involved with Rafa, and our sex is best categorized by the word “affectionate.” The things we mutter to each other are intimate communications, gentle and passionate. Our sexuality continues to be that way, and I wouldn’t want it any other. That’s the beauty of poly: I have the ability to enjoy several different kinds of relationships at once.
When I finally came to embrace the combination of my spanking fetish and my sexuality, a form of dirty talking became incredibly important. The things that are said during a spanking scene are so significant to me. They’re arguably as important to me as the actual act itself: a scene which takes place in total silence would need to have a lot of emotional or erotic pretense in order to be enjoyable for me. No, I need to be talked to. “Go to your room.” “I’m going to punish you.” “You’re a naughty little girl.” “Pull your panties down, right now.” These phrases make me swoon. They make my heart pound and make me blush. The words “spanking” and “spank” are etched into me so deeply, that the sound of them anywhere, in any context makes my mind drop everything else it was thinking about and focus on that set of sounds. That hissing s, popping p, nose crinkling for the n, hard k sound. Other words that sound similar can trigger the same reaction in me. Spark. Banking.
I wonder if this is what it feels like to enjoy talking dirty, if the words that I used to say to the boys I used to sleep with turned them on this way, set forth some uncontrollable beast in their hearts the way that “I’m going to give you a spanking when we get home” does when whispered close to my ear in a public place, every nerve in my body standing at its fullest attention.
I like being told what will happen to me, and I like being reminded of what did happen, even if it just ended five minutes ago. I want to hear it said. I want details. I want the sound of Paul’s voice. Really, I could listen to him reading a list of numbers and enjoy it: I love his diction, his intonation. I knew his voice long before I ever heard it in person. I like to hear him say my name, reminding me that all of this is real and not some long fantasy I’ve been lost in. I want to be told that I’m his, hear words like “own” and “mine” and “belong.” I want to feel like he possesses me, and these simple words make that happen instantly.
Sometimes, I enjoy more traditional dirty talk now, if it’s in a context of power exchange. When I let go of the sexual pretenses that I had developed in my youth, I discovered a new coyness and almost timid attitude towards my sexual encounters when they’re in a D/s context. I became virginal again, unable to even bring myself to say these things aloud. It embarrasses me that someone as experienced as I am can feel this way, and that embarrassment fills me with its own arousal. Being made to ask for things in explicit terms (although not really horribly “dirty” ones, there’s a strict set of words that are and aren’t horny for me) has become very, very hot for me. The sound of my own voice, suddenly high with shyness, words having trouble fully forming, breathy and vulnerable, compared to the solid security that I hear in the notes of his represents everything that I feel. ❤︎