Marietta ~ just thinking out loud for a bit ~
I didn’t feel wanted, valued, until I started fucking.
Yes, I am smart, but too much of societal training had ingrained in me that my worth must be centered around how men viewed me. Mind you, I’m pansexual, so yes this is especially fucked up.
When men want to fuck me, I feel good about myself. I see myself different, appreciate my curves more, my exuberance in the bedroom more. I take pride in my titties, my abundant wetness, my dirty talk, my joys of hair pulling and ass slaps and genuinely being a filthy naughty good girl. Dick makes me feel good on many levels.
As I worked on my mental health with Doc, I got better at seeing my reactions to others’ actions and words. I better understood why I thought this or felt that. I got better at understanding inner me. My motivations and how they shaped the thoughts living in my head.
Now, with my career about to start, and new ways I can find value in myself and my life, I am tripped up yet again on this concept of value.
Am I valuable as a person in a would-be partner’s life beyond my body? Is my brain, my actions, my words enough to be cherished without the gift that is my curvy wonderland?
My stratification of friends with benefits (FWBs) is based on two distinct categories: the fun and the fucking. There are many who score high in one category and low in the other. My objectification of their skills versus my appreciation of how they make me feel feels fraught. Isn’t my valuing their bedroom abilities no better than any random man valuing his set of jump offs? Does my sexual drive in the context of friendship negate the possible ickiness of it all?
Yes, I know I am overthinking this. This is an overthinking post.
Part of me thinks, by bringing titties and pussy to the table, my sexual valuing of them is more equal than exploitative. I’m never trying to abuse my friends and there is always consent in everything we do. No one is coercive or forced in our interactions, and sex is never required but merely hoped for and on occasion expected (…?). However, even without sex, I value the laughs. The hugs. The walks in the park (literally). The meals they buy me (cause I’m still broke until July) or the rooms they cover (cause ditto), but am I playing into a trope? Am I in actuality exploiting them when I say I’m “valuing” them?
On more than one occasion, I’ve worried that my friends wouldn’t be my friends any longer if fucking were no longer an option. In retrospect, this is absolutely ridiculous. Every FWB was a friend first. Every FWB has brought me joy, made me feel good about myself before we were ever naked in each others’ presence. Every FWB adds something special in their own way to my life.
I guess this is just me wondering about a problem that doesn’t actually exist because I am oversensitive to language that is accurate but in and of itself does not denote a positive or negative connotation.
My brain was doing the swirling donut of doubt and doom, but I think I just logicked my way out of it.
Okay, time for a walk in the park.
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