For the past week, I’ve been binging on British TV series, The Crown.
I’ve always considered myself a feminine woman with masculine views about sexuality.
I’m sexually visual — like men.
I’m detached post-orgasm — like men.
My libido is high and fierce — like men.
A fuck-buddy went as far as saying: “Fucking you is like fucking a bloke Ness.”
I was mortified but then he elaborated: “You detach after you cum and that’s more of a male trait.”
And he was right I guess. I’ve never placed sex and love in the same box. And I’d go one step further by saying I don’t think they have anything to do with one another.
I’ve always been confused when I’ve read articles suggesting that women need emotional attachment to engage in sex.
Do they?
That claim has never resonated with me yet it gets bandied around as if it’s factual.
What is more interesting to me is the sexual narratives I construct around certain kinds of men and situations.
Recently I watched an episode in The Crown featuring Princess Margaret and photographer, Tony Armstrong Jones. There was no sex or kissing or touching in the scene whatsoever. But the scene evoked images and feelings.
I had them fucking in the dark room. I had them fucking in front of the mirror. I could see and smell it all — the sweat, the semen, the cunt juice.
They weren’t even representations of people in history anymore. They were my sex puppets much like the military men that visit my one-hour masturbatory war fantasy.
I got lost within my mind. I had checked out. When I came to, the episode had finished and another episode had started. I’d missed it all.
All my life I’ve considered myself sexually visual which is probably why I love consuming porn. But this week I’ve realised that I’m more like other women than I give myself credit for.
My arousal to The Crown scene wasn’t caused by naked bodies entangled. Nor was it caused by the people in history who the actors were playing.
My arousal was caused by the power-play, a recurring theme in my sexual fantasies. It was arousal of the mind not the meat-body.
Perhaps BDSM dynamics excite me in the same way as an offer of marriage would excite the average woman.
But it was nice to discover a commonality with other women when it comes to bedroom antics.
Perhaps I’m not so much of an outcast after all?