Believe it or not, more trauma happens in our kitchen, than anywhere else.
He had me up against the stove, "Admit it--you need it. You're just scared because you need me more. Always have. And you think that if you can avoid needing sex, it will somehow minimize my control over you."
"I admit nothing.
Okay, okay, you're right."
To me, sex has always been about power. The more I like something, the more of a weakness that something becomes. So yes, love could be seen as the ultimate weakness, but in my usual fashion, I digress.
I do need him more than he needs me. In every aspect of life. This was a huge fear of mine for years, and it almost destroyed our relationship because I refused to let my heart go all in. Sometimes it still scares me. It was the drawback to getting married young, to never being on my own, never having to be alone, for my being forming around another person--I don't just want him in my life, I need him.
Not only do I need him, I need him more than he needs me.
The one thing I am usually good at not needing, is sex. He, however, needs sex.
See where this is going?
I long ago found the one thing He needed that I didn't. And perhaps I felt there was a certain power in that. A power which would vanish should I ever find myself victim to physical desire.
It's there though. Always.
In the insatiable flirt
the way I walk and move my hips
the thoughts that float through my mind when I bite my lips
between my legs when he whispers cruel desires in my ear.
It's there. That final last power to grasp desperately onto. My last iota of control.
As his voice slides across my mind like velvet covered steel:
"Admit it--you need it. You're just scared because you need me more. Always have. And you think that if you can avoid needing sex, it will somehow minimize my control over you."
I know that I am losing the very last vestiges of my imagined control.
That I am truly in
Because my slavery to him is what makes me whole.
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